Ashes of the Fallen (1)

The gauze pressed in a careful, rhythmic pattern against Elise's neck. She sat perfectly still at the edge of her canopied bed, her shoulders squared despite a persistent lightheadedness that made the room tilt faintly. Her limbs were leaden, her fingers icy. The aftermath of a profound blood loss lingered like a heavy chain wrapped around her very bones, weighing her down.

Daisy, working with diligent focus beside her, noticed the subtle signs of strain. The maid's touch remained gentle and precise as she dabbed a cool, stinging antiseptic over the twin punctures, but her brow was furrowed with concern.

"You really should stop getting hurt like this," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "What happens if one day you come back with a wound I can't fix?"

Elise remained silent, a statue of pale composure, allowing Daisy to unwind the old, blood-crusted bandage. The bleeding had stopped, but the skin around the bite was an angry, swollen red against her deathly fair complexion. Her lips were tinged a worrying shade of gray. Daisy's frown deepened as she secured a fresh square of gauze, her grip firm yet reverent.

A sudden commotion erupted in the hallway, shattering the room's fragile peace.

"Let me in! I have every right to see her!" a familiar voice boomed, muffled by the thick oak door.

Hammond's measured, placating tone followed. "My lord, please, lower your voice. Lady Elise is indisposed—"

"I don't care if she's bleeding to death! Move out of the damn way!"

This was followed by a series of furious, hammering blows against the door. The noise sent a sharp, sickening pulse of pain through Elise's skull. She shut her eyes for a brief moment, waiting for the throbbing in her temples to subside, before releasing a quiet, weary sigh.

"ELISE! Get out of there, right NOW!"

The voice belonged to her younger brother, Louis Whitefield, all frustration and unchecked rage.

Daisy stiffened, her hands pausing mid-motion as she cast a nervous glance toward the door. "Should I...?"

Elise gave a subtle, almost imperceptible shake of her head. She had no energy for his theatrics.

The pounding intensified before the door finally burst open. Daisy yelped, jumping back at the violent intrusion. Louis stormed in, shoving past the flustered butler.

He was undeniably handsome, the picture of noble blood with his artfully disheveled chestnut waves and piercing pale blue eyes—a mirror of her own, though his blazed with a petulant fire hers would never permit. His features were finely drawn, aristocratic. He looked every inch the rightful heir to Whitefield Manor.

...Until he opened his mouth.

"Why in God's name am I being held prisoner in my own home?!" he demanded, his handsome face flushed with anger. "You have no right to ground me!"

Hammond scurried in after him, wringing his hands, his expression a mask of frantic apology. His eyes flickered to Elise, took in her state of undress in her nightgown, and immediately snapped downward to fixate on a point on the far wall. "I'm deeply sorry, Lady Elise, I simply couldn't—"

Elise lifted a single hand, a silent command for pardon and silence. She then gestured for Daisy to continue her work.

Daisy, shooting another nervous look at Louis, quickly returned to securing the bandage. Elise remained composed, though the sheer volume of Louis' voice sent fresh, nauseating waves through her aching head. The lingering weakness made his presence feel like an assault, but she held her regal posture, as if his tantrum were nothing more than a gnat buzzing in her ear.

Her dismissiveness only infuriated him more.

"Answer me!" he barked, curling his well-manicured hands into fists. "Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?! You ordered the guards to keep me locked inside like I'm some... some disobedient child!"

His thunderous tone made Daisy flinch. Elise, on the other hand, did not so much as blink.

"You are," Elise replied flatly, her voice steady despite the exhaustion creeping at the edges of her mind.

Louis' expression twisted from anger into something uglier. "How?! All because I got into one little fight?!"

"One fight?" Elise finally shifted her cold gaze to him, and the room seemed to chill by several degrees. "You were publicly drunk. You struck a man in front of half the tavern. You made a spectacular fool of yourself. Consider yourself fortunate your punishment is merely confinement to the estate."

He gritted his teeth, a muscle feathering in his jaw. "What I do is none of your business!"

"It becomes my business when the consequences are left crying at our gate," she said, her tone dangerously smooth. "A man stood outside with a bloodied face, his wife sobbing beside him, screaming that the son of Count Whitefield was a brute. They only left after I paid triple the medical costs to buy their silence."

Louis scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "So what? That commoner insulted me first. He deserved every bit of it!"

"You may indulge in whatever brutishness you please when you no longer bear the Whitefield name," Elise said, her words like polished ice. "Until then, you will not drag the rest of us through the mud with you."

His lips curled into a sneer. "And you think you're the one to judge what's disgraceful? You parade through town covered in filth and blood, chasing monsters in the dark like some... some feral dog. That's not exactly the picture of noble grace, dear sister."

Elise didn't react to the barb. It landed against a wall of sheer indifference. "Father could not be bothered to deal with your idiocy. Therefore, it falls to me."

"Of course. Always hiding behind Father." Louis let out a short, humorless laugh. "But don't forget—strip away your title as Father's favorite little attack dog, and what are you? A social reject."

He began to pace, his expensive boots clicking against the hardwood floor.

"A failure among the noblewomen. A laughingstock among the men."

He stopped directly in front of her, his voice dropping into a venomous whisper.

"When that old man dies, no one will care what you think. No one will fear your bark."

A pause, heavy with malice.

"You'll be nothing. Less than nothing."

He leaned in, his pale eyes narrowing to slits. "You'll be begging me for mercy."

A cruel, entitled smile touched his lips.

"Maybe I'll let you stay. You can clean my boots. Scrub the floors. Keep barking for scraps like the loyal mutt you are."

He leaned in slightly closer, his breath a ghost against her cheek.

"Or... maybe I'll have you exiled. Let's see how long you last, groveling among the common filth without this house's name to protect you."

Daisy stiffened, her hands balling into fists at her sides. She shot up from her stool, her face flushed with outrage, ready to snap—but Elise's hand moved, her fingers lightly catching the hem of Daisy's apron. A silent, absolute command to stand down. Then, without even looking at her brother, Elise calmly turned her attention to the butler.

"The young master is overtired, Hammond. Escort him to his room, please."

Hammond bowed deeply. "At once, my lady."

The immediate, unquestioning obedience was the final spark.

Louis' knuckles turned white, his fists clenched so tight they trembled. He snapped his head toward the butler, his voice dropping into a venomous seethe.

"You." He jabbed a finger at Hammond, who stiffened but held his ground. "You and every other servant in this house jump at her whisper. I am your heir! And you dare take her orders to lock me away like some common delinquent?"

Hammond's face was a mask of pained deference. "My lord, please... my orders come from the Count—"

"SILENCE!"

He whirled back to face Elise, who still refused to grant him so much as a glance. His nostrils flared. He took a step closer, looming over her, trying to force his way back into her field of vision. But Elise had already dismissed him from her reality. She lifted a hand to test the tightness of the bandage at her throat with clinical detachment. Then, as if Louis were nothing more than a dissipating shadow, she turned back to Daisy.

"Finish dressing the wound," Elise murmured, her voice soft but clear.

Hammond, recovering his composure, approached Louis and extended a rigid arm toward the door. "Right this way, my lord."

Louis shook his head in sheer disbelief, a short, bitter laugh escaping him.

"You are utterly insufferable."

He threw her one last, searing glare—his pale blue eyes, so like her own, burning with pure hatred—before turning on his heel and shoving past the butler. "Move! I can find my own way!"

He stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him with a crash that made the windows rattle.

A thick, awkward silence flooded the room. Hammond offered Elise one more profoundly apologetic nod before following him out and closing the door gently.

Only when they were gone did Elise allow her shoulders to slump a fraction. She released a quiet sigh, only now noticing the faint, traitorous tremor in her fingertips. The effort of maintaining her regal composure while her body was screaming from blood loss and trauma was utterly draining.

Daisy let out a long, shaky breath she seemed to have been holding the entire time. "He's..." she hesitated, searching for a word that wouldn't be treasonous, "...really something."

Elise didn't reply. She merely gave a single, slow nod of acknowledgement, her gaze fixed on some distant point on the wall.