“We’ve got your daughter. If you want her b■ck, prepare ■ hundred gold coins.”
“…What did you just say?”
The letter crumpled with a harsh, damp sound in Luke’s fist.
Today, Luke had been visiting a small town within his domain. He had met with the mayor, inspected the streets, and exchanged the sort of polite words expected of a feudal lord. When all was finished, he accepted the mayor’s hospitality and rested briefly in the mayor’s residence.
That was when a servant approached and bowed.
“This is addressed to you, my lord.”
Luke had taken it with a faint frown. Why would a letter to him arrive here, of all places?
He broke the seal.
And found, absurdly enough, a threat.
The words were a cheap imitation of the sort of ransom note one might see in a penny dreadful. The handwriting was atrocious, the phrasing painfully cliché, and the paper was scarred with clumsy corrections where the writer had botched even their own menace.
None of that mattered.
The moment Luke read that his daughter had been taken, the composure he wore like armor shattered. His face went white as he stared at the page, as though sheer will could make the words change.
“My lord?” the mayor asked, alarmed. “That letter is—”
“Forgive me.” Luke rose so quickly his chair scraped. “I must return at once.”
Lunch had been prepared. There had been more discussions planned. It all vanished from his mind as if it had never existed.
The mayor, sensing something grave, hurried to see him off.
“Please do not trouble yourself,” the man said, forcing calm into his voice. “Go.”
Luke gave a curt nod, offered the briefest thanks, and strode outside.
His horse was already waiting. He swung into the saddle, drove his heel to its flank, and tore away from the residence as though the wind itself had lashed him.
Deidre had been abducted.
His only daughter. His treasure. The one light that had kept his heart from turning to ash.
After Camilla had been petrified, Luke had sworn he would raise Deidre into a proper lady. Deidre, now sixteen, had grown into a young woman of striking beauty, so reminiscent of her mother that it sometimes stole Luke’s breath. She was righteous, kind, and strong.
Camilla and Deidre were his entire world.
Whoever dared lay hands on what he loved…
He would not forgive them.
“Deidre!”
The moment he returned to the estate, Luke’s voice rang through the halls so fiercely it seemed it might tear his throat. The servants, who had been told their master would not return until evening, scattered in confusion. Luke barely registered them as he forced his way toward the sitting room.
“Deidre—”
He burst through the doors, pale as death.
And stopped.
“…Why are you here?”
Deidre sat perfectly at ease with a teacup in hand, as though the day had been peaceful from beginning to end. She looked up at him, blinking slowly.
“Must I not be?”
For a single, stunned heartbeat, Luke could not move.
Then his gaze dropped to the crushed paper still in his hand.
And his mind, with the grim thoroughness of a man used to battlefields, began to sort through the impossible.
Elsewhere
Camilla drifted awake with the sensation of being hauled upward from deep water.
Her eyes opened, but the world refused to hold still.
She tried to push herself upright. The moment she moved, her head swam violently, and she collapsed back to the floor with a soft thud. The ceiling spun above her in lazy circles, as though she were the needle of a compass and the world could not decide which way was north.
“…Where am I?”
Her voice came out thin.
She squeezed her eyes shut and searched her memory.
She had been in the garden. The weather had been fine, and Luke had left early that morning for the nearby town, saying he would return around evening. Camilla, still in what Luke insisted was a “recovery period,” had been instructed to rest inside the estate.
Even so, he had finally conceded that she might stroll in the garden without an escort.
So she had gone out, delighted by something as simple as sunlight. She had knelt among the winter flowers, pulling weeds and brushing soil from delicate stems.
And then…
Now she was in an unfamiliar room, sprawled on the floor.
Her hands and feet were not bound. That alone was a mercy. Still, her mind felt oddly soft at the edges, as though she had inhaled something sweet and wrong.
Had someone drugged her?
A slow chill crept up Camilla’s spine.
Kidnapping was, sadly, not a new story among the aristocracy. It had existed as long as wealth and desperation existed. The purpose was usually money. Sometimes, a family would decide the ransom cost too much.
Camilla did not truly believe Luke or Deidre would abandon her.
But believing that did not change the simple truth that she had no strength, no skill, and no weapon.
All she could do was endure until help arrived.
The door creaked open.
A rough voice followed.
“Oh. You’re awake.”
Camilla forced her eyes open again. Two men stepped into the room, both with faces that looked as though they had been carved by poor decisions.
One was thin and sharp, with restless eyes. The other was heavyset and moved with the confidence of a man who had never worried about fitting through a narrow doorway.
Both were young enough that they were likely still in their twenties. Both were filthy. Both wore smiles that made Camilla’s skin tighten with disgust.
“Who are you?” she asked, keeping her voice as steady as she could. “What do you want with me?”
Even Camilla, raised behind palace walls and then within a convent, understood that this was not a situation where innocence would protect her.
The men’s grins widened as though they were pleased she had spoken.
“Well, well,” the thin one drawled. “For a sheltered little lady, you’ve got some nerve.”
“Too bad for you,” the heavy one said, chuckling. “This is what you call a kidnapping.”
Camilla’s throat tightened, but she did not let panic show on her face.
Then the heavyset man leaned forward with a leer.
“Give it up already, Deidre.”
Camilla blinked.
“Pardon?”
The thin man laughed.
“Stop playing dumb. We know exactly who you are. The Earl of Beresford’s precious daughter.”
“…You are mistaken,” Camilla said immediately, and then, realizing she had answered too quickly, clapped a hand over her mouth.
The men took her reaction the wrong way and roared with laughter.
“Hah! See? She flinched!”
“Not fooling us!”
Camilla tried again, firmer.
“I’m telling you, you have the wrong person.”
As she spoke the second denial, a strange understanding began to settle in her mind.
They thought she was Deidre.
How?
Camilla did not know how anyone could confuse a twenty-six-year-old woman with her sixteen-year-old daughter. Yet the fact remained: these fools believed they had taken Deidre.
A sharp relief bloomed under her fear.
If they had not taken Deidre, then Deidre was safe at home.
And if Deidre was safe, Camilla could bear a great deal.
The heavyset man strode over and grabbed Camilla’s arm.
She gasped as he yanked her up.
“See? Cute face,” he said, eyes glinting. “Let’s have a little fun.”
The thin man moved in as well.
Camilla squeezed her eyes shut.
She was not naïve. She understood what they meant.
Her heart hammered with terror, but she forced herself to breathe.
It would be all right.
If Deidre was unharmed, then Camilla could endure.
She repeated it to herself like a prayer.
It was only then that the door flew open with a thunderous bang.
“Stop right there, you filthy villains!”
A voice rang out, high with righteous fury.
The grip on Camilla’s arm vanished. The men shouted, startled and more than a little ridiculous.
“What the—!”
“Hey! Don’t touch us!”
Camilla opened her eyes, trembling.
Someone stood in front of her, shielding her body with his own. A wooden sword was in his hand. The two kidnappers had been driven back hard enough that they were now slumped against the wall, groaning.
The newcomer exhaled sharply, as though he had merely finished a light jog.
“Hmph. Is that all? Don’t worry, Deid—”
He swept a hand through his bangs and turned to her.
Camilla met his gaze.
For several long seconds, they stared at one another in perfect, baffled silence.
Then the boy’s face drained of color.
“…Who are you?”
Camilla very much wished to ask him the same thing.
