Chapter 4

The encounter with Azrael Blackwood haunted Cerys long after she had escaped the dimly lit corridor, its memory a dark cloud that loomed over her. She couldn’t shake the image of the bloodied sword, the lifeless body, or the cold, calculating look in Azrael's eyes. But what unnerved her most was not just what she had seen—it was the realisation of the Duke's power, the ease with which he wielded it, and the implications of her having witnessed it. In the days following the ball, Cerys tried to resume her normal life, but the facade of normalcy crumbled quickly. Her encounter with Azrael had changed something fundamental within her, awakening her to the harsh realities of the world she inhabited. Cerys made her way down the hall nearing the drawing room when she noticed the door slightly ajar, not fully closed and the voice of her father and mother seeping through.

"We have no choice," her father's voice sounded desperate. "Cerys must marry Count Wellington. His wealth can save us."

Her mother's voice was cold, calculated. "The count’s money will ensure our comfort. She owes us this much."

The truth hit Cerys like a wave. Her family saw her as nothing more than a means to an end, a way to secure their own future at the cost of her happiness. The realisation was a bitter pill to swallow.

Hidden in the shadows just beyond the doorway, Cerys's heart hammered against her chest as she listened to her parents' conversation. The revelation that they were planning to marry her off to Count Wellington, a man known more for his wealth and age than any kindness or compassion, was a betrayal that cut deeper than any other.

Count Wellington was a name she knew all too well, whispered among the circles of high society with a mix of respect and fear. He was a man whose wealth was vast, but whose reputation for his love of younger women preceded him. To be married to such a man was a fate Cerys had never imagined for herself, even in her darkest moments. The thought of spending her life bound to someone like Count Wellington, trapped in a loveless marriage that was nothing more than a financial transaction, was unbearable. But more than that, it was the realisation that her parents, the two people who were supposed to protect and cherish her, were willing to sacrifice her on the altar of their own greed and ambition.

Feeling as though the walls were closing in around her, Cerys backed away from the door, her mind racing. Her future, it seemed, was being decided without her consent, her life bartered away like some commodity. The walk back to her room felt longer than ever, each step echoing ominously in the empty corridor, mirroring the turmoil churning within her.

Once inside the sanctity of her room, the door barely clicked shut before the façade of strength and defiance she had maintained crumbled. Cerys's knees buckled, and she found herself sinking to the floor, her back against the door as if to barricade herself from the world that demanded so much of her. The cool, hard wood against her spine was a stark contrast to the warmth of the tears that began to spill freely down her cheeks.

Dragging herself up, she made her way to the bed, collapsing onto it and burying her face into the pillow. The fabric muffled her sobs, each one a testament to the pain and confusion wracking her body and soul. Here, in the privacy of her room, Cerys allowed herself to grieve. Not just for the loss of her freedom, or for the future she had envisioned for herself—a future now forfeited in exchange for protection and a semblance of independence. But for the loss of innocence, for the realization that those she loved and trusted could so easily trade her happiness for their own gain.

"Why me?" she whispered into the pillow, her voice breaking. "Am I so worthless that my only value is in what I can secure for others?" The questions spiraled, each one a dagger to her already wounded spirit. The reality of her situation weighed heavily on her—soon to be the wife of a man shrouded in darkness and power, a man who demanded her silence on a matter of life and death. She had always believed she was more than just a pawn in the grand schemes of the high society into which she was born. She had dreams, aspirations, a desire to carve out a path defined by her choices, not the dictates of her lineage or the demands of men who saw her as nothing more than a means to an end.

The thought of her parents, willing to sacrifice her to Count Wellington for their own gain, stung anew. It was a betrayal that cut to the core, shaking her belief in what little she thought she had known about love and family. The room around her felt oppressively large and empty, a reflection of the isolation that gripped her heart. Cerys realized she was mourning—not just for the loss of her future as she had imagined it, but for the loss of herself. Who was Cerys Aldridge, if not a daughter, a pawn, a bride-to-be in a political match? The thought made her feel not just depressed, but witless, as if the very essence of who she was had been stripped away, leaving nothing but an empty shell.

In that moment, Cerys Aldridge was lost, adrift in a sea of despair, unable to see a way out, unable to muster the strength to even try. The world outside her door, with its intrigues and dangers, felt impossibly far away, and she felt utterly alone, disconnected from everything and everyone.