Chapter 5: Packing for a Hostage Situation
The next morning, Seraphina awoke to a note next to her bedside.The card was heavy, cream-colored, the edges gilded. The script was an ostentatious, swirling copperplate. ‘Join us in the Grand Dining Room for Breakfast!’ She knew from the font and the quality of the paper that it was from Caspian’s parents. Seraphina rolled her eyes as she fell back into the pillows, the memory of last night’s silent, furious encounter in the library sticking to her like a film. She was in no mood to participate in fake, polite pleasantries. But her father’s voice rang in her ears—‘Give it a chance’—and she remembered her promise to him. Reluctantly, she pushed back the black silk sheets and got ready for whatever fresh hell the Ashfords had concocted for her today.By the time she got downstairs, the scene was already set. Caspian was seated with his parents at the long, grim table, leaning back in his chair with a practiced indolence. The smell of blood-infused coq au vin and bitter coffee hung in the air.When he saw her, his head snapped up. A knowing smile crept onto his face, slow and deliberate.He stood, pulling out the heavy chair beside him with exaggerated courtesy.
“Lady Seraphina.Good morning.”
The air crackled with unspoken challenge. She could feel his parents’ eyes on her, watching this little performance. She politely took the seat with a tight smile, her violet eyes full of barely hidden rage.
Caspian’s father, Alistair Ashford, a man whose face looked like it had been carved from granite and forgotten by time, lifted a crystal glass of something dark and viscous.“Glad to see you this morning. Please, eat.We have much to discuss.” His voice was like gravel shifting. “I trust you have found your stay… pleasurable?”
Seraphina’s gaze flicked to Caspian, who was now studying his own glass with feigned disinterest. “Yes… very,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.“You have a lovely estate. And your staff is very attentive.”
“Thank you! We Ashfords have very high expectations.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Speaking of expectations,” Alistair continued, his cold eyes pinning her. “How are you and my son getting along? I trust he has been nothing short of a gentleman.”
Seraphina took a slow breath, the scent of Caspian’s expensive cologne mingling with the blood-meat on her plate.She could feel him watching her now, waiting for her reply. “Caspian,” she said, letting the name hang for a moment, “is interesting. To say the least.”
Alistair’s lips stretched into something approximating a smile.“Great! Then it’s settled.”
A cold knot formed in Seraphina’s stomach. “What’s settled?”
“I’m sending you and Caspian on a little weekend getaway.To Paris. A change of scenery, to really get to know each other, to really… decide on this engagement.” He gestured with his fork between them. “I’ve noticed you two have been a bit distant these last couple weeks.This will fix that.”
Seraphina and Caspian looked at each other. His green eyes held a flicker of genuine surprise, quickly masked by cool amusement. He hadn’t known about this either. Before either could muster a protest, Alistair spoke again, his voice brooking no argument.“Go on and get packed. The jet leaves this evening.” He returned to his meal as if he’d just commented on the weather.The dismissal was absolute. Seraphina sat, stunned, the food on her plate turning to ash in her mouth.A getaway.A cage, more like. Trapped in a foreign city with him, under the guise of romantic decision. This was a new move on the board, one she hadn’t anticipated. She pushed her chair back, the legs screeching against the ancient floor. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She didn’t wait for a response.
Back in the cavernous, velvet-draped silence of her guest room, the storm broke.She paced, a trapped animal fueled by wrath. Her open luggage lay on the bed like a gaping mouth. She grabbed armfuls of clothes from the wardrobe and threw them in with violent, jerky movements. Silk dresses, tailored trousers, cashmere sweaters—all became projectiles in her rage.Paris. The city of light, of art, of everything she loved, was now being used as a gilded prison by the Ashfords.The audacity.The manipulation.
A soft knock at the door cut through her fury. “Enter,” she snapped, expecting a maid.It was Leo. He stood hesitantly in the doorway, his frame almost swallowed by the enormous oak door.He looked paler than usual, the dark circles under his eyes pronounced. In his hands, he held a small, plain leather journal.
“I… I saw you storm out of the dining room,” he said, his voice quiet. “I thought you might need this.” He took a tentative step forward and held out the journal.“It’s a travel sketchbook. I noticed yours was getting full. The paper is good for ink washes, not just pencil.”
His kindness was a physical ache. It was so starkly, painfully genuine against the calculated cruelty of the world outside this room.The fury bled out of her, leaving a hollow exhaustion. She stopped her frenetic packing and crossed the room, taking the journal from him. The leather was supple, warm from his hands.“Leo,” she said, her voice softer now. “Thank you.” She ran her thumb over the blank cover, a strange tenderness welling up. It was the first purely nice thing anyone had done for her since she arrived.
He smiled, a shy, hopeful thing that briefly erased the weariness from his face. “I hope you… I hope Paris is inspiring.”
Their fingers brushed as she took the book fully. The touch was electric, a tiny, human spark in the vampiric gloom.For a second, the vast room seemed to shrink to just the space between their hands.
The moment shattered like dropped crystal.
“Seraphina!” Caspian’s voice echoed down the hallway, loud and intrusive.“The car will be at the front in one hour. Don’t dally.”
Leo flinched as if struck, his hand snapping back to his side. The warmth in his eyes died, replaced by a familiar, servant’s resignation. He took a hurried step back, ducking his head. “Safe travels, my lady,” he mumbled, and was gone, retreating into the shadowy corridor.
Seraphina stood alone, gripping the leather journal so tightly the edges bit into her palm. She stared at the empty doorway, then down at the simple, thoughtful gift.A sketchbook.A tool for seeing, for capturing beauty. Everything Caspian and his world were not.A cold, sharp resolve crystallized within her. They thought they were sending her on a conjugal audition.They thought they were forcing her hand, pushing her into his orbit.Fine.
She walked back to her bed, placed the journal carefully atop the chaotic pile of clothes in her luggage, and closed the lid with a definitive click.She would go to Paris. She would play their game.But she would use their own board against them. She would turn every museum stroll, every cafe visit, every damned moonlit walk along the Seine into a battlefield. If Caspian wanted a display of dominance, she would show him one he couldn’t stage-manage. This wasn’t a retreat. It was an advance into hostile territory, armed with Leo’s sketchbook and a fury that had finally found its focus.She would not let Caspian win. She would make Paris hers.