The theatre reeked of stale perfume, sweat, and desperation. Elowen stood amidst it, regal and composed, as the imposing man behind the desk gave her a slow, amused once- over.
"I told you already, Miss Grantham," Director Bramwell Whitlow said, his voice thick with boredom and mild contempt, "You're a doll- not for the stage, but perhaps for the bedroom."
Elowen's fingers curled around the hem of her modest dress. "And yet this 'doll' has more emotion in her pinky than your entire troupe does on their best night."
Whitlow smirked "Is that so?"
She took a step forward, her chin high. "All I'm asking for is a chance. You'll regret ignoring talent for aesthetics."
He leaned back, amused. "Hmm. Lucky for you, there's an upcoming performance exhibition- six days from now at the opera. Final three winners receive a reward. If you're that desperate to prove you're more than a pretty face…" He plucked a flower from the corner of his desk and flung it at her. "Try that."
The flyer smacked her face and fluttered to the ground.
She bent, picked it up with calm precision, and smiled. "I will."
After leaving the theatre grounds, Elowen boarded a carriage and soon arrived at the local registry of Eldhollow. The reception was dry, the hall echoing with bureaucratic tension. She filled in her application to work as a clerk or assistant- something stable, at least for now.
As she stepped outside, a familiar, heavily perfumed voice caught her ear.
"Elowen Grantham," came the chirp. Dianne Marshall, barely eighteen, sparkled in her pink silks. "Still chasing dreams, are we? Can't believe Greydock's prettiest hasn't snagged a husband yet."
Elowen offered her a bland smile. "Marriage doesn't equal ambition, Dianne."
Dianne scoffed. "Well, ambition doesn't put jewels on your neck. I'll be Count Marwick's seventh wife next week. Half- vampire, rich, and very generous."
Elowen smirked. "Seventh wife? Oh, how modern of you. Perhaps by the tenth, he'll remember names."
Dianne's face flushed with rage. "At least I don't wear rags to beg for jobs."
"No, you just sell your hand to the highest bidder. Good luck remembering your worth."
Dianne huffed and stomped away, her pride wounded.
Elowen turned, sighing- but froze. A tall man stood across the registry steps, silver-ringed eyes fixed on her. Pureblood. Rhys Glenshade.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to.
His gaze was cold, calculating. Something about it made her blood chill.
Then a familiar carriage rolled to a stop.
"Elowen!" Maeryn waved from the window, radiant as always.
Elowen climbed in gratefully, relaxing as the door shut behind her.
"Ewan sent us?" she asked.
Maeryn grinned. "Of course. Told the coachman to take me wherever I pleased. He's kind like that."
Elowen chuckled. "He's just been nice."
"There's nice, and there's interested, Elowen," Maeryn teased. "Wouldn't sound too terrible being Mrs. Blair, would it?"
Elowen laughed again. "Please."
The carriage neared the Greystone Dock Portroad- a place that split in three directions: toward the bustling boat decks, the thick shadowed wood forests, and a barely marked trail leading into the Black Market.
Maeryn tapped the carriage roof. "Stop here. We'll walk."
The coachman raised an eyebrow. "Here?"
"Yes. No further."
Miles away, the towering Secretariat House, Lord Julian Ravenshade stepped from his private carriage. Polished boots clicked against stone as he strode through the arching entrance.
"Morning, my Lord," murmured Noel, blonde and sharp- eyed.
"Welcome, Lord Julian," added Johnnie, tall and dark skin with solemn respect.
Julian didn't respond. His coat was long, tailored to elegance, and his cravat folded with impeccable care. With quiet grace, he moved into his office and buried himself in a pile paperwork.
Hours passed.
Then he stood.
"I'll be taking a break," he said suddenly.
"Perhaps an hour or two. Depending on when these handsome eyes grow bored."
Both Noel and Johnnie blinked. Lord Julian had never been the one to take a break from duty, he wouldn't lift his eyes from his desk until he had finished.
"My Lord…? Noel asked.
Julian raised a brow. "Was that your tongue or your foolishness talking, Noel?"
"No, no, my Lord!" he stammered.
Julian vanished from the doorway- not by carriage.
But by magic.
Inside the registry, Registrar Elric Thornvale, a half- vampire with noble roots, stood abruptly from his desk as Julian materialized.
"My Lord Ravenshade," he bowed. "To what do we owe…"
Julian didn't answer. The creature didn't deserve his reply. He perceived the wildflower scent on the armrest and the sign pen like she had been the last one to use it. He glided toward the register book, eyes flicking over pages, inhaling softly.
Dianne Marshall. Relocating to Caerfell Keep.
Elowen Grantham. Former applicant for Theatre Actress, applying now as a clerk.
Interesting.
He closed the book with one hand and finally said, "Just checking if you're in need of a repair or… replacement."
Registrar Thornvale looked puzzled, unnerved. "Of course, my Lord."
Without further word, Julian turned and vanished again.
Tracking her scent with his magic, he appeared at the entrance of the Black Market.
"Let's do some shopping, wildflower," he murmured.
Draped in a dark overcoat and brimmed hat, Julian blended in easily among the shadows. The Black Market was a world apart- wood stalls, crooked lanterns, narrow alleys filled with whispered trades and strange eyes.
He approached a scarred man leaning against a barrel.
"My Lord," the man bowed, one man crossing his chest.
"Sebastian. How are the days?"
"Well, my Lord. In need of anything potent?"
Julian turned his eyes to the depths of the market. "Tell me what you know of Blackstone."
A pause. A heartbeat.
Sebastian hesitated. "Not much…"
Julian didn't press- he didn't have to.
Elsewhere, Elowen and Maeryn moved through the market's base level.
"Arthur," Maeryn called to a stallholder, "Any black powder in stock?" the blackstone was called this… as a disguised name.
He pulled out a dull black gem.
"This is it."
Maeryn frowned. "Diluted. I need the real thing."
"Wales brings those. You'd need to go yourself."
Elowen exhaled. "I'll look elsewhere."
"Don't get into trouble," Maeryn warned.
Elowen dipped beneath a canopy and walked deeper- where fewer people roamed. She wasn't looking when she collided into a tall figure, her forehead grazing something firm. She stumbled.
A gloved hand steadied her briefly, then pulled back.
Julian.
His coat smelled faintly of pine and spice. Black, tailored, silver buttons gleamed. He was a monument. Devilishly handsome.
"I'm sure you've got eyes, young lady," he said coldly.
Elowen blinked up. "I'm sure you see clearly… old man."
He narrowed his gaze. "Old?"
"Yes. Looks like you need glasses- and a little youth for softer skin."
He chuckled darkly. "Theatre pillars and soured mood."
She stiffened. "You…."
She saw his eyes flicker crimson.
A pureblood.
She felt her heartbeat shift- but tried not to show it.
He smelled her fear.
Tough flower.
Just then, Maeryn's voice rang out. "Why are you standing there, Elowen?"
She turned back to respond, and when she looked again- he was gone.
"What's wrong, child?"
In the shadow edge of the Wood Forest, Julian stood still, hidden in mist.
"Elowen," he whispered. "A beautiful name for a wildflower."