The warmth from the hearth still lingered in the solar, casting a low glow over the stone floor and the remnants of morning tea. Outside, the mist had finally begun to lift, revealing slivers of pale blue sky above Velwynd Keep. The castle had not yet fully woken—footsteps were scarce, and the halls were still quiet save for the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Ilya sat beside the hearth in the same chair she had taken when Elias arrived—knees drawn close, fingers curled loosely around a cooling teacup. Her hair, once neat, was now slipping from its braid. She had not slept. Neither had he.
Elias stood by the fire, a compress draped over his shoulder, one hand resting on the mantle for support. His face was unmasked.
"You left something out."
Ilya didn't look up. The words did not surprise her.
"I left out many things."
He turned his head toward her, his expression unreadable. "I meant about your childhood."
Now she glanced at him, slow and deliberate. "Did I?"
"You mentioned the Count. But not what he became." A pause. "Not what he did."
She sipped her tea. "You asked for truth, Elias. Not confession."
There was silence again—thicker this time, weighted with unspoken understanding. He realized that perhaps, some part of her feared his reaction and chose to bury the information rather than lie about it. Smart.
"What kind of music did your mother sing to you?" he asked quietly.
That made her pause. Her gaze softened.
"Old songs," she said. "Ones from the mountain folk. Lullabies, mostly. She had a light voice... higher than mine, but fragile. Like a reed flute. She only sang when no one was around. Not because she was shy—because it was sacred, just for us or herself."
Elias's brow furrowed slightly, the thought of the now-silent Countess clearly stirring something in him.
Before he could reply, a knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," Elias called, masking the stiffness in his voice.
The door opened just enough to reveal Madam Therin's poised figure. She offered a small nod as she entered. If she had thoughts about his face exposed with the mask, she didn't voice them, choosing to treat it as though this was nothing unusual.
"My lord. My lady. The keep has begun to stir. The steward is assembling the household and the bannermen await your word."
"Tell them I'll meet them at midday," Elias said. "And summon Caeden. I have a request."
Therin's brow rose, ever so slightly.
"He is the best swordsman in the keep—other than myself," Elias continued. "Lady Ilya requires a tutor and he will do."
Therin's lips curved. "Very good, my lord."
She withdrew without another word, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
Ilya blinked at him. "You...work fast. You approve?"
"I do. You should never have to rely on others to feel safe, if you do not want to."
She smiled—small, but real. "Thank you."
"Get your boots on," he said. "You're coming with me."
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The carriage jostled slightly as it left the outer gates of Velwynd Keep, wheels crunching over damp gravel before finding smoother earth along the winding road south. A thick green canopy loomed overhead, broken now and then by shafts of sunlight that filtered through, dappling Ilya's face in fleeting patches of gold.
She sat beside Elias in silence for the better part of the journey, hands resting in her lap. The scent of wet pine and distant hearth smoke followed them as they entered the wooded territories beyond the keep. It was her first time beyond the walls since they wed.
Elias watched her from the corner of his eye. "You've gone quiet."
She met his gaze briefly, then looked out the window again. "It feels like I'm somewhere I don't quite belong yet. Like I'm still walking beside someone else's life."
"Your life is yours alone to live, Ilya. You will make this place yours. I dare say you already are."
The village of South Virell came into view a short while later, tucked between low hills and bristling trees. Smoke curled from a handful of chimneys, and a small crowd had begun to gather in the square as the carriage slowed to a stop.
The damage was evident before they had even stepped down.
A cottage on the southern edge had been torn open like a fruit left for wolves. One wall had collapsed inward; the roof was sheared on one side, wooden beams snapped and bent like twigs. Deep gashes marred the stone foundation, and a dark, sticky stain streaked across the doorstep—though it was impossible to say if it was blood or mud.
"What in the hells…" Ilya murmured.
"Torhounds" Elias said grimly. "They're wolves, or something close to them. Tracks show claw marks too wide for a mountain cat. And it didn't take food. Just ruined the house and left, marking territory. They are the only ones known for it."
She listened and blinked, amazed at the knowledge Elias must possess if he could just look at damage like this and understand it so intimately.
"What…makes them different from wolves?"
He was in his element now, and ran a hand behind his head, scratching his head as he called up the knowledge from a long history of tracking things most men never dared face.
"They're big. About the size of a bear. Their teeth are three times the size of a wolf, and they have three eyes with one in the center. They don't howl and they're nearly silent as they move, with fur that shifts and glides, longer than other canines. Come."
He put on his iron mask and stepped down first, offering her a hand. She took it.
Villagers approached hesitantly, doffing hats and nodding low as the Archduke and his new wife entered the square. A gray-haired man with a blacksmith's apron stepped forward, the troops Elias brought following him in dismounting and preparing for the work ahead.
"My lord. Lady. It's an honor—though I wish the visit were under better stars."
"Master Behn," Elias said, recognizing the man. "This is Lady Ilya Wylt, my wife."
The blacksmith gave a short bow. "Welcome to South Virell, my lady. We'll see you're treated kindly here."
Ilya inclined her head. "Thank you. I hope we can help, in some small way."
She spent the better part of the next hour among the women and elders of the village, helping to gather salvaged materials, directing them where to stack what remained of the cottage wall. Informing the soldiers of where to unload equipment and new wood and stone. Meanwhile, Elias conferred with the blacksmith and a few of the young men, sketching a rough map in the dirt showing where the creature's tracks had last been spotted.
To Ilya's surprise, Elias didn't merely give orders.
Despite his bad leg and noble title, he removed his expensive coat and slung it on the back of the wagon they had brought. He rolled up his sleeves and unloaded material. He lifted beams and hauled stones alongside the laborers. Sweat clung to his brow, and more than once, he winced while shifting his weight. Nobody else could see through the mask but she could tell, now. She could see the difference in his body when he was in pain.
But he kept on, jaw tight, refusing to admit to it.
Ilya tried to appear busy, as though such things were normal but she caught herself staring more than once.
When one of the beams slipped from its perch and nearly crushed a mason's foot, she jumped forward without thinking, steadying it with her shoulder while Elias braced the other end. Their eyes met across the timber.
"You'll make a fine knight," he said with bated breath.
She grinned, breathless. "Not without a tutor."
He chuckled—an honest one this time, deep and resonant. It was a sound that seemed to vibrate in your chest and together they lowered the beam into place.
By late morning, much of the frame had been reset and the worst of the wreckage cleared. The villagers had new fire in their voices, no longer weighed down by fear but lifted by the sight of their lord and lady working alongside them.
Elias wiped his hands on a cloth and turned to her. "I'll go soon. The creature's still nearby—I can feel it."
"You shouldn't go alone."
"I won't. I'll take two of my guard and Caeden. You'll remain here, inside the smithy. You'll be safe."
"I can handle myself."
He softened. "I know. But let me protect you, while I can."
She wouldn't argue this time, for he knew that though she wished to join him and felt obligated to put up a strong front, a man so weak a single slap broke his nose had nearly brought her harm. What then would this Torhound do?
Her smile was faint but steady. She nodded, though her fingers curled slightly against her skirts. He took up his sword and turned away from her, and for the first time since meeting him… she wished he wouldn't.