A Deal with the Devil
The halls of Ravenglade Keep swallowed sound.
As Seraphina stepped past the towering iron gates, an unnatural silence pressed around her, muffling the distant howl of the wind. The cold here was different—bone-deep, laced with something unseen. It was not the ordinary chill of winter but something… older.
She could feel it humming through the stone beneath her boots, lingering in the flickering torches that burned a pale, eerie blue.
Something was wrong with this place.
And yet, the servants moved about as if they noticed nothing at all. A steward, an older man with thinning hair and a stiff posture, stepped forward.
"Welcome home, Your Grace." His gaze flicked to Seraphina. "And to you, my lady."
Home.
The word sent a chill through her.
Alistair inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Has my study been prepared?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"And the east wing?"
The steward hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. It was barely noticeable—but Seraphina caught it.
"As you instructed," he said smoothly, though his hands twitched slightly as he clasped them behind his back.
Seraphina glanced between them. The east wing. She had heard him mention it before.
What secrets did it hold?
She did not have long to dwell on the thought. A maid appeared at her side, curtseying before reaching for her cloak. "Allow me to escort you to your chambers, my lady."
Seraphina hesitated.
The last thing she wanted was to be alone in this cursed place. But she would not let Alistair see her unease. She lifted her chin. "Very well."
She turned to follow the maid, but before she could take a step, Alistair's voice stopped her.
"One month," he reminded her, his tone quiet yet firm. "After that, if you still wish to leave, I will honor my word."
Seraphina didn't look at him. She simply nodded and walked away.
One month.
She had survived worse.
Hadn't she?
---
The guest chambers were far grander than she had expected.
Heavy velvet curtains framed tall windows, their panes clouded with frost. A roaring fireplace cast flickering golden light across the stone walls, and an intricately carved four-poster bed stood in the center of the room, draped in thick furs.
It was luxurious.
And yet, Seraphina could not shake the feeling that it was a gilded cage.
She wandered to the window, pressing her palm against the cold glass. Beyond the keep's towering walls, the northern wilderness stretched endlessly. The dark silhouettes of trees stood like sentinels against the moonlit snow, their branches twisted, as if reaching for something unseen.
A prison, no matter how beautiful, was still a prison.
A rustling sound behind her made her turn. The maid—Alice, she had introduced herself—was placing a warm robe at the foot of the bed.
"You should rest, my lady," she said softly.
Seraphina hesitated. "You've served here a long time?"
Alice nodded. "Since I was a child."
"And Duke Ravensbourne?"
The maid stiffened, just slightly.
"He is a fair master," she said carefully.
That was not an answer.
Seraphina studied her. "Is it true what they say?" she asked. "That no woman has ever stayed?"
Alice's hands tightened on the fabric she was smoothing out. "You should rest, my lady," she said again, this time more insistently.
And then, without another word, she turned and left the room.
The door shut softly behind her.
Seraphina exhaled, tension settling in her bones.
She was no fool. Something was wrong in this place. And if no one would tell her the truth, she would find it herself.
One month.
One month to uncover the secrets of Ravenglade Keep.
And then, she would be free.
---
She did not sleep.
Perhaps it was the strangeness of her surroundings. Or perhaps it was the whispering.
Soft. Faint. Just at the edge of her hearing.
She lay still in the vast bed, eyes open, staring at the heavy canopy above her. The fire had dimmed to embers, casting long shadows that flickered across the stone walls.
She was imagining it.
She had to be.
And yet—
**Come.**
Her breath caught.
It was not a voice, not truly. More like a thought, pressed into her mind, unfamiliar and insistent.
Her pulse quickened. Slowly, cautiously, she sat up. The whisper—if that was what it was—had come from beyond the door.
From the east.
The east wing.
The very place Alistair had forbidden her from entering.
She hesitated only a moment. Then she rose, wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, and stepped out into the corridor.
The air was colder outside her chambers.
The blue flames of the torches flickered, casting strange, twisting shapes on the stone walls.
Seraphina moved carefully, her footsteps nearly silent against the polished floors. The keep was vast, its corridors endless, but she followed the whisper, letting it guide her deeper into the unknown.
Past locked doors.
Past ancient portraits whose painted eyes seemed to watch her as she passed.
Until, at last, she reached the eastern wing.
A heavy iron door stood before her.
Frost clung to its surface, delicate and glistening, though there was no snow inside the keep. The whisper had stopped now, but she could still feel it—something pulling her forward, as if this place had been waiting for her.
She pressed her palm against the door.
A shiver ran through her.
For a moment, nothing happened.
And then—
The frost beneath her hand shifted. The iron groaned softly, almost like a sigh.
And the door began to open.
Seraphina's breath caught.
Beyond the threshold was darkness.
And within it—something moved.
A flicker of silver light, pulsing like a heartbeat.
And then—
A voice. Low. Familiar.
"What are you doing here?"
Seraphina whirled.
Alistair stood behind her, his silver eyes gleaming in the dim light.
He did not look angry.
He looked… resigned.
As if he had expected this.
As if he had been waiting, too.
---