My Most Beautiful Monster

If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.

— Voltaire

———

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eleven as I settled into my desk chair, reviewing the correspondence that would cement Lyra's position at the academy. The letter from Father's secretary had arrived within hours of our dinner—bureaucratic wheels turned swiftly when Lord Aldric Leone commanded them. Lyra Ashford, personal attendant to the third son, approved for academy residence.

One signature, and my greatest asset becomes legitimized. Sometimes the simplest victories are the sweetest.

The soft scrape of fingernails against stone drew my attention to the window. Lyra appeared at the sill like a specter, slipping through the narrow opening. Three weeks of these midnight visits had transformed her from a clumsy servant into something far more dangerous. She landed without sound on the wooden floor.

"Master." The single word carried more reverence than most priests managed in their Sunday sermons.

Tonight, she wore the dark dress she'd taken to using for these meetings—practical cotton that wouldn't rustle or catch moonlight. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, the candlelight turning the obsidian strands into liquid shadow. But it was her eyes that held me. Those crimson depths burned with an intensity that made my chest tighten.

"Lyra." I set down the academy documents. "Report."

She knelt beside my chair with hands folded in her lap, the posture now ritual. "The household staff received word of my new assignment this afternoon. Cook was displeased—she'll need to train another girl for the morning bread. Mira seemed excited, asking if I would write letters home."

Her voice carried that measured calm she'd developed over our weeks together. Gone was the nervous stammering of the frightened kitchen maid. In its place was something sharper, more focused.

"Lady Vivienne questioned the head butler about the wisdom of sending 'untested help' to the academy. She suggested perhaps one of the more experienced maids would serve better." Lyra's lips curved slightly. "The butler reminded her that Lord Aldric's word was final. She didn't press further."

Of course she didn't. Vivienne knows better than to challenge Father directly, even when she disagrees.

"Lucius?" I asked.

"Your brother spent the evening in his study, writing correspondence. Three letters in total—two bearing the Leone seal, one without any identifying marks. The unmarked letter was given to a messenger who arrived after midnight last night. I couldn't intercept it without risking exposure."

I nodded. The unmarked letters were becoming a pattern with Lucius. Whatever game he was playing, it involved parties he didn't want traced back to House Leone.

"The sealed letters?"

"Both addressed to academy contacts. One to a Professor Aldwin in the Department of Theoretical Magic, requesting a private meeting during the first week of term. The second to someone called 'V.M.'—no full name provided. That one was marked for delivery to the Morgenthorne dormitory."

Veronica Morgenthorne. Elena's older sister. Interesting. Lucius is building a network, and he's not being subtle about it.

"You've done well." I showed her the academy papers with their official seals. "Your position is confirmed. Tomorrow, you officially become my personal attendant. No more kitchen duties. Your only responsibility is to me."

Her expression transformed immediately. Her breathing deepened, and those crimson eyes grew wide with something between joy and hunger. She leaned forward, her hands clasping together tightly.

"You have played your part perfectly," I continued, my voice dropping to the tone I'd learned to use when I wanted her complete focus. "You are my eyes, my ears... my shadow."

And my most dangerous creation. The question is whether I'm the sculptor or just another piece of clay in your hands.

She trembled at those words—a full-body shiver that rippled downward. The reaction was becoming more pronounced each time we met.

I reached out deliberately, more intimately. My fingers found the crown of her head, sinking into the silk-soft strands of her hair. The contact sent another shiver through her.

"Master," she breathed, the word carrying weight beyond simple address.

I traced the curve of her skull from crown to nape. Her hair parted beneath my fingers like water, and she made a soft sound of pure bliss—the sigh of someone experiencing religious ecstasy.

Her head tilted back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, her pulse jumping beneath pale skin. Her eyes had gone half-closed, lashes dark against her cheeks.

I traced the line of her jaw, feeling the delicate bone beneath soft skin. My thumb brushed across her lower lip, and she gasped. When she looked up, her eyes held something that made my chest constrict.

"Master," she whispered, but this time with different undertones. "I will protect your secrets. I will guard your life."

She paused, her gaze holding mine with intense conviction. "And I swear, on my very soul, I will preserve your bloodline."

My hand froze against her cheek. Psychology 101, Alex. This is obsession. Codependency. A traumatized girl projecting fantasies onto her savior. Get her help. Run. The thought was cold, clinical. But another voice, colder still, whispered from the bones of Kaelen Leone.

She is offering you everything. A weapon that will never dull, a shield that will never break. In a world that wants you dead, this kind of loyalty is the only currency that matters.

"Lyra," I said carefully, "your loyalty is beyond question. But the academy will be different. More dangerous. There will be temptations, people who might work to turn you against me."

Her eyes flashed with something feral. "Let them try." For a moment, I glimpsed the predator beneath her submissive exterior. "I know exactly what I am, Master. I know what I was before you saved me from oblivion. Nothing they could offer would compare to the purpose you've given me."

She pressed her cheek more firmly against my palm. "I was already dead when you found me. You didn't just save my life. You made it worth something."

That's not how it happened at all. I manipulated events to save you from a false accusation. But she's completely rewriting our history into some romantic salvation narrative.

"The academy will test us both in ways we can't anticipate," I said, withdrawing my hand. The absence of contact made her eyes snap open in panic. "We'll need to be more careful than ever."

She nodded, but I could see complex machinery working behind those crimson eyes. She was thinking in terms of decades, of generations, of my hypothetical empire requiring heirs.

"Rise," I commanded softly. Standing before me, she was almost at eye level—close enough to detect the faint scent of lavender soap mingled with something uniquely her. Close enough to see her dilated pupils, her shallow breathing.

"Soon, we begin an entirely new phase. At the academy, you'll need to be more than my attendant. You'll be my anchor in a world designed to destroy people like me. Can you handle that responsibility?"

"Yes, Master. I can handle anything in this world or beyond it, as long as it serves your will."

And therein lies the problem. 'Serving my will' has become 'anticipating my will,' which has transformed into 'deciding what my will should be.' How long before she starts making life-altering choices for me?

I studied the raw devotion on her face. In a world of enemies, she was my one true ally. My most loyal. My most deadly.

"Good," I said finally. "Now go. Rest. Tomorrow our real work begins."

She moved toward the window, pausing at the sill. "Master? Thank you. For seeing what I could become when everyone else refused to even look."

Then she vanished like a shadow. I sat alone, staring at the empty window.

I set out to create a simple spy. Instead, I've created something infinitely more dangerous. A woman who wants to build an entire legacy around me. Am I strong enough to control what I've unleashed?

The candle guttered, casting shifting shadows across the admission papers. My carefully constructed plans felt fragile. The greatest threat to my survival wasn't some protagonist or villain.

It was her.

A cold laugh tried to escape my throat.

I think I've fallen in love with my own monster.