The air inside Dravenhart had shifted.
Not the way a storm does — loud, electric, impossible to miss — but like something festering beneath velvet and gold.Zelene could feel it.
Every corridor hummed with unease. Servants flinched when spoken to. Conversations stopped too quickly. Doors closed a second too late.
And at the center of it all — Miren.
The head maid glided through the manor like a queen in disguise. Her smile was poised, polite, but her eyes — gods, her eyes — always watched. Measured. Calculated. The kind of gaze that made even shadows feel guilty.
Zelene had seen her once in the hall, whispering to one of the younger maids — the same girl Miren had slapped days ago. The poor thing's hands trembled as she held a tray, trying not to drop the silverware.
When Miren noticed Zelene watching, she smiled sweetly — the kind of smile that reeked of poison beneath perfume.
"Lady Evandelle," she said with a curtsy too sharp to be genuine. "You honor us with your presence so early. Shall I prepare the Duke's tea?"
Zelene tilted her head, offering her own practiced smile. "No need. I'm not sure he'd drink anything served by trembling hands."
The girl flinched. Miren's smile didn't falter, but her knuckles whitened against the tray.
After that day, Zelene couldn't let it go.
She started walking the halls more often — not as a noble, but as an observer. Listening. Watching.
The first thing she noticed was favoritism. Certain servants dined better, dressed cleaner, and moved with Miren's approval like shadows following a flame. Others — the quiet ones, the older ones — were overworked and ignored.
Then came the records.
During one of Kael's many absences, Zelene wandered into the manor's accounting room under the pretense of requesting the household budget. The clerk, startled by her calm insistence, handed over the ledgers without question.
She traced her finger down the parchment — groceries, cleaning supplies, imported silk… and then she saw it.
Double orders.
For the same goods.
Signed by Miren.
"Interesting," she murmured.
A faint sound made her turn. Ray was standing by the doorway — silent as always, his posture relaxed but alert.
"You've been following me again," she said, half amused, half exasperated.
He didn't answer. He rarely did.
Zelene sighed, snapping the ledger shut. "Don't give me that look. I'm not plotting to overthrow Dravenhart's pantry."
Still nothing.
"Fine," she muttered. "But if you must haunt me, at least make yourself useful."
That earned her the faintest flicker of an eyebrow.
Later that evening, as the manor slept, she found herself in the back corridors again — candlelight in one hand, skirts gathered in the other. Ray followed a few steps behind, his boots barely whispering against the stone.
"This is ridiculous," she whispered. "I shouldn't be sneaking through hallways like a thief."
Ray's voice was low, rough. "And yet you are."
She shot him a look over her shoulder. "You talk when it's to mock me, I see."
His lips curved slightly — not quite a smile, but close enough to disarm her for a heartbeat.
They stopped near the servants' wing. Voices echoed faintly from beyond the door — Miren's among them.
Zelene pressed closer, her Aether stirring in her veins. She reached out gently with her power, feeling instead of listening.
Fear.
Tension.
A thread of guilt running like ice through the room.
"…His Grace doesn't need to know everything," Miren's voice murmured. "He trusts us to manage his home. That's all that matters."
A pause. Someone whispered something back — too soft to hear.
Then Miren again, colder now: "Keep your mouth shut about what you saw. Do you understand?"
The air in the room grew heavier, thick with dread.
Zelene pulled back, breath shallow. Her gaze met Ray's.
"She's hiding something," she whispered.
He nodded once. "I know."
That startled her. "You— you already suspected?"
"I watch," he said simply. "That's my job."
Zelene frowned. "And Kael?"
Ray's eyes flickered, unreadable. "…He doesn't see what happens inside these walls. Not anymore."
Her chest tightened. "Then it's worse than I thought."
They moved away from the door, the candle's flame wavering in the draft.
For a moment, neither spoke. Only the faint hum of her Aether filled the silence — the pulse of unease threading through Dravenhart.
Finally, she said softly, "Help me find out what she's hiding."
Ray hesitated. "You're asking me to go against the household chain of command."
"I'm asking you to protect what Kael built," she countered. "Even if he's too blind to see it rotting underneath him."
The silence stretched. Then Ray gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
"Understood."
Zelene smiled faintly — not victory, exactly, but relief. "Good. Because something tells me Miren's loyalty isn't to Dravenhart."
They walked back toward her chambers in silence, the candle dimming between them.
But as Zelene's reflection flickered in the polished glass of the corridor — a woman pretending to belong, chasing ghosts in silk — she couldn't shake the feeling that the deeper she dug, the more dangerous this truth would become.
And somewhere, in the quiet dark of Dravenhart, Miren's smile lingered.
A smile that promised she already knew.