---
"M-monsters."
The word hung in the darkness between them.
The Duke said nothing. His silence pressed against her like a physical weight, demanding she continue, offering no indication whether her desperate gamble was working.
Marin swallowed and plunged forward.
"I've heard that underground monsters are drawn to sparkling minerals—stones that catch the light, that resemble gems." The explanation tumbled out in a rush, her mind racing ahead of her words. "If creatures keep emerging from an abandoned mine, perhaps it means there's more than worthless stone in those depths. Perhaps—perhaps there's something valuable they're trying to protect."
She thought of the monsters described in the novel. Creatures that resembled rats but grew to the size of large dogs, with beady eyes that gleamed in the darkness. They hoarded anything that glittered—coins, jewelry, crystals—and had been known to raid villages for nothing more than a silver spoon or a glass bead.
"That's why I thought it would be a shame," Marin finished weakly, "to seal the mine without investigating further."
Silence.
She kept her head bowed, not daring to look up. Her explanation had been thin at best, absurd at worst. What did she know about mining or monsters? She was grasping at straws, weaving lies from fragments of novel-knowledge and desperate hope.
*Please. Please let it be enough.*
"When did this report arrive?"
The Duke's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts—not addressed to her, but to Olive.
"Three months ago, Your Grace."
"Was it not marked urgent?"
A pause. When Olive spoke again, his voice carried the weight of admission.
"There were... more pressing matters. It was set aside."
"I see."
Something shifted in the Duke's tone. Marin couldn't identify it—disappointment? Resignation? Whatever it was, it made Olive bow his head lower.
"Postpone the closure order. Dispatch knights to conduct a thorough investigation of the site."
"Yes, Your Grace. Immediately."
Marin's heart stuttered.
*He believed me.*
Or perhaps not believed—but found her reasoning interesting enough to act upon. Either way, the mine would remain open. The investigation would proceed. And eventually, someone would discover what those "worthless white stones" truly were.
She didn't have time to process this small victory.
The Duke moved.
One moment he stood several feet away, a massive shadow among shadows. The next, he was *there*—directly in front of her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that his sheer physical presence overwhelmed every other thought in her head.
Marin stumbled backward on instinct.
Her heel caught on nothing—her own feet, perhaps, or simply the overwhelming terror that had turned her muscles to water. She felt herself falling, the floor rushing up to meet her, the back of her skull on a collision course with unforgiving stone—
A hand closed around her wrist.
The world stopped.
She hung suspended for a breathless instant, held in place by fingers that wrapped entirely around her forearm with room to spare. Then, with an ease that spoke of terrifying strength, the Duke pulled her upright.
"...A twig."
The murmur was so soft she almost missed it.
Marin blinked, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. Had he just... commented on her wrist? Called her a *twig*?
And how had he reacted so quickly? The man was *blind*. He shouldn't have been able to see her falling, shouldn't have been able to catch her with such precise timing. Yet here she stood, upright and uninjured, her racing pulse thundering against the fingers still encircling her wrist.
*Don't think about it. Just be grateful.*
"Thank you," she managed, executing an awkward half-bow despite their proximity.
"Your name."
It wasn't a question. It was a command.
"M-Marin."
"Common-born?"
Her heart, which had just begun to slow, kicked into a frantic gallop once more.
"Yes."
The lie tasted like ash on her tongue. She was acutely aware of his grip on her wrist—firm but not painful, holding her in place with no apparent effort. Could he feel her pulse racing? Could he sense the deception in the way her blood hammered against his fingertips?
The Duke tilted his head slightly, as though listening to something beyond her words.
"A common-born woman," he said slowly, "who can not only read, but analyze reports and offer strategic insights?"
Marin's eyes went wide. Her stomach plummeted through the floor.
*No. No, no, no—*
"Are you a spy?"
The question landed like a physical blow.
"W-what?!"
Her heart, which had been fluttering with fear, stopped entirely. Then it lurched back to life with such violence that she thought it might burst from her chest.
"That reaction." The Duke's voice remained terrifyingly calm. "Would you consider it a confession?"
"N-no! Absolutely not!" The words tumbled out in a panicked rush. "Never! I'm not—I would never—you don't have to hire me, I understand, I shouldn't have said anything, I'll leave immediately—"
She tried to turn toward the door, already calculating the fastest route to the exit, already mourning the opportunity she'd just destroyed—
She couldn't move.
His fingers remained locked around her wrist like a shackle of warm iron.
"Olive."
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"Prepare an employment contract."
Marin's brain short-circuited.
"Understood." She could *hear* the grin in Olive's voice. "I'll have it ready within the hour."
"Make it temporary."
"Temporary..." The grin audibly faltered. "Yes, Your Grace."
*Temporary.*
The word barely registered. Marin was too busy staring at the space where she assumed the Duke's eyes would be, hidden behind that band of black silk, wondering if she had somehow fallen asleep and was experiencing the most vivid stress dream of her life.
"Thank you!"
The gratitude burst out of her, accompanied by the deepest bow she could manage with one arm still captured. Temporary, permanent—she didn't care. A position in the Duke's household meant income. Income meant medicine for her mother, food on the table, rent paid on time.
Income meant *survival*.
"One more thing."
Marin straightened, hope and terror warring in her chest.
"Feed her."
"...What?"
The word escaped both Marin and Olive simultaneously.
"She resembles a twig."
The Duke lifted her wrist slightly—an almost clinical gesture—then released it, letting her arm fall back to her side. "A strong wind might snap her in half. Address this."
*A twig.*
So she *had* heard correctly the first time.
Marin stared at her freed wrist, flexing her fingers experimentally. Yes, she'd lost weight over the past months. Yes, her meals had become increasingly sparse as their money dwindled. But she wasn't *that* thin.
Was she?
A small pout tugged at her lips before she could suppress it. The gratitude she'd felt moments ago began evaporating like morning dew under a harsh sun.
"Yes, Your Grace." Olive's voice trembled with barely contained amusement. "I'll see to it personally."
The Duke, apparently considering the matter settled, turned and made his way back toward the depths of the study. His movements were fluid, assured—nothing in his bearing suggested a man navigating without sight. He simply *moved*, and the darkness parted around him like water around a ship's prow.
"Let us take our leave," Olive murmured, appearing at Marin's elbow. "Your Grace, we will excuse ourselves."
"Thank you again," Marin added, executing one final bow. "For... everything."
No response came from the shadows.
She followed Olive out of the study, and the heavy door swung shut behind them with a soft, final *click*.
---
The study fell silent.
Gerald remained motionless at his desk, his attention turned inward. Two sets of footsteps echoed down the corridor beyond the door—Olive's steady tread, heavier on the left foot as always, and the girl's steps, so light they barely registered against the stone floor.
Like a bird's. Like a ghost's.
Now he understood why her gait had seemed almost weightless. That wrist he'd caught was thinner than a branch, barely more substantial than bone wrapped in skin. A strong grip might have snapped it.
*A strange creature.*
Her voice lingered in his memory—that clear, flowing cadence as she'd read the report aloud. He had listened to countless documents over the past year, read by Olive, by scribes, by servants pressed reluctantly into service. Every voice had been the same: grating noise that scraped against his heightened senses, hammering at his skull until thought became impossible.
But her voice...
Her voice had been different.
Natural. Unobtrusive. Like water flowing over smooth stones, like wind rustling through leaves. The words had entered his consciousness without resistance, settling into place with perfect clarity.
For the first time since losing his sight, Gerald had been able to *think* while listening to someone speak.
He understood now why Olive had been so insistent.
The blindness itself had never been the true curse. Gerald had adapted to darkness quickly enough—his other senses compensated, painting a picture of the world through sound and smell and touch that was nearly as detailed as vision had been.
No, the curse was what came *after*.
The Vines bloodline carried a secret passed down through generations, known only to the direct male heirs. They were born different from ordinary humans—larger, stronger, with senses developed far beyond normal limits. Their eyes could distinguish the color of a bird's plumage from a hundred meters away. Their ears could detect a whispered conversation through stone walls. Their tongues could identify any substance by taste, including the most subtle poisons. Their noses could track a scent across miles. Their skin could feel the displacement of air from a sword stroke before the blade arrived.
And of all the heirs in the family's long history, Gerald von Vines possessed the most acute senses of them all.
When his abilities remained in balance, he could control them—suppress them when they became overwhelming, enhance them when circumstances demanded. He had used this gift to hunt monsters, to defend the western territories, to earn a reputation as the most formidable warrior the duchy had seen in centuries.
**The House of the Grand Duke of Vines defends its lands.**
This ancient duty had been fulfilled with particular distinction during his tenure. The people slept soundly knowing their Duke stood between them and the horrors beyond the border.
Then came the attack.
Then came the darkness.
And then came the *pain*.
Losing his sight had thrown his remaining senses into chaos. They had sharpened beyond anything he'd experienced before, as though desperately trying to compensate for what was lost. Every sound became thunder. Every scent became overwhelming. Every touch against his skin registered with excruciating intensity.
The headaches had been constant at first—blinding agony that made him wish for death. Even now, after a year of struggling to regain equilibrium, the smallest sound could send ice picks driving through his skull. A servant speaking too loudly. A door closing too firmly. The scratch of a quill on parchment.
All of it was *noise*. All of it was *pain*.
But today—for the first time—a voice hadn't hurt.
*Her* voice.
Gerald didn't know why. Couldn't explain the phenomenon. Perhaps it was something in her tone, some particular frequency that slipped beneath his heightened defenses. Perhaps it was the strange cadence of her speech, the way words flowed from her like music rather than mere language.
Whatever the reason, the result was undeniable.
She could be a spy. She almost certainly harbored secrets—her heartbeat had stuttered with every lie, her pulse had raced with poorly concealed fear. A common-born woman who could read, write, and analyze strategic documents? The story was absurd on its face.
But even if every word from her mouth proved false, Gerald couldn't let her go.
Not when she was the first person in a year whose voice didn't make him want to claw his ears from his skull.
"Kay."
The name fell into the silence like a stone into still water.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness. There had been no sound—no footstep, no rustle of fabric, no displacement of air. One moment the space before his desk was empty; the next, a figure knelt there, wrapped head to toe in black.
"..."
Kay waited in absolute silence. No greeting, no acknowledgment, no unnecessary words. Just patient readiness.
"The girl. Investigate everything."
"..."
The shadow vanished as soundlessly as it had appeared.
Gerald leaned back in his chair and closed his useless eyes. The familiar pressure built behind his temples—the beginning of another headache, another battle against his own rebelling senses.
But beneath the pain, something new flickered.
*Curiosity.*
---
Marin drifted through the corridors in a daze, following Olive without truly seeing where they were going.
*I got the job.*
The thought kept circling through her mind, too large to fully comprehend. She had walked into the Duke's castle with nothing but desperation and a half-formed plan. She had lied about her identity, fumbled through an interview, nearly gotten herself arrested as a spy—and somehow, impossibly, she had emerged *employed*.
*Temporarily employed*, she reminded herself. But still. *Employed*.
They returned to the servants' reception room, and Marin sank onto the sofa with a long, shaky exhale. The tension that had been coiled in her muscles finally began to unwind, leaving her feeling wrung out and hollow.
"I believe this is yours."
Olive's voice pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up to find him holding out a heavy book—the same volume she'd grabbed from the windowsill, the one she'd used to demonstrate her reading ability.
"Oh." She'd completely forgotten about it in the chaos of everything that followed. "I left it outside the study..."
"I noticed." His smile was warm, understanding. "You seemed rather preoccupied."
Marin accepted the book, feeling its solid weight settle into her lap. The leather binding was worn but well-maintained, the pages thick and slightly yellowed with age.
"I can't take this. It isn't mine."
"Books about monsters have no place in this castle." Something flickered in Olive's expression—there and gone too quickly to identify. "This one was destined for disposal. Consider it a welcoming gift."
*Disposal?*
Marin looked down at the volume with new eyes. A hardcover book of this quality could fetch several silver coins at market—maybe more, depending on the content. Why would anyone throw away something so valuable?
*Someone must have hidden it here. Couldn't bear to see it destroyed.*
"Then... thank you." She clutched the book against her chest. "I'll take good care of it."
When Olive left to arrange the promised meal, Marin finally allowed herself to collapse against the sofa cushions. Every muscle ached with released tension. She felt as though she'd aged ten years in the span of a single afternoon.
Her eyes drifted to the book in her lap. The title was stamped in faded gold letters across the spine:
> **Where Did Monsters Come From?**
For someone who knew the secrets of this world—who had read the novel that shaped it—such a book held obvious appeal. She turned it over, searching for an author's name, but found none. Strange. Academic works usually bore their writers' names prominently.
Another mystery for another time.
Her thoughts drifted back to what had nearly been a disaster. When she'd mentioned the Duke's "unfortunate incident," she'd seen the way Olive's expression had frozen, the way his kind eyes had turned sharp and cold. If she hadn't read from that book—if she hadn't demonstrated her usefulness in that precise moment—the interview would have ended very differently.
*I might have been thrown out. Or worse.*
A shiver traced down her spine.
"Are you cold?" Olive's voice made her jump. He'd returned without her noticing, a tray balanced in his hands. "Shall I fetch a blanket?"
"No, no!" Marin straightened hastily, waving her hands in denial. "I'm fine, truly."
Olive settled into the chair across from her, that gentle smile once again in place. Something about his expression suggested he knew exactly what she'd been thinking about—and found it mildly amusing.
"Before we proceed to the meal His Grace ordered, I'd like you to review this document." He produced a sheaf of papers from somewhere and held it out to her. "A standard employment contract for the ducal household, modified to reflect your temporary status and special position. The compensation has been adjusted accordingly."
Marin accepted the contract with hands that trembled slightly. Her eyes scanned the dense text, skipping past the formal language until she found the section that mattered most.
*Compensation: One gold coin per week.*
The number hit her like a thunderbolt.
One gold coin.
*Per week.*
A single gold coin could sustain a family of four for an entire month. Food, rent, basic necessities—all covered with room to spare. She was being offered four times that amount every thirty days.
"Is..." Her voice emerged as a croak. She swallowed and tried again. "Is this correct?"
"Quite correct." Olive's smile widened slightly. "Your position is unusual, and His Grace values your unique abilities. The compensation reflects that."
*Unique abilities.*
She thought of her mother lying pale and thin in that narrow bed. She thought of the rent tripling in five days. She thought of the winter approaching, of firewood they couldn't afford, of medicine that cost more each month.
One gold coin per week.
It wouldn't just keep them alive. It might actually let them *live*.
Marin blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.
"Where do I sign?"
---