Chapter 3: Breakfast With a Stranger

The gown they chose was pale lavender with silver trim. Someone—likely Thalia—had laid it out while Sabine slept. It had pearl buttons running from throat to hip and sleeves tight enough to restrict movement. It wasn’t made for someone who needed to run.

Sabine stared at herself in the mirror for a long time before going downstairs. The reflection didn’t belong to her. The girl in the glass had calm eyes, composed lips, and no bruises. She didn’t exist. She had never bled on cobblestones or eaten apple cores in alleyways.

But she was who they wanted.

Sabine adjusted her collar and descended the stairs with a pace that mimicked confidence.

The breakfast room sat on the east wing of the estate—a long corridor of filtered morning light and chilled marble underfoot. A footman bowed as he opened the tall double doors, and she stepped into a room that smelled faintly of coffee and firewood.

The Duke was already seated at the far end of a long, polished table. No one else was present.

He looked up once, then resumed buttering a slice of dark bread.

Sabine paused a heartbeat too long before walking toward the opposite end of the table. The chairs were velvet, the utensils bone-handled, and the plates white porcelain with silver trim. She chose the one that seemed least formal.

No one told her to sit. She sat anyway.

A servant ghosted forward to pour her tea.

Sabine kept her hands still. Her movements deliberate. She stirred the tea once, clockwise, the way she imagined a Duchess might. Her fingers itched to fidget, to grab the nearest knife and test its weight. Instead, she folded them neatly in her lap and looked across the table.

The Duke ate in silence. No glances. No conversation.

Just the sound of his knife slicing through eggs and the soft clink of china.

Sabine cleared her throat.

“You keep a quiet table.”

He didn’t look up. “I find it efficient.”

She took a small sip of tea. “And conversation?”

“Distracting.”

Sabine set her cup down carefully. “I suppose I’ve changed that too.”

This time, his gaze lifted. Just for a moment. And there was something almost amused behind it.

“You’ve changed everything.”

He said it like a fact. Not an accusation. Which, somehow, made it worse.

She took a slice of toast to give her hands something to do. Her stomach was empty, but the food turned to powder in her mouth. She swallowed anyway.

Across from her, the Duke reached for a folded letter beside his plate and read while he ate.

Sabine watched him over the rim of her cup. He didn’t slouch. He didn’t fidget. Every movement was precise—like someone trained not just in etiquette but in dominance. He was the kind of man who didn’t raise his voice because he never needed to.

“Are there others?” she asked, suddenly.

He looked up again, brow faintly lifted. “Others?”

She gestured vaguely. “Guests. Courtiers. Someone else in this—palace.”

“This is not a palace. It is my home.”

“So no visitors?”

“Not today.” A pause. “Why?”

Sabine shrugged, casually. “It’s just strange to eat in silence when there are so many chairs.”

“Would you prefer to dine among liars?”

The air between them cooled.

Sabine tilted her head. “Aren’t I already?”

A flicker of something crossed his face. But then he returned to his letter.

The silence thickened, this time sharp-edged.

Sabine turned her attention to the windows behind him. They overlooked the eastern gardens—rows of hedges carved into perfect geometry. At the far edge, a line of trees held back the mist. Somewhere beyond them, horses whinnied. Servants moved like shadows along the paths. A world that functioned perfectly without her.

She took another bite of toast, slower this time.

The quiet stretched.

Then came a sound—the soft squeak of leather boots against marble.

A man appeared in the doorway. Young, golden-haired, dressed in dark plum with a signet ring glinting on his finger. He looked at Sabine first, smiled faintly, then turned to the Duke.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“You are,” said the Duke.

The newcomer entered anyway.

Sabine glanced between them.

“This must be the Duchess,” the man said smoothly. “Returned from your travels. I’ve heard so much.”

She stood as etiquette demanded—awkwardly.

He reached for her hand and kissed it gently. “Lord Julian Elbourne,” he said. “At your service.”

Sabine studied his face. Too handsome. Too confident. The kind of man who could charm a crowd while stealing their wallets.

Julian turned to the Duke. “You didn’t mention your wife was… different.”

The Duke didn’t reply.

Sabine smiled faintly. “It’s a common theme this morning.”

Julian’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Well, Your Grace, I’m delighted you’ve returned. We feared Ravener had swallowed you whole.”