Veiled Whispers

Ch. 7 - The Grim Reaper

Theo

The sensation of being watched had become a constant shadow, a presence felt but unseen. A flicker in the periphery, a whisper of movement—always there, yet always just beyond sight. This phantom observer turned my thoughts to mist during the day's diplomatic engagements, where even in the absence of regal walls, the weight of my title as Duke never lifted.

This respite from duty, a negotiated interlude, was drawing to its inevitable close. Two months remained before the mantle of home would reclaim me, and yet, readiness eluded my grasp.

The meeting's end found me alone, save for one. "Your Grace, why did you ask for me?" Matteo's inquiry snapped me back to the present, his visage marked by the shadows of sleepless nights. The Lord Commander has been spending some tiring nights, sniffing for any piece for information he could gather.

"Mockery? Never, Mat. But remember, the Duke's cloak still rests upon my shoulders," I jested, though the levity felt hollow.
"Alright then. What is up with you, Theo?"
I smiled. Even though I'm ranks above him, to him, I'm just Theo, and to me, he is Mat. A bond forged deeper than blood.
He went on to say, "I checked the Old Shack by the way, none there knew of Lucius Salvadore. Are you certain that the information is to be trusted?"
His frown deepened at the mention of Lucius Salvadore, a name that seemed to slip through our fingers like smoke. "We must delve deeper. He's here, somewhere amidst the shadows," I insisted.

"Theo, is it really safe for you as the 'Duke' to delve into the underbelly of this city?"
Matteo's concern was palpable, yet I reassured him with a laugh. "My face is not one known to the masses. Anonymity has been my silent guardian."

As he departed, my gaze was drawn to a figure across the street—a man cloaked in black, his hat a stark silhouette against the dimming sky. His smile, a curve I knew all too well, beckoned me into the street's embrace.

●●●

Lily

The diary's revelations lingered like a specter in my mind, haunting my every thought. Val—the name now carried the weight of a lost prince, a figure woven intimately into Vincent's past.

Lost in contemplation, the sudden chill and the figure at my window jolted me from my reverie. The night air held a breath of menace as I stepped outside, only to find emptiness where a presence had been.

A voice, dark as the night itself, warned, "I wouldn't roam the castle grounds after dusk if I were you." The grim reaper man, his attire askew, exuded an allure that was as chilling as it was captivating.

"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice steady despite the tremor of curiosity within.

"A mystery for you to unravel," he teased, his words a labyrinthine puzzle.

"Why shouldn't I roam around?"
He smiled and said, "You can roam if you want to die a gruesome death by the hands of vile creatures. On the very ground you stand, happens to be site of very famous ancient trial, and there are a lot of pissed off witches and vampires waiting to take revenge on the Hawthorne family for what they did."
His cryptic warnings of ancient trials and vengeful spirits sent a shiver down my spine.

"Until next time, Princess. Steer clear of the greenhouse, shun the midnight wanderings. I cannot bear to see my sole confidant join the ranks of the damned. And guard the diary—it is sought by many."

His knowledge of the diary, of my clandestine movements, stirred a whirlwind of questions. But before I could voice them, he vanished, leaving me alone with the night and a name unasked.