Isabelle made her way back to the house through the enchanting frozen garden, her footsteps crunching softly against the frost-covered path. She allowed herself to linger, taking in the crystalline splendor around her. Every branch, every leaf, seemed suspended in time, their icy surfaces catching the pale light like shards of glass. Yet, as her gaze wandered, her thoughts weighed heavily on her. The decision before her was monumental: step into this strange, otherworldly realm, or retreat to the familiarity of her old life. She knew so little of this hidden world, and yet it seemed to demand so much of her.
When she finally reached the house, the ornate doors loomed before her, their intricate carvings seeming to shift subtly in the cold light. Stepping inside, she found herself once again in the sitting room. The warmth of the fire greeted her, and Florence, ever diligent, was busy tidying the space.
“Oh, Miss Isabelle,” Florence said, straightening with a welcoming smile. “How was the walk? I didn’t expect you back so soon. Nothing out of order, I hope?”
Isabelle shook her head, offering a polite smile in return. “Oh no, the walk was lovely. Olberon, though, was called away on business by… Thaddius.” She paused, watching for any flicker of recognition in Florence’s expression.
At the mention of the name, Florence’s smile faltered, replaced by a noticeable scowl. “Is that so?” she said, her tone cooling. “That man is like a weed, I swear it—just keeps cropping up to trouble the poor Lord.”
Isabelle tilted her head slightly, intrigued by the comment. Thinking back to her dream, she ventured cautiously, “Trouble? Isn’t he trying to help Olberon with the garden?”
Florence’s eyes lit up with approval, and she let out a soft chuckle. “Well, I’ll be. You’ve only been with us one night, and you’re already picking up on the court gossip. You’ll fit right in, Miss, if you don’t mind me saying.” Her tone turned wry as she added, “But ‘help’—as he might call it—doesn’t mean his presence isn’t a nuisance. That man is no Lord, and barely of noble standing. He has no business traipsing in here, acting as though he owns the place.”
She caught herself before her words became a full tirade and gave a quick, sheepish smile. “But what do I know? I’m just the housekeeper.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Now, is there anything I can help you with, Miss?”
Isabelle hesitated for a moment before something occurred to her. “Oh, yes. Is Virgil up to seeing visitors? I’d like to check on him before I make any decisions,” she asked plainly.
“Of course, Miss,” Florence said with a nod. “He’s been up for the better part of the morning. Bedridden for now, poor soul, but he’s already got his appetite back—cleared a whole rack of toast earlier, if you can believe it. And you know what they say: a good appetite means a good heart. It’ll take more than some mangy shifters to take that man down, that’s for certain.”
Before Isabelle could ask anything further, Florence continued, her voice light and efficient. “He’s just down the hall. Take a right from here, and he’s the seventh door on your left.”
Isabelle smiled and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll go check in on him.”
As she made her way down the hall, her thoughts drifted back to Thaddius. Florence’s words rang in her ears, but she couldn’t quite reconcile them with the man she had met. He hadn’t seemed “weedlike,” as Florence had put it. True, she barely knew him, but his demeanor, though unnerving at times, had carried a certain charm. His face had been kind, handsome, even. Handsome enough to leave her questioning what exactly lay beneath the surface.
The thought lingered as she reached Virgil’s door, her hand pausing briefly on the handle before she pushed it open.
____
Virgil lay propped up in bed, his torso bandaged expertly, though the faint tension in his posture betrayed the discomfort he felt. A thick book rested in his lap, its worn leather cover cracked with age. His head was bent low, his dark hair brushing against the edge of his glasses—delicate, thin-rimmed spectacles that framed his amber eyes. When Isabelle entered, he looked up, his expression brightening with a warm smile.
“Isabelle!” he greeted, his voice smooth and inviting. “I was wondering when you’d come by. I hope this morning hasn’t been too overwhelming in my absence. You must feel like you’re treading water over the abyss.” He chuckled softly, closing the book with a practiced hand and gesturing to the chair beside the bed. “Come, sit. Tell me about your morning.”
Isabelle returned his smile, feeling a faint sense of relief at his easy manner. She crossed the room, her footsteps quiet against the polished floor, and sank into the chair beside him. “It has been a rather heavy morning,” she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she prepared to elaborate.
But before she could continue, the sound of heels tapping against the hallway floor interrupted her. The hollow rhythm echoed ominously, growing louder with each step. Isabelle’s words faltered, and she glanced at Virgil, whose warm expression hardened instantly.
He sat up slightly, wincing from the effort, and looked at her sharply. “By the Ald-Fae,” he muttered, his voice low but urgent. “This is going to be unpleasant. Please,” he said, his tone almost pleading, “I beg your pardon, but do not engage with this woman. She’s…” He hesitated, his words hanging in the air as the tapping came to a halt outside the door.
The handle turned, and the door opened slowly, revealing a woman who was a vision of haunting elegance, her beauty undeniable yet laced with an icy edge that seemed to chill the air around her. Her long, dark hair fell in sleek waves, cascading over her shoulders like a curtain of midnight, perfectly framing her sharp, symmetrical features. Her striking dark blue eyes shimmered like shards of frozen sapphire, cold and unyielding, yet impossible to look away from.
A thick black choker adorned her slender neck, its centerpiece a solitary diamond that caught the light with a subtle, mesmerizing glint. The diamond seemed to reflect not just light but the piercing intensity of her gaze, as though it, too, carried her frosty aura.
She wore a tightly laced black corset that emphasized her hourglass figure, the boning cutting clean, dramatic lines that spoke of both discipline and allure. Elbow-length silk gloves completed the ensemble, their fabric shimmering faintly, as though they were made from shadows spun into threads. Her crimson lips were the only vibrant splash of color against her pale complexion, perfectly painted and poised in a faint, knowing smirk that hinted at both amusement and disdain.
Though her beauty was flawless, it was far from warm. There was an unapproachable coldness in the way she held herself—straight-backed, shoulders set with an almost regal air. Every movement she made was calculated and deliberate, like a predator circling its prey, her poise and confidence as sharp as the diamond at her throat. She exuded an aura of danger a siren whose allure was rivaled only by the chill of her presence.
Virgil let out a quiet sigh “Adalaide” , his voice curt, spoken as if the word were an insult, the tension in the room thickening as Isabelle turned toward the doorway, her curiosity piqued despite his warning.
Adalaide’s entrance was as deliberate as ever, her figure framed dramatically in the doorway, her presence commanding attention. Isabelle, seated beside Virgil’s bed, stiffened at the sight of the striking woman. Adalaide’s gaze swept over the room, lingering on Isabelle for just a moment before settling on Virgil with an almost predatory smile.
“Well, well, Virgil,” Adalaide purred, her voice smooth as silk but laced with venom. “You just had to survive, didn’t you? Couldn’t do us all the courtesy of dying quietly and sparing me the trouble. And dragging some mortal stray along with you? That’s a bold choice, even for you.”
Isabelle bristled, her fingers tightening in her lap, but Virgil simply leaned back against the pillows with a faint smirk. “Adalaide,” he greeted coolly. “As sharp-tongued as ever. I see your hobbies haven’t changed—lurking in doorways and delivering cheap insults.”
Adalaide stepped further into the room, her every movement deliberate, feline. “It’s not an insult if it’s the truth, darling,” she replied, her gaze flicking briefly to Isabelle before returning to Virgil. “Really, Virgil, was it bravery or sheer stupidity that brought you back here? I can never tell the difference with you.”
“Survival instinct, my dear,” Virgil replied smoothly, his tone calm but edged with steel. “Something you should understand, considering how adept you are at skirting the rules. Though I’ll admit, it must be maddening knowing you can’t touch me here. Oaths and all that.” He gestured vaguely, his smirk deepening.
Adalaide’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, her eyes narrowing. “True,” she said, recovering quickly, her voice dipping into a purr. “But I’m nothing if not resourceful. Those shifters—you have to understand—they’re so difficult to keep on task. A pity they didn’t finish their work. Though I can’t say I’m surprised.”
Isabelle’s breath caught as the meaning of her words sank in. Virgil, however, remained unflinching, though his voice dropped a note lower, carrying a quiet warning. “Ah yes, your hired beasts. How charming. But tell me, Adalaide, for someone so intimately familiar with these walls, I’d think you’d remember just how many ears and eyes are hidden within them. Have you grown careless in your schemes, or is this just a new hobby of yours?”
Adalaide’s expression darkened, and for a moment, she looked as though she might lash out. Instead, she laughed softly, though the sound lacked warmth. “Careful, Virgil. Even oaths have their limits. Don’t tempt me.”
“Tempt you?” Virgil replied, leaning forward despite the clear discomfort it caused him. “Oh, no, my darling Adalaide, I’d never dream of it. But let’s not pretend, shall we? You’re not here to gloat. You’re here because you’re angry. Angry that I survived. Angry that you can’t control the outcome this time. And that, my dear, eats away at you, doesn’t it?”
Adalaide’s mask of composure cracked just slightly, her eyes flashing with something dark and dangerous. Isabelle, sitting quietly at Virgil’s side, felt the tension thickening, suffocating. She opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it, the weight of the moment pressing her into silence.
Adalaide’s gaze flicked to Isabelle, her lips curling into a tight, humorless smile. “I see your little mortal companion has quite the front-row seat,” she said icily. “Let me give you some advice, my dear,” she added, directing her words at Isabelle now. “Stay far, far away from him. He’s nothing but ruin wrapped in charm. You’ll learn soon enough.”
“Run along now, Adalaide,” Virgil cut in, his voice cold and dismissive. “This conversation is over.”
Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed she might argue, but she relented, smoothing her skirts with an exaggerated calm. “Enjoy your victory while it lasts, Virgil,” she said, her tone laced with venom. “You’ve always been better at surviving than truly living.”
With a final, disdainful glance toward Isabelle, she swept out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Isabelle exhaled slowly, her heart still racing. “That… was intense,” she said softly, glancing at Virgil.
Virgil chuckled faintly, though there was little humor in it. “That’s Adalaide for you. All poison and silk. Don’t let her get under your skin.”
Isabelle frowned but nodded, her thoughts still spinning as she tried to piece together the layers of venom and history that had just unfolded before her.
The room settled into a still silence, the earlier tension hanging in the air like an unspoken specter. After a long pause, Virgil let out a sigh and leaned back against the pillows. “So,” he began, his voice low and measured, “you probably have a lot of questions. Olberon… well, let’s just say he’s not always the best at explaining things.”
To his surprise, Isabelle turned toward him, her expression sharp as she interrupted, almost defensively. “Actually, he did quite a good job,” she said, her tone firm. “He explained the state of things, the magics, and the choice I have to make.” Realizing how abrupt she sounded, she softened her voice. “But you’re right—I do have more questions. This is… a huge decision, and I don’t really have any context. What does becoming a Witness actually mean?”
Virgil studied her for a moment, a flicker of amusement in his amber eyes behind the thin wire of his spectacles. A warm smile spread across his face as he closed the book on his lap. “Fair enough,” he said with a nod. “If Olberon has already covered the basics, then here’s what happens if you choose to stay. Your first step will be what we call ‘Courting the Courts.’”
“Courting the Courts?” Isabelle asked, frowning slightly.
“Yes, I know—it sounds ridiculous,” Virgil said with a chuckle. “But that’s what it’s called. Each of the Seasonal Courts—Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter—will offer you their proposal. Their terms, their expectations, and what they’re willing to provide in exchange for your allegiance. You’ll get to decide which court to join.”
He paused, giving her a moment to absorb the information. “As a Witness, you won’t have any noble standing to start with. You’ll be… let’s say, an outsider by default. Your position will rely entirely on the court you choose and how well they support you. That’s why these offers are so important. They set the foundation for your place in the Fae world.”
Isabelle’s brows knit together, and Virgil caught the faint glimmer of unease in her expression. He raised a hand, his tone gentler now. “But don’t let that overwhelm you,” he said reassuringly. “We can go over all of this later. The important thing right now is that you’ve seen the world for what it truly is, magical. It would be a shame to turn away and close your eyes again after witnessing its beauty, wouldn’t it?”
She looked at him thoughtfully, her fingers absently smoothing the fabric of her dress. “Maybe,” she admitted softly, “but… it’s a lot to take in. If I choose to leave—if I go back to my life—what happens then? Do I just forget all of this?”
Virgil shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Not quite. No matter what you choose, I’ll still have to keep an eye on you. It’s part of the deal. I’m the one who brought you into this, and, admittedly, it was a bit rushed. But the rules are the rules.”
“So even if I go home and all of this becomes just a vivid, bizarre dream… you’ll still be around?” Isabelle asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
“Of course,” Virgil replied, his tone light but sincere. “It wouldn’t do to just leave you. Who knows, maybe we’ll end up meeting for coffee now and then. The Dream has a funny way of weaving paths together, even when you least expect it.” He smiled knowingly, his amber eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place.
Isabelle considered his words, her gaze distant for a moment as she processed the weight of it all. “So the choice really is mine,” she said finally, her voice steady but quiet.
“It is,” Virgil said, inclining his head. “And whatever you decide, I will honor it.”
The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, and Isabelle found herself nodding, though her thoughts were still a swirl of uncertainty. “Thank you,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his.
Virgil smiled again, this time more warmly. “No need to thank me, Isabelle. Just take your time.”