Chapter 7 Chapter 7

Vivian

The morning light of the next day was an intruder. It cut through the heavy curtains of Adrian’s estate like a sharp blade, uncompromising.

I sat in the vanity, staring at the maid with the freckles.

She had introduced her name as Bess, struggling to cinch a corset around my ribs with a ruthlessness I couldn’t comprehend.

“Bess,” I gasped, clutching the edge of the mahogany table. “I need to… breathe. Oxygen is a requirement for living.”

“His Grace likes his guests to look their best for the morning meals, Miss,” the maid chirped, her fingers pressing the corset tighter.

“And oxygen is a very fine-sounding word, I’m sure. You do have the most peculiar way of speaking, like you swallowed a dictionary and it’s fighting its way out.”

I winced. I’d let the modern era of me take over again. I had to be careful.

I knew the dates, treaties, and fashion back in the days, but the rhythm of this life was another entire thing to me.

I was used to space, autonomy, and the ability to walk across a room freely without feeling like I was preparing for a car crash.

By the time the maid was done, I was enclosed in a morning gown of pale, primrose silk. It was pretty, no doubt, but it felt like a uniform.

She led me to the dining room, a cavern of gold leaf and ancestral portraits that seemed to watch my every move with clear disdain.

Adrian was already seated at the head of the table, long enough to host a small parliament.

He was reading a series of dispatches, his dark air reflecting in the daylight.

He looked every bit of the powerful duke, his composure intact as usual, the terror of the night a day before hidden perfectly behind a facade of a man concerned with corn laws and taxes.

The air in the room shifted as I approached the table with the maid, but Adrian didn’t look up.

I felt every prickle at the back of my neck. The sensation of a predator acknowledging its mate's presence without the use of sight.

“You are late, Vivian,” he said in a low, melodic rumble. “In this house, we do break our fast at eight. To do otherwise is to invite chaos into the domestic order.”

“Chaos is my middle name,” I shot back.

I pulled out the chair with a heavy scrape, the butler in the corner flinching as a result. “And back from where I come from, breakfast is a cup of coffee enjoyed while sprinting for a train.”

“Your world?” Adrian leaned back with a muse. “You speak of it as if it still exist. As if it’s a destination one might reach by carriage if the horses are fast enough.”

“It does exist.” I said, feeling the trap closing. “Just… not yet. Or not here. Adrian, we need to talk about that mirror. I saw it yesterday. You said you had it moved, but it’s sitting in a storage room in the West Wing, looking perfectly functional.”

Adrian’s expression didn’t shift, but he picked up a crystal glass of water, turning it so the light fractured across the table cloth, his grip a little too tight to make the water tremble.

“I told you it was a cursed thing. My concern is for your safety, Miss. The otherness you bring with you is intoxicating, but it is also a target. There are those in a ton and those in the woods who woul not be so hospitable to a woman who falls through time.”

I scoffed, leaning forward. “Hospitable? You’ve locked me up in a room with a corset and a maid who thinks I’m a changeling. You’re not protecting me, Adrian. You’re collecting me.”

Adrian stood up, his height dominating the room.

My shoulders tensed, and for a moment I thought I’d angered him.

He walked the length of the table, stopping just behind my chair. Then his breath ghosted the skin at the back of my neck.

“Five years ago,” he whispered. “I sat in a tent on the edge of the moors. A woman with no eyes told me that the moon would bring me the anchor for my soul. She said a woman would appear in the heart of a storm, dressed in a garb of a world that does not exist, bearing a fire that would either burn the duchy to the ground, or tame the wolf.”

I tensed, hoping I wasn’t the one he was talking about even when all indications claimed I was the one.

I felt his hand hold the back of the chair as he continued.

“I have waited five years for those eyes, Vivian. I have built this life, this cage as you call it, to ensure that when you arrive, you will have a place to belong. You are a prophecy fulfilled, Vivian, not a guest.”

My heart hammered against my chest. I was not supposed to be scared, since I didn’t anger him.

I couldn’t tell if my heart was jumping because of the romantic weight in his words, the sheer, terrifying possessiveness in his tone, or the fact that I may never see my world again.

“I’m not an anchor, Adrian,” I replied, keeping my gaze straight ahead. “I’m a person. Didn’t your prophecy mention that I have a life I actually like? I have a family. I have a career. I have a cat who’s probably wondering why his bowl is empty.”

“A cat,” a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “You would choose a feline and a career over the protection of the House of Northbrook? Over a man who would tear the throat from any beast that dared look at you?”

I felt that tug again. That tug I felt pulling me towards him the first day I met him, and I ignored it.

“Yes!” I snapped. “Because in my world, men don’t have to tear throats to show that they care! They just… buy you dinner and text you back!”

Adrian rounded the table to face me, and the air around us shifted.