Evening descended upon Carlton Palace with deliberate slowness, as if it were determined not to grant the place any clear end to its day. Light gradually withdrew from the corridors, leaving long shadows clinging to the tall walls, while the sea on the horizon darkened—deeper than blue, closer to mystery than to darkness.
Neris stood in her room, in front of the open window, listening more than looking. The waves reached her faintly, rhythmically, like a distant pulse that didn't belong to her, yet pressed uncomfortably against her chest.
She couldn't shake the feeling that had lingered since morning—the strange sense that she was moving within a space that wasn't entirely hers, no matter how open it seemed. No one had stopped her. No one was openly watching her. And yet… she felt seen.
She glanced at her reflection in the glass. The dress she had chosen was simple, without any attention-grabbing detail, as if she were trying to minimize her presence rather than assert it. Yet her hands were tense, her thoughts tangled more than they should be for an ordinary day.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Dinner is ready, Miss," Martha's voice came from the door.
"I'll be right there," Neris murmured after a moment.
She closed the window and turned toward the door. One step, then another, as if walking toward something she knew would happen… without knowing how.
The dining hall was lit with a warm glow that softened the harshness of the space, but it couldn't make it any less formal. The long table stretched across the center, meticulously set, as if designed to separate rather than to gather.
Adrian was already there.
He sat calmly, back straight, expression unreadable, as if the day had left no trace on him. He raised his head as she entered, glanced briefly at her, then returned his gaze to his plate. That alone slowed her steps.
She sat across from him. The distance was wide enough to feel safe, yet close enough to make escape feel impossible.
The dinner began in heavy silence. No extra words. No attempts to fill the space. The sound of cutlery seemed unnaturally loud, every movement calculated, every soft clink echoing more than it should.
Neris tried to focus on her plate, on the taste, on anything not related to him. But she felt his gaze before she saw it. That kind of indirect attention, hard to catch, yet impossible to ignore.
She cautiously lifted her eyes. He was looking at her now. Not harshly, not warmly. It was a scrutinizing, silent gaze, as if he were reading something she wasn't showing.
"Was your day calm?" he asked softly.
The question was simple, his tone calm—but her heart refused to treat it as such.
"Yes," she replied, steady despite her tension.
He nodded slowly, as if recording the answer, not merely hearing it.
She returned to her plate, but her hand was unsteady. When she lifted her fork, it slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the floor.
She froze. The metallic sound cut through the silence as if revealing something she had tried to hide.
Before she could move, before any servant could intervene, Adrian stood. His movement was quiet, unhurried, as if expected. Two steps separated them. He bent down.
She watched his fingers pick up the fork steadily. He didn't touch her, yet his presence felt complete. He picked it up with precision, no trace of annoyance on his face.
She lifted her head unconsciously. The distance between their faces was closer than it should be. Their eyes met. He said nothing. No smile. No expression. Yet his gaze was direct, unbroken.
Her breath caught for a moment. A faint scent reached her… mint, something fresh, like the sea at dusk, mixed with fine tobacco.
He placed the fork in front of her. His fingers didn't touch hers, yet the warmth was close enough to unsettle her. Then he straightened, speaking quietly to a servant:
"Bring a clean fork."
He turned and returned to his seat.
A few seconds—but it felt stretched. She couldn't continue eating. He didn't look at her again, yet the silence had shifted.
He finishled his food quietly and then rose.
"Good evening, Miss Neris."
"Good evening," she replied, unaware of when her voice escaped.
He left the hall without glancing back.
Later, in her room, she sat on the edge of the bed, trying to understand what had happened. It wasn't kindness. It wasn't a threat. Not a confession. It was a silent approach… leaving a deeper mark than it should have.
She thought of the library. The greenhouse. The lamp placed without anyone's announcement.
Finally, she let the thought form clearly: Adrian didn't grant her freedom. He expanded the space… to see how she moved within it. And she? She moved. Confidently. Willingly. And that frightened her.
She sat closer to the edge of the bed, feeling a slight tremor in her hands, as if her heart were beating louder than usual. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm her thoughts, but every small step of the day came back to her now, multiplied. Every movement of Adrian, every silence, every gaze, every space left for her to move within—it was a silent test, making her acutely aware that her freedom was only relative.
She lay back and stared at the ceiling, darkness slowly enveloping her. She didn't know what he wanted from her. But she knew one thing: his silence… had become more present than his words, making it harder to understand or read his mind.
Upstairs, Adrian stood by the window in his room, no less spacious than Neris's. As always, he observed the dark expanse.
Edwin spoke quietly: "Miss Neris works diligently."
"I know," Adrian replied. "She seems comfortable there."
He paused. "That's good."
When Edwin left, Adrian remained alone. He felt neither satisfaction nor guilt. There was only… an incomplete sensation. As if something had shifted, yet remained unclear.