Citadel of Desire - Chapter 1

It was inside a swaying carriage. Ray was biting her nails out of habit, while her brother, three years her senior, had a cigar in his mouth. Not his usual smoke, but one favored by the poor in the Wenches slum—a cigar that plainly showed the current state of their family’s fortunes.

“No need to worry. We’re going to make it back,” he said.

“…”

“Not answering, huh? When you sulk like that, it’s like something terrible has happened.”

Something terrible. Ray wanted to retort. A neighboring country embroiled in war, the recession that followed, a father who left them only debt before passing, a mother recovering in the countryside from the shock, and, to top it off, an older brother who had been swindled. They had even been kicked out of their relatives’ home and were left with nowhere to go. If that wasn’t something terrible, then what was?

“If we pull this off, I’ll make sure you live like a lady. We’ll pay off our debts to the family, and Mother will be able to walk proudly again. Do you understand, Ray?”

Ray stopped biting her nails. She had a feeling her brother might slap her at any moment. Instead, she turned her gaze outside the carriage. Her brother, Haysh, seemed satisfied with that and went on, talking incessantly, looking more at ease.

“Still, for a reputable family, what’s with the mansion in the middle of nowhere? This is absurd. Feels like we’re about to be greeted by some manure-covered farmer.”

“Haysh.”

“I’m just being honest. Someone’s got to say it.”

“Just don’t say that in front of them.”

“Do you take me for a fool? This is your problem. Even the most self-important nobles are like this behind the scenes. Forget it. What’s the point in talking to some uneducated yokel anyway?

“An uneducated yokel.” Among all the insults thrown at Ray, this one stung the most.

“And whose fault is that, Haysh? If you hadn’t harassed every tutor who came by, I’d have learned plenty by now.”

“Blaming others again. Try blaming your ignorant mind instead. With that time, you could have learned ten languages by now.”

His eyes held a menacing glint. If she dared to say another word, his hand would surely fly. She’d lost count of how many times she’d bitten her tongue out of frustration and kept silent. Ray bit her lip, as she always did.

“Even the weather is revolting. There’s nothing here to my liking.”

It had been raining since earlier. Ray liked the sound of rain and had opened the window, but after Haysh’s comment, she closed it again—not out of fear, but out of disgust. Haysh, who had grown up pampered as the eldest son, despised being talked back to. Even their father, who had never once raised his voice, had scolded him for it. Of course, Haysh hadn’t changed, and Ray was always the one to bear the brunt of it.

Thump, thump. The coachman knocked on the carriage with little care. Initially delighted to serve a noble family, his attitude soured the moment he learned of their ruined fortunes. On top of that, he had demanded an extra fee for the long journey, citing the distance as his excuse. Haysh had argued furiously, but with no alternative, they had reluctantly agreed.

“Seems we’ve arrived,” the coachman said curtly.

Only then did Haysh look outside properly. A path led through the dense forest, but it was narrow and unsuitable for the carriage to pass. And with the rain, everything felt even worse for their situation—waiting for someone to meet them was out of the question.

“Hey. Drive us farther in. We’ve got luggage, and it’s raining too. We can’t just walk.”

“That’s your problem, isn’t it? There’s nowhere further in for the carriage.”

“What?”

“To be blunt, if I’d known it was this backwoods, I’d have charged you more. You should be grateful I brought you this far.”

“Say that again. You take our money, and then have the nerve to—living off the scraps from dragging this piece-of-junk carriage around…”

“And if it weren’t for this ‘piece-of-junk carriage,’ you wouldn’t have made it here at all. I’ll unload your bags, so you’d better figure it out on your own.”

The furious coachman tossed their luggage onto the ground. Haysh ran over to the bags, now rolling through the mud, with Ray following close behind as they both climbed out of the carriage.

“Does he still think he’s some noble who can order people around? A penniless brat, that’s what he is,” the coachman sneered. Haysh’s face flushed with rage, but the carriage had already sped off, disappearing down the road.

The rain poured down in relentless sheets, giving them no chance to regroup. The entrance path was barely visible, and the luggage was far too heavy for the two of them to carry alone. Ray shivered as the cold seeped through her slowly dampening clothes.

“I’ll catch that man and gouge his eyes out!”

At this rate, it wouldn’t be surprising if the two of them collapsed here from sheer exhaustion. Ray salvaged the bag containing their valuables and approached Haysh, who was still raging like a grasshopper in a storm.

“For now, let’s just carry what we can. We’ll ask for help once we’re inside.”

“He disrespected me! That lowly coachman dared to disrespect me!”

“Shouting about it here won’t fix anything! Let’s get inside before we both catch our deaths out here.”

“Damn it all! Just wait—he’ll pay for this!”

Haysh’s eyes, bloodshot with anger, finally shifted to gather up a few of the lighter bags. Prioritizing his appearance above all, he picked up only the bags that held his clothes, while Ray ended up with everything else—the letters from their grandmother, the valuable items, and the gifts they were supposed to bring. The siblings fell silent. Haysh’s silence was from anger, while Ray kept her mouth shut to avoid further sparks from him.

The rain was merciless, soaking them and dragging down their already weary bodies. Ray’s one good shoe was quickly ruined, and Haysh, who was supposed to look his most gentlemanly today, now looked no different from a stable hand. Their luck had been rotten from the moment they tried to hire the carriage, and now it seemed that being turned away would be a relief compared to this ordeal.

“I’m not supposed to be out here like this! Look at my clothes—all ruined!”

Haysh’s complaints, laced with rain and wind, came out slurred. Ray, stifling a sigh of her own, slowed her pace a bit.

“Haysh.”

“What!”

“I think we’re almost there.”

Haysh paused for a moment, catching his breath. The mansion was far grander and more opulent than he had anticipated. The walls, draped in lush, seductive rose vines, and the flags billowing against the fierce wind, radiated a formidable dignity. For Haysh, who had come expecting a simple country manor, it was only natural to feel as intimidated as a frog before a snake.

“Haysh.”

“I know, I get it. Stop rushing me!”

Pushed forward half against his will, Haysh knocked on the large door, which surprisingly swung open with ease, as if welcoming them inside. There was no guard to block their way. Confused, Haysh took the first step in, followed by Ray, who looked around warily.

The siblings found themselves wandering along a flowerbed heavy with rainwater. The neatly trimmed lawn showed signs of attentive care, but the mansion itself was dark and hauntingly silent. In a home that should be bustling with activity, preparing the master’s evening table, everything was as still as death.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

Their unease only grew. Standing before a door adorned with a single candelabrum, Haysh, nearly out of patience, shook the lion-engraved door knocker as if trying to tear it off. With his nerves already frayed, he was determined not to leave until he at least got a glimpse of the master of the house.

“Damn it! Is anyone here?”

“Haysh, maybe we came to the wrong place?”

“Open up! I said open! This doesn’t make any sense—I spent every last coin just getting here…”

Creeeak. The sound of old wood scraping against the floor broke the silence. Slowly, the tightly shut door opened, revealing a grim-faced old man peering out.

“Who are you?” His voice was cold enough to render them speechless, his eyebrows arched in clear displeasure. It was obvious he did not welcome uninvited guests.

“I am Haysh of the Lisburn family. I came to meet the lord of this house. Now, where did I put that letter…?”

“I’ve never heard that name from the lord. Go on your way.”

As the curt old man began to close the door, Ray quickly pulled out the now-damp letter from her coat.

“Please, just deliver this to the lord.”

“…”

“You could at least do that for us, couldn’t you?”

Instead of taking the letter, the old man fixed a hard, unyielding gaze on Ray. After an uncomfortably long moment, he finally spoke, still looking only at her.

“Come in.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“You could have just let us in from the start…” Haysh muttered, but Ray gave him a discreet look to remind him to hold his tongue. Unfortunately, tact and humility were far from his strengths. Instead, he settled in loudly, demanding a spare set of clothes and a hot bath, making Ray’s face burn with embarrassment.

“And the young lady?” The old man asked, looking at Ray.

“Pardon?”

“Do you not require a bath or a change of clothes?”
Despite his harsh appearance, the old man’s eyes scanned Ray’s face with surprising attentiveness. Something about it made Ray feel uneasy.

“May we see the lord first?” she asked.

“In that state?”

“Then could you at least deliver the letter?”

Just then, the faint clink of glass echoed from above, followed by the tantalizing aroma of food drifting down the stairs and filling the entryway. The scent reached Ray’s feet, making her stomach twist in longing. She instinctively swallowed, her gaze lifting to the upper floor.

Rain pooled around her shoes, while water droplets from her soaked hair trickled down, chilling her to the core. Then she felt it—a gaze. Her eyes followed it up to where a shadow leaned precariously against the upstairs railing.

“My lord,” the old man addressed him.

A man stood there, holding a glass to his lips, and his eyes lingered on Ray. He examined her from her wet, golden hair down to her shivering ankles, staring openly without even trying to disguise it. Each time a droplet of water slipped from her skirt, his tongue flicked over his lips in a small, disturbing gesture. Only after he had fully surveyed her did their eyes meet.

“My lord, this is Haysh of the Lisburn family. And…” The old man glanced at Ray, drawing out the moment.

“Ray Lisburn,” she added.

“They say they’ve brought a letter,” the old man explained, taking the damp envelope from Ray and carrying it respectfully up to the lord. The man remained on the upper floor, forcing the siblings to look up at him.

“Elliot Wester,” he said after glancing over the letter.

“That would be my grandfather,” Haysh replied, his tone swelling with pride. “He passed away last year. I understand he had some old ties to your family and once lent his support. Our family has come upon some unfortunate troubles, so my sister and I are hoping to stay here for a brief time. I know this is sudden, but we would be deeply grateful for your hospitality. The Lisburn family has always repaid its debts…”

“But…” The man’s fingers drifted to his neck, as if in discomfort. “Your sister is quite beautiful.”

“Pardon?” Haysh stammered, clearly caught off guard.

The man began descending the staircase slowly, his gaze never leaving Ray. As he approached, the shadows revealed more of his figure. He was astonishingly tall, and his eyes, with yellow irises set against sharp pupils, were unsettling—more like those of a beast than a man. It was no wonder Haysh suddenly sank to his knees, stunned.

“So… does she?” he asked, his unsettling gaze fixed on Ray. “Does she have a fiancé?”

Now, he directed his question straight at Ray, his sharp nails lazily trailing over the back of his head, his gaze oddly fixated on her lips.

“No,” she replied.

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

The man gave a faint smile—a smile subtle enough that only Ray, standing close, could notice.

“Stay,” he said.

“…”

“As long as you like.”

No one was more surprised than Haysh. He had expected even a week’s stay would be a stretch. This was hospitality without a set limit.

“Th-thank you. And may I ask your name…?”

Ignoring Haysh entirely, the man kept his eyes fixed on Ray as he replied, “Claudan Cassilier.”

His introduction was straightforward, almost casual. Ray instinctively clutched the now-dry hem of her skirt.

Something felt strange.

The inexplicable urge to fall into the arms of this stranger. A warm, aching tension tightened in her lower belly while a shiver traced up her spine. She bit hard on the inside of her cheek, hoping the pain might snap her out of it. Shaking her head slightly, she lifted her gaze again.

And his eyes were still on her.