I spent my first night in the manor holed up inside my new bedroom, cowering from the great, glass monstrosities that allowed the light of the moon to spill across me while I tried to sleep. When I lived in Kalaven City, I’d thrown stones at the windows of the rich folk, shattering a few. Now that I was one of those rich folk, I feared that someone would throw stones at my window too. I had such a fear of sharp objects…

At some point, my fear of being gouged to death by glass shrapnel abated long enough for me to drift into a state of delirium not unlike true sleep. I slumbered heavily, though one ear always brought to me the sounds of my room. I have a clear memory of that first night; there was an owl by my window, who preened himself, aloof to the wolf that watched him from the ground. A maid crept into my room to adjust the drapes and collect my laundry. As dawn approached, I heard the crack of a shot gun in the distance as one of the game hunters on the estate made a kill for the household’s morning meal. At last, my eyes opened.

I was awake.

I could not stand to sleep in the bed any longer, and so I quickly disentangled my legs from the sheets and walked over to the glass door that led out onto the veranda. Hesitantly, I pushed the door open; the chill of the winter air caused me to shiver.

Crystal City had been awake and thriving long before du Monte Manor had been. I could hear the muffled sounds of carriages and shouts and somewhere, a street band played a lovely instrumental piece I will remember until the end of my days, but attach to it no name. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and stood in the cold, watching as the household gardeners tended to the plants.

I was so entranced by their methodical movements that I did not notice Aunt Jill beside me until I felt the firm clasp of her hand on my shoulder. I turned with a start and apologized for not saying hello sooner.

She smiled; a maternal glimmer in her eyes made me feel more safe and secure than I had with my own mother. "Come inside, Rocielle," she bade me gingerly. "You’ve got a big day ahead of you."

By Mortimer’s discretion, Aunt Jill, accompanied by our uncle, Otis Black, was to take us to the Stein residence and have us properly acquainted with our allies. Mortimer would have done it himself, had other obligations not interfered at the last minute. The morning was filled with hustle and bustle after that proclamation. Loran was given a proper dress to wear and maids fiddled about with her hair to find out what sort of style suited her best. Michael and I were coerced into wearing ridiculous black suits with an unnecessary amount of frilly lace exploding from the collar. For the first time in my life, make-up was applied to my face, my lips lightly rouged with something that tasted a little too organic, in my opinion.

When I looked into the mirror, I couldn’t help but shiver. I saw Aunt Jill look away from me.

"He looks so much like James, doesn’t he?" Miss Katherine whispered to Aunt Jill in a hushed tone. "Look at his eyes, the way the clothes fit him… a perfect image of the scoundrel!"

"Quiet, Katherine," Aunt Jill chastised her tartly, then walked towards me. She set a hand to my shoulder, and I looked up at her. "You look handsome, Rocielle," she told me brusquely. "Now, bow."

I did so.

"No, not like a woman!" she moaned in frustration and popped the top of my head with her fingers. I winced and frowned at her. I had no idea what she was trying to make me do, and worry that I had displeased her made my eyes brim with tears.

She called Luke and Cain into my room. I watched them enter, two brash young gentlemen about to waltz out of the house and onto the streets. Cain shot me a coarse glare; I’d overheard a conversation between Michael and the twins about their gambling habits, and Cain had sworn me to silence. Nervously, I averted my gaze.

"Luke," Aunt Jill said tersely. "Bow for me, lad."

Luke blinked and began to speak, "Mother—"

"Now!"

Obediently, he gesticulated gracefully with one hand, dipped his other across his midsection, and bent at the waist. When he rose, his face was red with fury at his humiliation, but he said nothing.

Aunt Jill turned back to me and said, "See how it is done? Now, your turn."

I was even more confused; hadn’t I been doing it that way all along? Nervously, I repeated the action—and received the same slap to the top of my head.

"No! It’s not a curtsey, Rocielle, it’s a bow!"

"He is bowing, Mother," Luke protested on my behalf. He took a step forward to intervene. "Give him the chance to improve. You can’t believe that he will become the perfect gentlemen overnight, can you?"

"Watch your tongue, Luke," Miss Katherine rebuked him sternly. "Treat your mother with respect."

"I suppose the lesson will have to wait for later," Aunt Jill conceded after a time. She swatted my shoulder firmly, then breezed out of the room with, "Your brother and sister are waiting for you downstairs. Don’t be late."

Otto and Helena Stein welcomed us warmly into their household, showering the three of us with blushing compliments and gifts, the nature of which we were foreign to. And then, with the pleasantries over and done with, a Stein maid led the three of us to a sitting room where we would meet with the other children.

After witnessing the extravagance of the du Monte Manor, the Stein Manor was not much of a change. The theme was more blue than it was crimson, all shades of blue and light gray. I sat in a plush, deep navy blue velvet chair beside the hearth and fidgeted with my nails until the others arrived. Michael paced awkwardly while Loran did her best to incite some conversation with the maid who tended the plants. She was dutifully silent.

Quite suddenly, the rich, cherry wood doors that led out to the corridor swung open, and a quartet of stern-faced individuals trooped inside.

They looked like the somber paintings of Bantón, each garbed in a dismal black that contrasted greatly with the blue of the house. They stood out starkly, each just as beautiful as the next, but stunningly different. There were three girls and one boy, the boy the youngest of them all. He met my eyes, and I felt a tremor run through me for reasons I could not describe.

"Greetings," the eldest girl said and dipped a polite curtsey. Her blonde hair was braided into a neat plait down her spine, her lips rouged a deep, black-ish red. She looked like a china doll. "And welcome to the Stein household. These are my sisters, Yvonne and Yvette—" The girls curtseyed in turn; I found them indistinguishable from each other—"and my brother, Ulrich." The boy’s blacker than black eyes flickered at the mention of his name; he had yet to look away from me. "And I am Elsa."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Loran said a little anxiously. It was obvious that we had not been raised in the same posh environment that these children were accustomed to. Loran stumbled through the introductions, and I hardly noticed when she spoke my name. I was too enraptured with Ulrich, and the fiery feeling I felt in my gut whenever he locked eyes with me.

I would come to know Ulrich better than his family would ever know.

But that is for later.

Upon the request of Helena Stein, the three of us shared dinner with the entire family, which turned out to be much larger than I had originally speculated. At the head of the table, I could see Otto’s amicable figure chatting affectionately with his wife; seated along the side of the table to their right were their children, Elsa, Yvonne, Yvette and Ulrich. Next to Ulrich were two young men I didn’t recognize (they were called Gustoff and Daniel, and I assumed they were his cousins). Across from them were three ladies who appeared to be around Helena’s age; two of them turned out to be Otto’s sisters. Caroline was the eldest, and she was the mother of Gustoff, whose father had died in the Wolves’ War across the sea in Myrisvermyn. Beside her sat Elaine, who had no children or husband of her own, but lived as a guest in the Stein Manor. Beside Elaine sat Lenore, a charming woman with luxuriously thick and vibrant red hair and eyes that could see straight into the soul of any man. Her husband, I noted with some dread, was Rowan Stein. The dark, brooding man sat in silence, picking at his meal in irritation. Daniel was their son.

Michael and I sat across from Rowan and the other three women, while Loran sat poised at the end of the table, quite out of her element and incredibly uncomfortable. Gustoff attempted conversation with Michael for a few minutes, but gave up when he realized that he was not educated enough to hold an intelligent conversation for very long. My brother’s cheeks burned red with shame, and I had to restrain the urge to reach out for his hand; Aunt Jill had informed us that that looked quite improper at the table. And that boys shouldn’t touch each other. Ever. I was quite surprised by this; my brother and I were always very affectionate with each other. The love I never received from my mother, Evelyn, Michael gladly gave. In a way, he was the father I never had. But a rift began to form between us the moment we set foot on the du Monte estate, and by the time I became a young man, that rift had become a gulf. We were two completely different people, worlds apart from each other.

The food was entirely foreign to me. I’d grown used to eating the strange stuff that the cook at the du Monte Manor prepared for me, but the food I looked upon now was covered in a strange, blood red gravy that made the meat on the plate look as if it had just been chopped off the haunch of some unlucky cow. I almost expected it to moan in protest if I prodded it too forcefully with my eating utensils. Gustoff and Daniel noticed the way I eyed my meal and had a good, private snicker on my behalf. I blushed in humiliation.

I saw Michael’s eyes flicker a warning at me, though it wasn’t directed at me. I had learned how to read his facial expressions at a young age, and the anger boiling inside him spoke to me clearly. If they do that again, the look said, I’ll ream them a new one.

Don’t, I pleaded with my eyes, but he had already looked away. His jaws were clenched tightly, his unkempt hair obscuring his eyes from my view. Loran looked at me worriedly, but I shook my head; I didn’t know how else to respond.

The pleasant chatter continued all around us. Otto and Helena discussed with Elsa her plans to marry a young noblemen from Kalaven City, a man by the name of Roderick Polaris. They had been exchanging letters for some months now, and the young man had paid the Stein household several visits to formally court Elsa. She seemed quite charmed by his rustic appearance and slightly archaic ways, as did her entire family. Yvonne and Yvette, closer to Loran’s age, listened closely to the conversation, eyes wide, luminous and intrigued.

"I’ve always wanted to get married," Loran remarked to me so quietly that the rest of the table didn’t hear. I looked at her and attempted to smile. "Maybe you will someday," I said as cheerfully as I could manage.

"What’s this about marriage?" Rowan said gruffly and looked from Loran to me, then back to Loran. His eyes seared through her, his entire demeanor as ascetic as Mortimer’s. "You’re too young to be considering marriage, child."

A wave of dread washed over me, and a second later, Michael said in a growl, "My sister can do what she wants, sir. You’re not her father."

The conversation at the table dribbled to a halt, and Otto and Helena exchanged nervous glances. Michael didn’t seem to realize that he had behaved out of line; he was too busy glaring daggers across the table at Rowan, who more than returned the stare. The older man gripped his fork tightly, so tightly that his knuckles were as white as bone. I touched Michael’s arm and whispered, "Michael, people are watching…"

Quite suddenly, Lenore purred, "Oh Rowan, stop being such an ass."

And a tense laughter erupted, temporarily calming the storm that was bound to sweep through any day now.