The house was different in daylight.
Candice noticed it the moment she stepped into the corridor beyond the breakfast room. Sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows, softening what had felt so oppressive the night before. Shadows retreated into corners, and even the portraits of stern ancestors with sharp eyes and solemn mouths seemed less accusing in the glow. Almost ordinary.
Almost.
She told herself the sensation of being watched was nothing more than nerves.
Mrs. Cobb had vanished to attend her duties, leaving Candice alone with the echo of her own footsteps. For the first time since arriving, she felt something like freedom. It was fragile thin as spun glass but it was hers.
She walked slowly, memorising turns, counting doors, noting which carpets muffled sound and which floorboards creaked beneath her weight. Old habits, born of a childhood spent learning when to be quiet and when to disappear.
The house was far larger than it appeared from the outside. Sitting rooms lay dormant beneath white linens. A music room stood abandoned, a harp resting in the corner, its strings humming faintly as though disturbed not long ago. The library drew her in with the scent of leather, dust, and something sharper—ink, perhaps, or old magic.
Candice let her fingers trail along the spines of the books, resisting the urge to take one down.
You are not a pawn, she reminded herself. Not here. Not anymore.
The deeper she wandered, the colder the house became.
The carpets darkened beneath her feet. The air thinned, sharpened. Portraits disappeared altogether, replaced by bare walls and narrow windows that admitted little light.
Then she saw it.
A corridor veering sharply to the east.
Candice stopped.
There were no guards. No locks. No chains or sigils carved into the stone. Just a passage stretching beyond the bend, its end swallowed by shadow even in the full light of morning.
Her pulse quickened.
The east wing remains forbidden.
She took a single step closer.
The air changed at once—dense, electric, pressing against her skin until gooseflesh rippled along her arms. The silence there was different too. Heavier. As though sound itself knew better than to travel further.
Candice swallowed.
She did not cross the threshold.
Not yet.
But as she turned away, something caught her eye. A small door, set just before the corridor began. Half-hidden. Easily overlooked.
Its handle was cold beneath her fingers, unnaturally so.
She hesitated.
Then she opened it.
The room beyond was narrow, scarcely more than an alcove. A single chair faced the window. Dust lay thick on every surface—except the small table at its center.
Upon it rested a mask.
Candice's breath stilled in her chest.
It was carved from dark material—wood, perhaps, or something older. Smooth, worn, as though touched countless times. The eye holes were narrow. The mouth carved into a neutral line that somehow conveyed sorrow.
She did not need to be told whose it was.
Her fingers trembled as she reached toward it.
A whisper brushed her ear, soft as breath.
Not yet, my dear.
Candice spun.
The room was empty.
But the air pulsed once—mocking, amused.
Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. She backed away, then fled the room without looking back.
Elsewhere in the house, Lord Cassius halted mid-step.
A familiar chill slid up his spine.
"She's too early," he murmured.
And far beyond the manor walls, something old and patient smiled.
Lord Cassius had not intended to walk with her.
He told himself he would return to his study, bury himself in ledgers and correspondence, pretend she was merely another obligation born of old bargains and worse decisions. But when he saw her standing at the edge of the south terrace—sunlight threading through her loose hair, her hands clasped as though holding herself together—his feet betrayed him.
She heard him approach and turned.
For a heartbeat, something flickered across her face. Not fear. Not defiance. Curiosity. Resolve.
"Lady Candice," he said. "The gardens are safer by daylight."
"Is that meant to reassure me," she asked, "or warn me?"
He almost smiled.
"Walk with me."
She hesitated only a moment before falling into step beside him. The gravel path curved through trimmed hedges and winter-bare rose bushes. Frost still clung to the shaded earth, crunching beneath their boots.
He kept his pace measured. Too close would be a mistake. Too distant would seem deliberate.
"Mrs. Cobb worries you will grow bored," he said. "She believes idleness invites trouble."
"I find the house quite… stimulating," Candice replied. "It watches me."
His jaw tightened.
"Then don't listen when it whispers."
Her gaze snapped to him. "So it does whisper."
He said nothing.
They walked in silence for several steps, the manor looming behind them like a slumbering beast. The mask weighed heavily against his face—shield and shackle both. For a reckless moment, he wondered what she would think if she saw what lay beneath.
"You asked for honesty this morning," he said at last.
"I did."
"Be careful what you demand here."
She stopped. He had no choice but to stop with her.
"I am already married to a stranger," she said quietly. "Living under rules I did not make. If I am to endure this, I will not do so blind."
Not accusation. Not plea.
Resolve.
He exhaled. "The truth comes in pieces. Not all at once."
She nodded. "That will do."
They resumed walking.
"The curse," he began carefully, "was not cast in anger. Nor in haste. It was… intimate."
She said nothing, but he felt her attention sharpen.
"I sought something I should not have. Knowledge. Power."
"The enchantress," Candice said.
"Yes."
He touched the mask without thinking. "This is not punishment. It is preservation. A seal. Without it, what lies beneath would have been unmade."
"Unmade how?"
"Stripped of self. Of humanity."
They stopped near the frozen lake.
"Then why allow me here?" she asked.
Because I was tired of being alone.Because the house demanded a mistress.Because part of me wanted to believe the dream was wrong.
"Because the curse weakens," he said instead. "It requires an anchor."
Her breath caught. "A wife."
"Yes."
"And if it breaks?"
He looked away. "Then we are both free."
She didn't press him. For that, he was grateful.
"This house is dangerous," he said quietly. "So am I. But I will not see you harmed."
"You did not say I was safe," she replied.
"No. Because safety is a luxury I lost long ago."
The wind stirred. Candice shivered.
"Come," he said, sharper than intended. "The cold deepens."
As they walked back, the sensation returned, the sense of being watched.
Measured.
She walked beside him, unaware that every step she took toward the house drew her closer to a fate he was no longer certain he wished to stop.
And somewhere beyond dreams and daylight, she was listening.
Waiting.