Deborah's POV
I woke early, just as the first rays of light crept through the curtains. The faint warmth of dawn painted the room in soft hues, but it did little to ease the restless thoughts that had followed me into sleep.
Despite my exhaustion from the previous night's events, I knew I couldn't afford to stay in bed any longer. This wasn't Ablach, where my every move was carefully orchestrated under Lugh's watchful eye. I was in Thorne territory now, and the purpose of my stay was to uncover information. Any sign of laziness or lack of decorum could undermine my efforts and arouse suspicion.
As I slipped out of bed and began my morning preparations, I decided against allowing the Thorne family maids to assist me. Their offers, though courteous, reminded me too much of the overly deferential mannerisms of the staff at Ablach. There, every smile, every bowed head, felt like a calculated move. Here, it was no different, and I found their presence more unsettling than helpful.
Instead, I chose to handle everything myself. I brushed my hair back into a neat yet simple style, careful to project an image of elegance without ostentation. My morning dress, a soft shade of cream, was understated yet refined—appropriate for someone of my supposed status but not designed to draw undue attention.
When I finally opened the door to leave my room, I was greeted by the familiar sight of Chad standing outside, his posture rigid and formal as ever. He looked as though he had been stationed there all night, an unyielding sentinel in dark attire.
"Good morning, Chad," I greeted him lightly, my tone deliberately casual.
"Good morning, Miss Edwards," he replied, his voice clipped and formal, as if we were mere strangers bound by professional obligation.
Then, without another word, he bent down to retrieve a suitcase from the floor. I recognized it immediately—it was mine. Its distinctive design left no room for doubt.
"This is your luggage, Miss Edwards," he said, his tone neutral as always, though his calm delivery belied the effort it must have taken to get here.
I stared at the suitcase for a moment, calculating the implications. The journey between Tairngire and Ablach was long and tedious, requiring at least three hours each way. Factoring in the time needed to prepare the luggage, Chad had likely driven through the night with little to no rest. The realization sent a ripple of unease through me—not enough to betray my composure, but enough to linger in the back of my mind.
"Bring it inside," I said simply, stepping aside to let him enter.
He complied without hesitation, carrying the suitcase into the room and placing it neatly in one corner. His movements were efficient and precise, but as he turned to leave, I caught the briefest flicker of something unusual in his expression. His gaze strayed momentarily to the window, which overlooked the conservatory garden below.
"Thank you," I said, my voice softer now, almost involuntary. I wasn't sure why I said it—perhaps out of courtesy, or perhaps because I couldn't entirely ignore the effort he had put into this task.
"It's nothing, Miss Edwards," he replied curtly, turning toward me. His face remained impassive, his demeanor unchanged. Yet, in that brief interaction, I felt the weight of his exhaustion, even if he refused to acknowledge it.
"You should rest before heading back," I added, more firmly this time. "Driving while fatigued is dangerous."
His response was immediate, his tone steady but unyielding. "Mr Edwards has instructed me to stay here in Tairngire to attend to your needs."
The corner of my mouth twitched. Attend to my needs? That phrasing was so like Lugh—commanding yet impersonal, as if I were another pawn in his endless game. I stepped closer to Chad, narrowing the already minimal distance between us. He stiffened slightly but didn't move away.
I tilted my head slightly, letting a strand of hair fall loose over my shoulder as I fixed my gaze on his face. My eyes narrowed just enough to suggest curiosity mixed with challenge. "Attend to my needs?" I repeated, my voice softening, the edges curling with mockery that danced just beneath the surface.
A faint smirk tugged at the corners of my lips as I took a deliberate step closer, closing the gap between us. My tone dropped, playful yet edged with sharp intent. "How?" I asked, pausing just long enough for the question to linger in the charged air between us. "Like this?" I leaned in, tilting my chin upward so my eyes could meet his fully, though he stubbornly avoided my gaze, his jaw tightening.
"How close are we talking? Like this?" My words came softer now, almost a whisper, as I took another small step forward, leaving only a hand's breadth between us. His shoulders stiffened visibly, the air around him coiling with tension he struggled to suppress.
I could see the way his throat bobbed subtly as he swallowed, his gaze flickering to the side as if searching for an escape. The sharp line of his jaw tightened further, and his fingers twitched at his sides before he clasped them behind his back, regaining his carefully cultivated composure.
The corner of my mouth curved slightly higher, amusement gleaming in my eyes as I took in his reaction. His retreating movements were barely perceptible, a fraction of a step back, yet enough to tell me I had successfully unsettled him. I straightened, letting the playful smirk fade into a neutral expression, and folded my hands before me.
"Well?" I said, my voice lilting with mock innocence. "How close?"
Chad took a measured step back, his composure unwavering despite the subtle tension in his movements. "As close as is necessary, Miss Edwards," he replied, his eyes carefully avoiding mine.
I couldn't help but smile at his discomfort. "Well then," I said, straightening my posture and gesturing toward the door, "let's get on with it."
He nodded once, his expression neutral, and opened the door for me. His every action was meticulous, calculated, and yet there was something undeniably human in the way he avoided my gaze—a vulnerability he perhaps didn't realize he was showing.
The morning sunlight streamed into the grand dining hall as I entered, guided by a maid. The Thorne family had spared no expense in creating an atmosphere of opulence. The high ceilings, gilded chandeliers, and intricately carved furniture were a testament to their wealth and influence. But beneath the surface, the air felt heavy, laden with unspoken tensions.
Mr and Mrs Thorne were already seated, their smiles warm and inviting as they greeted me. They exuded the effortless charm of seasoned hosts, their manners polished to perfection. Barron sat to my right, his youthful enthusiasm a stark contrast to the composed elegance of his parents.
Behind me, Chad stood silently, his presence constant as a shadow.
As I exchanged polite pleasantries with the Thornes, I couldn't ignore the subtle glances and whispers coming from the other end of the table. Barron's three elder brothers and their wives had also joined us, and their reception of me was far less welcoming.
"So," the eldest brother began, his tone deliberately casual but edged with skepticism. "You're the daughter Mr Edwards spent twenty-two years searching for?"
I turned to him with a polite smile, my expression betraying nothing. "Yes, he did," I replied evenly. "It's a relief to have finally reunited."
"Quite the story," his wife chimed in, her voice dripping with feigned admiration. "But it must be difficult for someone raised underground to adjust to life here. You seem… remarkably adaptable."
Her words were carefully chosen, each one carrying a subtle sting. She wasn't asking about my adjustment—she was questioning my legitimacy.
"I suppose I've always been good at adapting," I said lightly, refusing to rise to her bait. "The underground teaches you resilience."
The second brother leaned forward, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Resilience, indeed. Surviving the surface, living among the dangers of the ground… quite the achievement. Most people wouldn't make it out alive."
"Impressive," added his wife, her tone saccharine yet sharp. "One has to wonder how you managed it."
Their probing was relentless, their veiled accusations becoming increasingly bold. Each comment was a test, designed to unsettle me and force a misstep. But I held my ground, meeting their words with calculated responses.
"Perhaps I've just been lucky," I said, my tone deliberately nonchalant.
The conversation was interrupted by Barron, who had been growing visibly uncomfortable. "That's enough," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. "Deborah is our guest. There's no need for this."
His intervention was unexpected but not unwelcome. I turned to him, offering a grateful smile.
"Deborah," he said, leaning closer to me, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "how about we get out of here? I know a place with a much better breakfast."
Before I could answer, he stood and extended a hand to me, his actions bold and unreserved. "Let's go," he said with a grin.
I hesitated for only a moment before accepting his hand. Together, we left the dining hall, ignoring the murmurs of protest that followed us. Chad, of course, was not far behind, his quiet footsteps a constant reminder of his watchful presence.
As Barron drove us away from the estate, I couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between him and his brothers. His grip on the wheel was steady, his demeanor calm. Despite his youth, there was a maturity in the way he carried himself—an unspoken sincerity that set him apart.
"I hope I'm not being too forward," he said after a moment, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "I just didn't want you to endure any more of that."
"Thank you," I said simply, my voice soft.
"You don't need to thank me," he replied, his tone earnest. "I just… I don't think it's fair. Judging someone for where they come from—it's wrong."
I studied his profile, surprised by the conviction in his words.
"You're different," I said finally.
He smiled, a faint, self-deprecating curve of his lips. "Maybe. But it's only because I've seen what's wrong with this world."
For the first time, I felt a flicker of genuine respect for him.