Page 115 of Bound By Crimson
“You want Malachai to love you—do you not?”
Lyric looked up, startled.
Mrs. Thornwick’s smile was thin and cold.
“Then don’t give him a reason not to.”
The air seemed to drain from the room.
Lyric sat frozen as the older woman rose gracefully.
“Enjoy your morning,” Mrs. Thornwick said, gliding toward the door.
And then she was gone.
Lyric stared into her untouched tea, the porcelain trembling slightly in her hands.
The tea had long since gone cold, but she hadn’t noticed.
She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—the words Mrs. Thornwick had spoken, or the quiet certainty with which she had said them.
She hadn’t even needed to raise her voice.
Not once.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Nothing Tastes Right
The manor was darker at night without Kai. The long hallways seemed to whisper. The portraits on the walls seemed to watch too closely. And though every corner was clean and every sconce glowed, Lyric couldn’t shake the chill that crept beneath her skin.
Dinner was served in the formal dining room that evening. When she entered, Mrs. Thornwick was already seated, back straight, a crystal glass of white wine in hand.
“You’re just in time,” she said, gesturing to the seat across from her. “I do so hate to eat alone.”
Lyric sat, folding her hands in her lap.
The first few moments passed in silence, broken only with the clink of cutlery and the soft hum of classical music playing from somewhere down the hall. A maid brought in soup, then disappeared without a word.
Mrs. Thornwick was the first to break the silence.
“It’s strange, isn’t it? Eating without him. The house feels… unbalanced.”
Lyric gave a polite smile. “Yes. It’s quieter.”
“He’s always been the heart of this place. Even as a child. So spirited. So affectionate.”
The word struck Lyric in the stomach. She kept her gaze down, stirring the soup that had already gone lukewarm.
Mrs. Thornwick went on, her voice dipped in nostalgia. “After his father passed, he would sneak into my bed at night. Said he had nightmares. But I think he just wanted to be close. He was always warm like that. Always curling against me like I was the safest place on earth.”
Lyric’s hand paused, spoon hovering over her bowl.
She froze, just for a second.Wait… when did his father die?She searched her memory, recalling Kai once saying it had happened when he was nineteen.
Nineteen.
Not six. Not eight.Nineteen.
