Chapter 205: The Lake 1

BONNIE

The manor appeared all at once, as though the trees had been keeping it a secret.

One moment, the lane wound through a tunnel of interlocking branches, sunlight filtering through the leaves in shifting patches. The next, the canopy broke apart, revealing a sprawling manor perched on a gentle rise of clipped lawn. Three stories of pale gray stone, tall chimneys, and narrow windows set deep into the walls gave it the sort of imposing grandeur that belonged in a history book. Ivy crept up the eastern fa?ade, winding around the stonework like it had every intention of reclaiming the place. At the center stood a broad front door painted a deep, wine-red shade, like dried blood.

It was beautiful in a way that made me wonder what it had witnessed. The kind of place that had once been full of life, laughter, and people who had nowhere else they would rather be, before someone had shut the doors and left the walls to keep their secrets.

"Oh," I breathed.

"It is not much," Lysander said.

I turned to stare at him, then back at the manor. "Not much?" I pressed my fingertips against the window. "Lysander, there is a tower."

"That is a water tank dressed up to look like one." His tone was maddeningly casual. "My great-grandfather was unfortunately vain in every aspect of his life."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You are such a killjoy."

He said nothing, but the faint curve at the corner of his mouth gave him away. Lysander might have been determined to rob the manor of its grandeur, but he was enjoying my reaction far too much to make a convincing case for himself.

Past the east wing, the lawn sloped gently towards a lake nestled at the foot of the hill, its surface so bright beneath the afternoon sun that I had to squint against the glare. Reeds crowded the near bank, swaying in the breeze, while a dense line of pines stood along the opposite shore, their dark silhouettes stark against the cloudless sky. A heron stood motionless in the shallows, one slender leg lifted above the water, looking so perfectly still that I might have mistaken it for a statue.

I kept watching until the car rounded a bend and the hedge swallowed the view.

"We can go there," Lysander said.

I glanced at him. He wasn’t looking out at the lake. His head rested against the seat, and there was a small, knowing smile on his face, the sort that suggested he’d been watching me long enough to find my fascination amusing.

"Go where?"

"The lake." He nodded towards the window, though by then there was little left to see. "The water is cold and clean. There’s a pool on the near side where the rocks form a natural basin. It’s quite nice." He paused, his smile deepening. "I used to swim there every summer we came."

"I was only looking."

"Of course." His tone was far too agreeable to be sincere. "You were looking at it like you were already planning your first swim."

I turned towards him and shoved his shoulder with the flat of my hand. "Have you ever heard the concept of personal space?"

Lysander laughed, low and entirely unrepentant, but made no effort to move away. If anything, he seemed perfectly content to stay exactly where he was, looking altogether too pleased with himself.

I rolled my eyes and turned back towards the window, determined not to give him the satisfaction of another reaction, though I could still feel his amusement lingering beside me.

The car crunched over the gravel apron and came to a stop beside the manor. Behind us, the others arrived in quick succession, their engines falling silent one after another. Doors opened and shut, boots struck stone, and the quiet of the grounds gave way to the subdued activity of an arriving party.

Through the rear window, I watched the sentinels emerge from their vehicles and spread out without needing instructions. They took up positions along the hedgerows and near the stable, their attention moving between the roofline, the surrounding trees, and the approaches to the house. Whatever else this place was, it was not somewhere Lysander intended to leave unguarded.

I turned towards him. The amusement that had lingered in his expression throughout the drive had faded, leaving something more thoughtful in its place.

"I want you to know that I haven’t forgotten what I promised to tell you."

His gaze softened. "I haven’t forgotten, either, but I don’t mind waiting until you’re ready."

"Not for much longer." I hesitated, gathering the courage to meet his eyes. "I’ll tell you today."

He held my gaze for a moment, as though weighing my words, then nodded without asking a single question. The quiet trust in that simple gesture touched me more deeply than it should have. I could have kissed him for that alone.

The driver opened my door, and I stepped onto the gravel, which shifted beneath my shoes. The air was colder than I’d expected, crisp enough to fill my lungs with every breath. It smelled of pine, damp stone, and something faintly herbal beneath it, perhaps wild thyme crushed under the tires.

Lysander came around the bonnet and offered me his arm. I accepted it, telling myself it was because the uneven ground made walking in my shoes inconvenient, rather than because arriving at a manor full of strangers had suddenly made me feel out of place.

Before I could take another step, the front door swung open.

Eight people emerged and arranged themselves in two neat rows at the top of the steps. Four women in simple gray dresses and white aprons stood opposite four men dressed in dark waistcoats. They bowed together with such practiced precision that I wondered how many times they had rehearsed the gesture, or how long they had been waiting for this particular arrival.

An older man stepped out from between the rows. He was lean, with white hair brushed straight back from a deeply lined face, and he descended the steps with the careful dignity of someone whose joints had grown less cooperative with age but whose pride remained entirely intact.

"It has been a while, Alpha," he greeted Lysander warmly.

Then he paused, and a flicker of embarrassment crossed his weathered face.

"Forgive me. I suppose I should say Your Majesty now."

"Oh, please, Nicholas." Lysander’s posture relaxed, and for the first time since we’d arrived, the weight of his title seemed to slip from his shoulders. "Lysander is fine."

"That will not do."

"It was perfectly acceptable when I was nine and stealing your plums."

Nicholas’s eyes crinkled. "You were nine and a thief. A thief does not get to insist on being called Lysander once he has been crowned. It is the law of the house."

"Whose law, exactly?"

Nicholas regarded him with the serene confidence of a man who had been waiting years for the opportunity to win this particular argument.

"Yours, as it happens."

I pressed my lips together to hide my smile. Lysander shook his head, looking equal parts exasperated and fond, and something about the expression made him seem younger than I had ever seen him. Not the Regent, not the newly crowned king, but a boy who had once stolen plums from an old man and apparently never heard the end of it.

Nicholas turned his attention to me, his gaze settling on my face with the quiet scrutiny of someone accustomed to sizing up strangers long before deciding what to make of them. I found myself straightening beneath it.

"And you must be the healer."

I nodded, though the gesture came out a little awkward. "I am Bonnie."

"It is an honor, my lady." He bowed again, deeper this time, and the staff behind him followed suit. "To welcome a healer of the age of legend beneath this roof, after so many years. We had begun to believe the old gifts were lost to us. I am grateful to have lived long enough to see otherwise."

Heat crept up my neck. I had no idea what to do with my hands, so I clasped them in front of me and hoped that looked deliberate.

"Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say, but I’m not sure I quite live up to the stories."

"No one ever does," Nicholas replied, his expression softening. "That is how you know they are stories."

I wasn’t sure whether that was meant to reassure me, but it helped more than I expected.

He straightened and clapped twice, the sharp sound carrying across the gravel.

"Your rooms have been prepared, Your Majesty, my lady. Lunch will be served within the hour, and the cook has been warned that if the lamb is anything less than perfect, she will answer to me."

A few of the staff smiled discreetly.

Nicholas turned towards the waiting cars. "Come along, then. Let’s get everything inside."

The neat formation dissolved into purposeful movement. Men collected the luggage while the women hurried towards the house, their aprons swaying as they went. Within moments, the gravel was alive with footsteps, low voices, and the occasional clink of buckles.

Lysander leaned towards me, his voice dropping so that only I could hear him.

"Would you like to see the lake?"

I turned to him, blinking. "Now?"