Chapter 55

Chapter 55

James knew little about the technical details of magic; he only vaguely understood a few things Rose had explained in passing.

Still, he thought, there was no need to go this far.

By now the sun was rising, filling the usually shaded corners of James’s room with a bright light that insisted it was just another peaceful July morning. Yet James felt a subtle, persistent unease that didn’t match the day’s ordinary calm.

Why can I still feel it?

The urgent note sent hours ago had already burned itself to ash, but every sense in his body continued to warn him that something foreign still existed within these walls.

He quickly scanned the room, then drew the curtains shut to block out the light entirely. His gaze sharpened as it fell on the mantlepiece.

It was lined with luxurious items: a rug made from the first fox he’d hunted, an ornate clock that had graced the Dautryche hearth for over a century, imported porcelain flowers from the East, framed photographs.

Among these things, James finally found what was out of place.

“This must be it.”

He reached behind a vase and picked it up: a small carving of a mouse and a bird, both whittled from wood.

Unless you deliberately focused your senses to detect magic, you’d never notice the faint trace emanating from it.

But the magic didn’t belong to Rose. Nor did it match the person who had just used magic to send that urgent note.

And given that it had been hidden here without the owner’s knowledge, it clearly wasn’t left in good faith.

James studied the carving in silence before quietly returning it behind the vase.

Finding an object imbued with a stranger’s magic in his most private room was one thing. But what did that say about the rest of the house?

He turned on his heel and flung the door open.

“Ah—sir!”

Philip stood outside clutching an armful of newspapers, his face lighting up in greeting.

“I brought all the morning editions. Some of the papers still have the same slanted tone. I’m sure it’s the Keith Company’s doing.”

James barely listened. He strode briskly toward his study.

“W-Wait! Sir!”

Once in the study, he swept his sharp gaze over the stacks of papers and books piled high.

Sure enough, after only a short search, he sensed it there too—a faint but unmistakable foreign magic.

And not just in his study.

He could feel it in the hallways, even in the entrance hall if he concentrated.

Ridiculous.

A humorless laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

It wasn’t long ago I couldn’t sense any of this; now I can even tell whose magic it is.

He’d believed himself to live a life untouched by anything supernatural. Yet here he was, his feet planted firmly in the realm of the extraordinary.

James Dautryche: the man who ran a textile factory powered by the latest machines; who built ships and laid railways across the kingdom; who sponsored scientists and biologists.

Even thinking about it felt absurd. He found himself standing in the entrance hall on the first floor, letting out another hollow laugh.

“Master. Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing at all.”

Seeing James wander the manor like a man possessed only to burst into uneasy laughter was enough to unnerve not just Philip, but even the butler.

“Philip.”

“Yes, sir?”

“That matter about the southern distribution lines—no, we’ll discuss it later. For now, take the newspapers to the office.”

“Understood. Then, will you be heading in to work today?”

“Yes. I’ll see you at the office.”

James gave a single nod before turning toward the staircase that led to the second floor.

After vomiting and even passing out from the horrific visions she’d pulled from the ring’s memory, Rose hadn’t seen so much as a single strand of James’s hair for three whole days.

The shame of it ate at her more than she cared to admit; she hadn’t dared face him since the mortifying moment she’d brazenly run her hands over his face.

No matter how many nights she pounded her pillow in frustration, the guilt and embarrassment refused to fade.

“Was I… too much of a mess?”

Her voice slipped out before she could stop it, startling the maids who were bustling around her room to tend to her.

“Oh, miss! What are you saying?” One of them exclaimed, her eyes going wide. “The master has only been busy, that’s all—he still came every day to see you sleeping.”

“…What?”

“Ah, truly! I’ve worked here for over ten years, and I’ve never seen him so devoted.”

“That’s right. The day you collapsed? I’ve never seen him so panicked!”

“Exactly! He’s been so incredibly attentive.”

The maids began chattering all at once, passionately describing how unusual it had been to see James so rattled—and how he’d sat by Rose’s side through entire nights.

But Rose could only stare at them in disbelief.

What is this, some cheesy romance novel? Like he has time to stand around watching me sleep every night.

Her unimpressed expression drew small sighs from the maids.

“So where is James now?” she asked at last.

“He had an early meeting yesterday and left for the company before dawn. He hasn’t returned yet.”

“He hasn’t come home?”

She felt her lower lip jut out before she could stop it, earning a ripple of giggles from the maids.

Rose ignored them. She didn’t like this one bit.

If James was avoiding her because she’d been rude and grabbed his face like that, she’d be relieved, in a way. At least it would make sense.

But she couldn’t just sit around forever waiting for him; time wasn’t on their side.

I have to tell him what I saw.

She bit down on her lip, anxiety simmering in her chest.

They couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Those so-called “priests of Ouroboros”—an absurdly pretentious name if she thought about it—could strike at any moment.

Someone else could end up dead. And that victim would likely be another Revis, just like Betty.

Rose flung back the covers and got to her feet.

“Then I’ll just go to him myself.”

Before the maids could even react—faces flushing, hands flying to their mouths in silent shrieks—the very voice she’d been longing and dreading to hear for three days drifted in from the open door.

“No need to go anywhere. I’m right here.”

James stood at the threshold, framed by the light from the open window she’d had cracked for air.

The moment he appeared, the room went dead silent. The maids who had been gossiping seconds before scattered like the tide retreating from shore, leaving behind a heavy, awkward hush.

Rose stared.

“Oh.”

He arched a brow. “‘Oh’?”

“I mean… oh, you’re here… I mean…”

She tripped over the words, completely flustered. Should she say it had been so long? Or just greet him normally?

James’s lips curved into a quiet smile as he stepped closer.

“Yes. I’m here. It’s been a while.”

She felt her face burn. Worse, she suddenly remembered she was standing there in nothing but the thin, summer-weight chemise she used for sleeping.

She folded her arms in what she hoped looked casual, trying to cover herself without making it obvious, and inched back a step.

James’s mouth twitched as though suppressing laughter.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, her voice too quick and defensive.

His eyes narrowed skeptically as he studied her from head to toe.

“Your clothes are rather thin.”

He picked up the silk robe draped over the back of a chair and draped it gently over her shoulders.

Only once the cool fabric settled against her skin did her embarrassment begin to fade.

“Thank you,” she managed.

“Don’t mention it.”

She pulled the robe tighter around herself, carefully tying the sash before finally looking him in the face.

He was, as ever, infuriatingly handsome, all strong lines and precise details that made her heart stutter. But there were shadows under his eyes, the rough texture of stubble along his jaw hinting at nights with little sleep.

“Don’t tell me you stayed up all night,” she murmured.

James let out a short laugh. “Being fussed over by my patient isn’t so bad.”

He smiled, but the red rims of his eyes told the truth.

Of course. He’s the head of a massive company—it’s not like he can just take days off.

Maybe those hours they’d stolen together before really had been the exception.

James’s tone shifted, a wry edge returning.

“So tell me—why is my frail, convalescing patient so eager to see me first thing in the morning?”