Page 38 of The Last De Loughrey Dynasty

Archer stopped at a hardback bound in wine-red leather with the nameAsteriaembossed in gold. The book wasn’t large. It resembled a short story—or, considering all the books on this shelf documented old family names, perhaps a short life.

He nudged the book forward with his middle finger. Instead of pulling it out, we heard a faint clicking sound, and part of the shelf shifted.

A hidden door.

The corners of my mouth twitched as if to smile, but I resisted. I kept telling myself I should be weeping, shattered to the point of madness by what had happened—but I just couldn’t. I’d already felt like breaking earlier, on the stairs in Gwyn’s arms, and for what?

After all I’d endured, things finally seemed to make a spark of sense.

Instead of fear and pain, I felt happiness and hope.

Perhaps I really was on the brink of madness. But my body was so full of adrenaline that I couldn’t feel anything else.

“Get in here before anyone sees us,” Archer told me, pulling me out of my thoughts. Without a second thought, I stepped into a tiny room. It was a storeroom.

Somewhat disappointed, I turned to Archer as he closed the bookshelf behind us, plunging us into complete darkness.

Archer’s pale face was illuminated by the dim light of a match flame.

“Boo,” he said, giving me a half-hearted smile. I rolled my eyes.

“You keep a matchbox in your jeans for casual occasions?” I asked, glancing around the tiny room, where cobwebs decorated the dusty shelves and books lay stacked on the ground.

We were supposed to be at a costume ball right now, yet for some reason, he’d thought to bring matches.

“Maybe I’m a pyromaniac,” he said with a shrug, retrieving something off the shelf.

I stifled a quiet chuckle. “No, you’re not.”

With a lit candle in hand, Archer turned to face me. “And why are you so sure of that, De Loughrey?” he challenged, looking at me like a professor eager to prove me wrong.

“Since the beginning of October, we’ve had a fire burning in the common room, and it hasn’t so much as caught your interest. You’re not impressed by the power of flames. Besides, my roommate is a notorious gossip, and she’s never mentioned your name in the same breath as fire. So, I’m almost certain that you, Archer Kingstone, are not a pyromaniac.”

“You must find me fascinating to watch me so closely while I’m with my friends, to know that the fireplace doesn’t captivate me,” he said, smirking slightly.

Heat rose to my cheeks. He was right—I’d been observing him, trying to figure him out because he was the one I knew the least about. But I hadn’t realised I’d been so obvious.

His hazel eyes shifted over my shoulder, and he nodded at something behind me. The corners of his mouth twitched twice as though he was trying to suppress a smirk.

I turned around, following his gaze to the wooden bookshelf, which was filled with everything but books. I presumed the ones that had once belonged there were now stacked haphazardly on the floor.

“There’s a door behind the wall. Figure out how to open it,” Archer demanded. When I glanced back at him, I noticed he had leaned casually against the wall, watching me with the intensity of a hunter observing its prey.

“I’m freezing, and I’m certain you are as well, so please just open it,” I said, shivering slightly. He didn’t budge.

“Demonstrate that you’re a De Loughrey, Dorothee. Get that door open—it’s not that difficult,” was all he replied.

What was that supposed to mean?

He couldn’t possibly know anything about my family. I barely knew anything about them myself, despite being born into their ruthless dynasty.

I was freezing in my soaked clothes, fully aware that the cold would take its toll on me by tomorrow. Reluctantly, I turned away from him and faced the bookshelf. The top shelf held a globe, thick with dust. Several candles were scattered across it—most damaged or shattered completely—rendering the shelf intentionally unremarkable.

I scanned the items, focusing on anything out of place: glasses, cups, shellfish...a scale.

The scale caught my attention. On one side, three crystals were delicately balanced. I picked one up, the chill of its quiet magic radiating through my fingers. It was black tourmaline—the same stone Archer had given me, now turned into the pendant of my necklace.

I glanced back at the scale, which had shifted slightly when I removed the crystal. A shadow-free patch was left in the dust where the stone had rested. I inspected the other side of the scale, but it had barely any dust at all.

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