Chapter 39

Elvin knelt beside Ysabel, his brow furrowed with worry. Her skin was the color of parchment, slick with cold sweat, her lips trembling. The sheer terror in her wide, misty eyes spoke of something deeply unsettling. His gaze flickered from her shaken face to the splintered remains of the ancient oak behind her, a silent question hanging in the air. What could have reduced her to this state of horrified paralysis?

"Ysabel, what are you doing here, alone?" he asked, gently lifting her to her feet. His voice was a soft balm, a soothing counterpoint to the frantic rhythm of her heart.

A shudder ran through her. Her teeth chattered, making her words almost inaudible.

"I...I think I saw a ghost-" She whispered, the sound barely audible above the rustling leaves.

Elvin's eyes narrowed, a flicker of intrigue battling with his concern.

"A ghost? In broad daylight?"

He tried for a light tone, a touch of humor to break the tension, but her ashen face told him that his jest had fallen flat. The fear clinging to her was palpable, a chilling presence even stronger than the late afternoon sun.

"Let's get you out of here." He said firmly, taking her hand and guiding her away from the labyrinthine garden. She tried to glance back, but he gently pulled her along, urging her forward. The oppressive atmosphere of the overgrown paths seemed to cling to them, a heavy cloak of dread.

The back door of the mansion offered a welcome escape, leading them into the warm embrace of the kitchen. The comforting aroma of roasting chicken and freshly baked bread filled the air, a stark contrast to the eerie silence of the garden. He seated her at the large oak table, handing her a steaming mug.

"Water," He murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. As she sipped, he refilled the mug, his gaze unwavering.

"Now, tell me exactly what happened." His voice was gentle, yet insistent.

Ysabel took a deep breath, her eyes fluttering closed as she relived the terrifying experience.

"I was standing by the broken tree… and then… it appeared. Something… unreal. A ghost." Her voice cracked, and Elvin tightened his grip on her hand, offering silent reassurance.

His brow furrowed.

"But how is that possible? People with... gifts, with certain...abilities might encounter such things, but for someone without those, it's extraordinary. Forgive me, Ysabel, but are you certain you weren't...hallucinating?" He chose his words carefully, aiming for comfort, not accusation.

Her eyes snapped open, her gaze locking with his. "I was awake!"

She insisted, her voice gaining strength.

"I was standing there, and then… it happened."

But even as she spoke, a seed of doubt began to sprout in her mind. Perhaps Elvin was right; perhaps it had all been a figment of her imagination, a trick of the light and shadow in the overgrown garden.

Elvin's warm smile eased her growing uncertainty.

"You need to rest,"

He said, the crinkles around his eyes softening his features.

"I'll take you to your room, and then I'll bring you something to eat. You're as thin as a willow branch, you need nourishment."

Gratitude warmed Ysabel as they walked.

As Elvin led her up the grand staircase to the second floor, Ysabel's breath caught in her throat. They passed a spacious antechamber, dominated by an antique piano and a harp, their strings gleaming softly in the lamplight. A large painting, framed in ornate gold, dominated one wall. It depicted a man—no, a king—seated upon a throne, his regal bearing exuding an almost palpable power. A heavy, dark cape draped behind him, its hem pooling on the floor. A black crown rested upon his head, its weight seemingly echoed in the long, straight black hair that fell to his shoulder. His eyes, dark and shadowed, seemed almost sleepy, cast down as he gazed at his boots. His lips were firmly pressed together, one elbow resting on the armrest, a finger tracing his chin, while a long, whip-like object lay across his lap, its end trailing to the floor.

Ysabel stood transfixed, utterly captivated by the painting's magnificence. The man in the portrait possessed a beauty that transcended mere handsomeness; he was breathtaking, otherworldly. If the painting alone stirred her heart so deeply, what would it be like to meet him in the flesh?

Elvin's gaze followed hers, lingering on the canvas. "That," he said softly, "is Kaehl Vahlkeon, the late Emperor of Vahlkiro."

Ysabel's head snapped up, confusion clouding her features. "Emperor? But... I thought Vahlkiro was a kingdom..."

Elvin's smile vanished, replaced by a look of profound sorrow. His eyes clouded, as if a flood of long-buried memories threatened to overwhelm him. The weight of untold stories seemed to settle heavily in the air between them. The ghost in the garden suddenly seemed less significant at that moment.