1705. Luck had never been on Eleanora Finley's side. After her father died in a tragic fire, she was left at the mercy of her domineering and abusive mother, being deprived of all love and affection.
Truly, who would have thought that the simple red...
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1711, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City
Following their little rendezvous that night at the opera, something had sparked between Eleanora and the Duke, though none of them was willing to admit it.
Instead of lowering her head, Eleanora now hid herself Behind the tall Jessamine le Comte whenever the Duke passed by, so that she would never have to see him. Eleanora herself did not know why she did so. It was just habit that told her if he looked directly at her that she would become flustered and try to make a quick escape.
Despite this, her days were relatively calm, with the evenings spent in the sewing room, and at night, she would read the books that she had borrowed from the library in her dark chamber, which was only sparsely lit by a small candlelight. Other than the few times when she bumped into the Duke, Eleanora's life was quite peaceful.
In fact, perhaps it was because Eleanora was so at ease that she forgot about the demons that lurked in the palace's gilded halls. One night, Eleanora found herself walking back from the library, clutching a leatherbound novel in one hand and a candlestick in the other.
In the distance, she could hear footsteps, but she thought nothing of it since the guards often switched positions at midnight. But when the footsteps got increasingly closer towards her, Eleanora's heart abruptly sank.
She did not even need to turn around to know who it was. He stepped closer towards her, his eyes glowing in the candlelight, before leaning down close enough for her to smell the strong scent of alcohol on his breath, mixed with some other scent that Eleanora could not recognize.
"Your Majesty," Sir Rolf taunted, mocking a bow. "It has been a while since I last saw you, hm?"
Eleanora stared at the floor, refusing to meet his gaze. She could feel his presence beside her, as well as the hand resting against the small of her back, and felt sick to her stomach. Her silence, however, did little to appease him.
"Speak to me, whore! Have you forgotten that your fate lies in my hands now? If I told the Queen of you and your mother's schemings, both of your heads would be lopped off!"
Eleanora could not tolerate it any longer. "Leave me alone," she retorted, hoping that her voice was intimidating enough to ward him off. But instead of walking away, Sir Rolf let out a peal of amused laughter.
"Ah, so you do have a voice. Now, tell me, Your Majesty, how is our son doing? You should be able to tell by now, shouldn't you?" he chuckled.
This time, she did not look up. The hand that rested against her back suddenly tightened and pressed down a bit harder than necessary, causing pain to shoot through her side. Eleanora gasped, unable to contain her reaction, but still said nothing. She refused to give him the satisfaction.
