Chapter Four: Behind Closed Doors
959 Words
Elizabeth followed Damien into the house, she wasn't letting him walk away after dropping a statement like that.
The doors closed behind them with a heavy thud.
She turned instinctively.
The entrance was gone behind thick oak doors.
A key turned somewhere on the other side.
Her stomach tightened.
Damien kept walking.
The entrance hall was enormous. A wide staircase split in two halfway up before curving toward the second floor. Portraits lined the walls, watching every visitor who stepped inside. A fire burned in the marble fireplace even though it wasn't cold enough to need one.
Nothing about the place felt welcoming.
It felt... controlled.
"Damien."
He didn't stop.
She quickened her pace until she was beside him.
"You said I was the target."
"I said I think you were."
"Based on what?"
He glanced at her.
"If someone wanted Isabelle, why send a message asking you to come alone?"
Elizabeth opened her mouth, then stopped.
She hadn't thought of that.
He continued.
"They knew you'd come."
"They used her phone."
"Yes."
"They could've forced her."
"They could have."
"So you don't know."
"I don't."
"Then stop acting like you do."
He accepted that with a small nod.
"Fair."
That caught her off guard.
"You admit you're guessing?"
"I'm putting facts together."
"And?"
"And they don't fit."
They reached another set of doors.
A man in a black suit opened them without being asked.
"The council is waiting, my lord."
"I know."
The man looked at Elizabeth.
"Should I escort Miss McLauren upstairs?"
"No," Elizabeth answered before Damien could.
"I'm staying right here."
"I'm afraid that's not possible," the man said politely.
"It is if I refuse to move."
Damien finally stopped walking.
"The meeting doesn't concern you."
"My kidnapping does."
"They're not the same thing."
"They are to me."
He looked at her for a moment.
"You'll get your answers."
"When?"
"When I have them."
Elizabeth folded her arms.
"That's not good enough."
A silence settled between them.
Finally Damien looked at the man.
"Give us five minutes."
"Yes, my lord."
The doors closed again and they were alone in the hallway.
Elizabeth waited.
"So?"
Damien leaned lightly against the wall.
"I really don't know where Isabelle is."
"I keep hearing that."
"I'm telling the truth."
"And yet I'm standing in her place."
"I didn't ask for that."
"You didn't stop it either."
"No."
His honesty irritated her, she wished he'd lie.
At least then she'd know what she was fighting.
Instead, every answer sounded like someone carrying out orders they didn't agree with.
"Do you always do what you're told?"
His eyes met hers.
"No."
"But this time you are."
"This time I have to."
"Why?"
He didn't answer.
She laughed softly.
"I knew it."
"What?"
"You don't trust me."
"I've known you for fifteen minutes."
"Exactly."
"So why would I?"
"Fair point."
He pushed himself away from the wall.
"But trust isn't really our biggest problem."
"What is?"
"The people waiting in that room."
Elizabeth looked toward the closed doors.
"Who are they?"
"The heads of the Great Houses."
Her eyebrows lifted.
"All of them?"
"Most."
"They're all here?"
"Yes."
"For a wedding?"
"For something much bigger than a wedding."
Before she could ask another question, voices rose behind the doors.
Someone inside wasn't happy.
"...this delay is unacceptable."
Another voice answered.
"We proceed today."
"The bride isn't here."
"Then find her."
Elizabeth looked back at Damien.
"They're talking about Isabelle."
"Yes."
"Shouldn't they be looking for her instead of holding meetings?"
"They are."
"It doesn't sound like it."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"You'll learn something very quickly about families like ours."
"Ours?"
He corrected himself.
"Families like mine."
"They don't panic in public."
"So they panic in private?"
"Sometimes."
The corner of Elizabeth's mouth lifted despite herself.
"That almost sounded human."
He gave the smallest shrug.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Before she could reply, the doors opened again.
An older man stepped out.
He was somewhere in his seventies, dressed in a navy suit with a silver walking stick he clearly didn't need.
His sharp blue eyes landed on Elizabeth immediately.
He smiled.
"There she is."
Elizabeth didn't smile back.
"I don't believe we've met."
"No."
His smile widened.
"But I've heard a great deal about you."
"I doubt that."
He walked toward her.
"My name is Charles Ashbourne."
The name rang a bell, another Great House member. He is from one of the families from her grandfather's stories.
Charles studied her face for several seconds.
Then he looked at Damien.
"This is unfortunate."
Damien's voice stayed calm.
"I know."
Charles sighed.
"She's nothing like Isabelle."
Elizabeth frowned.
"Excuse me?"
Charles looked back at her.
"My dear, that wasn't an insult."
"It certainly sounded like one."
He chuckled.
"Good."
She blinked.
"Good?"
"You've got spirit."
He tapped his walking stick once against the floor.
"That may keep you alive."
The hallway fell silent.
Elizabeth stared at him.
"What does that mean?"
Charles looked at Damien again.
"You haven't told her."
"I've barely had the chance."
"Then you'd better."
Charles adjusted his cufflinks.
"Because once that meeting ends..."
He glanced toward the council room.
"...none of our opinions will matter anymore."
Elizabeth felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
"What happens after the meeting?"
Neither man answered.
Charles simply gave Damien one last look before walking back into the room.
The doors closed behind him.
Elizabeth turned slowly.
"What did he mean?"
Damien looked exhausted.
"It means..."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"...if the council votes to continue the alliance..."
Elizabeth waited.
"...you won't be leaving Raven Court."
She stared at him.
"For how long?"
Damien's answer came quietly.
"For the rest of your life."
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