The Weight of Secrets

"..."

I rose from my seat and walked toward where Father was dining. As I drew nearer, all eyes turned to me, though Father went on eating, unbothered.

I waited, unwilling to interrupt. Eventually, he looked up—his face stern, almost frightening.

“What’s wrong, Elias?” he asked.

"..."

With all eyes on me, I couldn’t simply blurt out the truth. I needed to request an audience with Father elsewhere.

“Father, I have a request I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Hm. Go on, then.”

“I’d prefer to speak in private.” I locked eyes with him, willing him to understand the weight behind my words.

Father said nothing at first. He only stared back, his gaze heavy and unyielding. I forced myself not to look away, though the intensity of his eyes threatened to crush me.

"..."

Had it worked?

"..."

“Fine. Meet me at four this afternoon. We’ll talk in my study.”

Relief lit my face, and I bowed slightly. “Thank you, Father!”

I returned to my seat and finished my meal. Timothy and his mother, however, eyed me suspiciously; most likely wondering how the supposed illegitimate son of a maid had just earned the Duke’s favour.

After lunch, I returned to my room with Clara and Tessa accompanying me, though I soon dismissed them so they could take their own meal.

Alone, I began rehearsing, turning the words over and over in my mind, questioning myself at every step.

How could I tell him without wounding him? Without igniting a scandal?

Would he rage at his wife, dismiss it with indifference, or respond with compassion?

And if I spoke of ‘premonitions’, would he believe me at all?

"..."

Just like that, I was lost in thought, considering countless scenarios, completely forgetting about the planned meeting with Father. When I finally glanced at the clock, panic struck me; it was already a quarter past four.

I bolted from my room and rushed to the study. Before knocking, I paused, forcing a few deep breaths into my chest, steadying myself. Then, with all the courage I could muster, I knocked.

“Come in,” came Father’s deep voice from within.

Inside, Father sat at his desk, one hand flipping through papers and documents, the other massaging his forehead, clearly strained by whatever burdens weighed on him.

“Apologies, Father. I’m sorry I’m late.”

“That’s fine. Come, sit.” He gestured at a chair across from his desk without looking up.

Nervously, I approached, stiff as a wooden doll. It felt less like a family meeting, but more like an interview before an examiner. When I finally sat down, Father lifted his eyes to me, stern and unyielding.

“So then, Elias… what would you like to talk about?”

Right! Here goes nothing.

"..."

“Father, I would like to talk about Alice and Karen.”

He didn’t even pause, his eyes still skimming the paper in his hand as though my words were trivial. “Hmm? What about them? Their return schedule?”

“… No, Father.” My voice came out detached, heavier than I had intended. “It’s about their marriage engagement meetings.”

“Hm? Is that so?” Father looked up briefly, brow arched. “Are you wondering who they are to be married—”

“Marquis Beaumont.” I cut in quickly, hoping to seize his attention.

It worked. He set down the papers, fixing me with a sharp look.

“So… you do know, then.”

“Yes, Father.”

He leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “So what is it you want from me then, Elias?”

I drew a deep breath. “Alice and Karen are in danger.”

At that, Father leaned forward, his face taut with concern. “Danger? What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. They are in danger.”

“From whom? Be precise.”

“Marquis Beaumont, Father.”

“…What about him?”

I raised my voice, trembling with fury. “He will lay hands on my sisters!”

"..."

“That is impossible, Elias. If he dared, he would have to face my wrath.”

“That won’t work, Father.”

He frowned, the authority in his voice rising. “What do you mean? Have you forgotten? I am a Duke; his station is beneath mine. If he oversteps, he finds himself in serious trouble.”

“That’s not it, Father,” I said, my voice low but steady. “He won’t come at them openly. He will use deceit. Tricks. He will force himself on them.”

Father’s eyes narrowed. “You speak as if you have already seen this happen.”

“I…” My voice faltered. “I have had premonitions.”

“Premonitions?” Father let out a short, derisive laugh. “Are you sure they aren't just nightmares?”

The conversation was slipping away.

I had no choice. I had to tell him.

Forgive me, Alice. Karen.

“Father…” I steadied myself. “Alice and Karen… aren’t your daughters.”

"!"

The words struck like lightning. Father slammed his fist into the desk with such force that it splintered, scattering papers across the room. His face blazed with fury.

“Who told you that!?”

“What nonsense are you spouting, Elias!?”

He roared like a lion, yet I did not flinch. I met his gaze, calm and unwavering.

“It is as I said. Alice and Karen are not your daughters… they belong to another man.”

His hand rose in anger, ready to slap me, but trembling, he stopped halfway. He looked at me, at my unshaken face, and slowly he lowered his arm. Shoulders heaving, he pressed his fingers together, elbows resting on the desk, his head bowed.