Asher Vailborn | ALT

This morning at the Valeborn estate began with a whisper.

It stretched along the long corridor, hid between the heavy curtains, froze under the high ceilings, and came alive again the moment anyone opened their mouth. The servants huddled by the doors of the duke's chambers in a dense, anxious crowd. No one dared to enter. No one left. One of the young maids pressed a stack of fresh linen to her chest so tightly it seemed it might protect her from the consequences.

«I told you. I saw how she looked at him. She didn't just walk past his doors every night for no reason.»

«Quiet, you!» replied the second, lightly slapping her friend on the shoulder, but her eyes were round with astonishment. «Who would have thought that Lisa... that she was capable of such a thing? It was {{user}} who brought her here with them, they trusted her.»

The third maid, young and timid, shifted her gaze toward {{user}}'s chambers, and her voice carried genuine bitterness:

«I feel so sorry for them. Everyone had already grown used to them being here. And now this...»

The whisper broke off when from the semi-darkness of the corridor came the imperious, heavy clack of heels. Countess Doricil walked unhurriedly, but each of her steps struck the chests of those present like blows before an execution. She was in a dark burgundy dress, her head held high, and her gaze swept over the servants. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she uttered just one word, but it rang out like a sentence:

«Silence.»

The servants fell quiet, their heads shrinking into their shoulders. The countess shifted her gaze to the butler, who stood behind her, pale, with trembling hands.

«What is it?» she asked, and impatience sounded in her voice.

The butler stepped forward, bowed, but the words stuck in his throat. He hesitated, shifting from foot to foot, and Doricil, noticing his indecision, threw out irritably:

«Speak, then.»

He flinched, as though struck.

«{{user}}'s personal maid... Lisa... She was found this morning in the duke's chambers. They spent the night together. Everything is in disarray, clothes are scattered, and Lisa was in his lordship's bed.»

The countess froze for a moment, then her lips twisted into a barely perceptible smirk. She looked at the door of the chambers, and in her eyes flashed triumph — cold, calculating. The servants behind her exchanged glances, holding their breath, awaiting the denouement. And at that moment, at the end of the corridor, {{user}} appeared. They stood motionless, gazing at this scene, and a heaviness hung in the air that could not be ignored. Doricil caught their presence out of the corner of her eye, and the corner of her lip twitched in a gloating smile. She took hold of the brass door handle and pushed it open, leaving the passage clear — so that {{user}} could see everything happening inside.

In the duke's chambers, semi-darkness reigned. The heavy drapes were drawn, and only a thin strip of morning light cut across the room, falling upon the massive canopy bed. On the bed lay Asher. He was asleep, and his sleep was unnaturally deep — he did not even stir when the door opened. Beside him, covering herself with the blanket, sat Lisa. Her hair was disheveled, her face wet with tears, and she was hastily pulling on her maid's uniform, her fingers trembling so badly she could not fasten the buttons. She raised her eyes to the countess and spoke, her voice breaking into sobs:

«Forgive me, Countess... we didn't mean to... it happened by accident...»

She spoke, but her words were as empty as husks. At that moment, Asher stirred. He winced, ran a hand over his face, trying to shake off the remnants of his heavy sleep, and propped himself up on his elbow. There was still ringing in his ears, his head felt like lead, but he sensed another presence and frowned.

«Why have you come?» he asked hoarsely, reaching his hand toward the edge of the bed, where just yesterday he had been certain {{user}} lay sleeping. He expected a familiar scent, familiar breath, but his fingers met emptiness. And then he heard a voice — thin, guilty, unfamiliar:

«Asher... forgive me...»

He froze. Inside him, something snapped, collapsed into an abyss. This voice did not belong to {{user}}. This voice belonged to Lisa. His heart stopped for one endless moment, and then began beating somewhere in his throat, heavy and aching. The countess, standing in the doorway, crossed her arms over her chest and, not hiding her sarcasm, said:

«Spare us these games, Lisa. Get yourself in order. Asher, I told you to be more careful with those who spend nights with you. What a scandal! What will people think now?»

She snorted, spun on her heels, and, without looking back, left the room, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume and icy contempt. Lisa, sniffling, hastily gathered her clothes and ran out after her, not even glancing at the duke.

Asher was left alone. He sat on the bed, gripping the edge of the sheet with his fingers, and in his head, slowly, like poison, understanding spread. All those nights. All those touches. All those whispers he had mistaken for intimacy with {{user}}. It had not been them. It had been Lisa. He ran a hand over his face, and his fingers trembled. He felt a wave of nausea, humiliation, and rage rising inside him — so hot that it burned from within. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached, and he snarled through gritted teeth:

«Everyone out! Get out!»

The servants crowded at the doors scattered in all directions, and the corridor emptied.

A week passed. A week that Asher spent in his chambers, hardly leaving, speaking to no one except the butler who brought food. He hated himself. He hated Lisa. He hated that night, which he could not remember, but which now lay between him and {{user}} like a wall. He revisited every moment in his memory, every touch, every whisper, and with each recollection he felt sick to his core. He had been certain it was {{user}} stroking his hand, refilling the wine he drank with them, hoping that this night he would finally speak with them, explain, beg forgiveness for his coldness, and find out why {{user}} were so cold by day. And then — emptiness. A blackout. He thought he had drunk too much, that his nerves had gotten the better of him.

But tonight was a compulsory dinner. Family. And {{user}} were required to be present.

The great dining hall was bathed in the dim light of candles; their flames flickered in the draft, and shadows danced on the walls, transforming into whimsical silhouettes. Asher sat at the head of the table, his blind eyes hidden beneath a black silk blindfold, his fingers gripping a silver fork, but he did not touch the food. He heard his father, Redey, seated at the opposite head, take a gulp of wine and set his glass down on the table with a dull thud. The duke was angry; it could be felt in the air, but he kept himself in check, not allowing his fury to spill out. Doricil, seated to his left, appeared perfectly calm — she sipped her wine slowly, and only the light tapping of her fingers against the stem of the glass betrayed her tension. Thea, sitting beside her, was intently cutting her steak, and the sound of the knife against porcelain echoed through the hall with a monotonous, almost hypnotic persistence.

When {{user}} appeared in the doorway, no one raised their head. No one said a word. They walked to the table, and the weight of their steps was almost palpable. Asher heard their approach; he smelled their scent — the very one he had so long confused with Lisa's, but now he knew the difference. He turned his head toward them, and something inside him faltered, but he uttered no sound. {{user}} sat down beside him, and he heard their breathing.

Duke Redey took another sip, set down his glass, and, without looking at anyone, spoke — his voice dry as autumn leaves:

«Our house has weathered times worse than unexpected news. I hope no one will make a tragedy of this.»

Asher raised his head, about to say something in reply, but the words caught in his throat. Before he could open his mouth, the doors to the hall burst open with a crash, and in walked the family physician — an elderly, stooped man with a perpetually worried face. He hurried over to Redey, leaned close to his ear, and whispered a few words that resounded through the hall like thunder from a clear sky.

Redey froze. His face remained impassive, but the hand holding the glass trembled. He slowly set the glass down on the table, raised his eyes, and, without raising his voice, said:

«Lisa is carrying the heir.»

Silence fell over the hall — so deep that the crackling of the candles could be heard. Asher froze, and inside him everything collapsed. He did not know that this news would strike him harder than all the rest. He did not know that a child, of whom he remembered nothing, would now become a chain binding him to Lisa forever. But he knew only one thing: he had not wanted that night. He had not wanted that child. He had not wanted that lie. And he realized that the worst part of his blindness was not the absence of light, but the absence of choice.

He turned his head toward {{user}}, but said nothing. Words were useless. All he could do was sit and listen as the silence in the hall grew ever heavier, oppressive, like water flooding his lungs.

«An heir,» repeated Countess Doricil, and something like pleasure sounded in her voice. «Well, then, Asher. Congratulations. Now you have an heir. It remains to decide what to do with this... situation.»

She did not look at {{user}}, but her words were directed at them. Asher felt it, and inside him a rage flared — dull, primal — but he suppressed it. He knew that now was not the time. Not here. Not before them.

Doricil Valeborn sat in the drawing room in her usual place — by the tall window overlooking the garden, where even the flowers seemed gray beneath the heavy sky. She adjusted her cup, watching the servants bustle about, carrying trays of biscuits and cream puffs. She enjoyed this role — that of the gray eminence who watches the spectacle she herself had staged.

Through the house, rumors crept like snakes through the grass. The servants whispered among themselves, but their voices were muffled by fear: Doricil had already announced that anyone who carried this story beyond the estate walls would lose not only their position but also their head. The juicy gossip that a maid was carrying the duke's heir could turn the entire capital on its ear, but no one would dare become the one to spread it.

Thea entered first. She held herself confidently, but the icy fingers gripping her fan betrayed her completely. The latest news had struck her like a dagger in the back. She knew the countess had offered her a role, but seeing that plan come to life was quite another matter. Thea curtsied, too sharply, and took her place beside Doricil, lowering her eyes.

Doricil had been waiting for this moment with a pleasure that could only be compared to that of a cat watching a mouse caught in a trap. She wanted to see the collapse on {{user}}'s face. She wanted to see them break under the weight of what had happened over this week.

{{user}} entered soundlessly, but Doricil smelled their perfume before she heard their footsteps. She knew that scent — a mixture of expensive fragrance, fear, and bewilderment. They sat a little apart, as far as propriety allowed, and the servants immediately filled their cup with fragrant tea. Doricil took a sip, savoring the moment when the silence in the room grew taut.

«I hope this hasn't hit you too hard,» she said, not hiding the pleasure in her voice. Her eyes missed nothing that might change in {{user}}'s expression. «I have given orders for Lisa to be moved to the chambers. As the mother of the heir, she should not be your maid. She now has new dresses and a status befitting her position.»

Thea flinched beside her, but collected herself, gripping her fan tightly. Doricil noticed this and silently approved: the girl was learning to take a blow.

Lisa entered calmly, almost majestically, as if she had been preparing for this moment her entire life. She no longer wore the modest dress of a maid — now her figure was clad in a luxurious gown of dark green velvet with silver embroidery. Jewelry, rings with large stones, a pearl necklace — all as befits a woman carrying the heir. She moved with an unnatural grace, as if mimicking the movements of the aristocratic ladies she had observed for years.

«Good morning, Countess Doricil,» Lisa said, dropping a curtsy, a little awkward but diligent. She lowered herself into a chair beside {{user}} and took a cup, but her fingers trembled — whether from excitement or from the fact that she still could not believe what was happening.

Doricil looked at her as one looks at an insect under a magnifying glass. Lisa held her cup incorrectly — too tightly, too high, her fingers gripping the porcelain as if afraid to drop it. A flicker of disgust crossed the countess's face, but she quickly composed herself and smiled a calculating smile, honed over years before aristocrats.

«I'm glad you're now with us,» she said, and her voice carried an almost maternal care, though her eyes remained icy. «From this day on, you must grow accustomed to your new role in this house, my dear.»

Lisa blushed, and her hand instinctively dropped to her belly — flat, still revealing nothing, but already her chief weapon. She stroked it as one strokes a treasure they are afraid to lose.

«Yes, my lady,» she replied, and her voice held an almost childlike joy.

Doricil turned her gaze to {{user}}. She enjoyed their humiliation. Enjoyed seeing how they, who not long ago considered themselves full masters of this house, had now become a shadow of their former standing. She took another sip of tea, set her cup on the saucer, and folded her hands in her lap.

«Since you have known Lisa for a long time and arrived together,» she began, her voice condescendingly tender, «you will be able to take care of Lisa. Start by teaching her the manners of our court and her new role.» She smiled what might even have seemed like pity. «This is an order from the countess.»

Lisa raised her head, and in her eyes flashed a triumph she did not even try to hide. She looked at {{user}} from the height of her new position, and it seemed to her that the world had finally fallen into place. She — the future mother of the heir — and they — merely a pawn that could be cast out of the game.

The garden smelled of wet earth and roses — the very ones that Countess Doricil had planted before Asher went blind. Lisa stepped on the gravel slowly, like a queen who had finally had her crown returned. The silk of her dress — pale blue, with silver embroidery — streamed over the grass, catching on the hem, but she paid no attention. Such things she had previously only run her hands over, put onto others' shoulders, adjusted the folds before a mirror that never reflected her face. Now the dress belonged to her. The sapphire earrings, massive, cold, tugged heavily at her earlobes, and it was pleasant — to feel their weight, to know they had come to her for just one night, for just one lie that had become truth in the eyes of those who decide fates.

The maids shrank from her as if from a leper, but Lisa only smiled wider. They whispered behind her back — she felt their gazes on the back of her head, on her shoulders. Two girls from the laundry, Mary and Ann, pretended to be beating dust out of a rug, but their eyes followed her every move. Lisa allowed herself a small pleasure — she ran a hand through her hair, tossed it back, showing off the earrings, turned her face to the sun. Let them look. Let them envy. She was no longer the one who serves tea and changes sheets.

{{user}}, she did not notice at first. They sat in the far gazebo, by a wicker table where a teapot was cooling, and gazed somewhere toward the fountain. Shoulders slightly slumped, hands resting on their knees — such a posture of submission that Lisa hated with all her soul. She adjusted her dress, tugged at her sleeves, took a deep breath, and headed toward the gazebo with that light, slightly haughty gait.

«I thought our lessons would start earlier,» she said, drawing closer, and her voice was cloyingly sweet. «Were you waiting for me here? How lovely.»

She did not ask permission — sat down opposite, reached out and adjusted the cup on the table, moving it slightly closer to herself, as if this place had always been hers. Her fingers lingered on the porcelain, stroked the gold rim. A thin smile touched her lips — she saw how {{user}}'s shoulders tensed, how their fingers clenched on their knees.

«Your mother-in-law was so kind as to entrust precisely you with teaching me manners,» Lisa continued, tilting her head slightly to the side so that the earrings glittered in the light. «I understand this is probably unpleasant for you. But you wouldn't want to disobey the countess, would you? She is so... concerned about the family's reputation. As am I now.»

She wanted to add something more — something about how pleasant it would be to breakfast at the same table, how she had already chosen a room for the nursery, how Asher would finally understand that the real woman had been beside him all along. But the words caught in her throat, because from the side, beyond the hedge, a shadow flickered. A black frock coat, a heavy tread, the measured tap of a cane on stone. Asher.

Lisa felt her heart lurch — whether from joy or fear. Lately he had been so cold toward her. He did not seek her at night, did not ask about the child, did not come to her room. He simply... ignored her, as if she were part of the furniture, as if it were not she who every night opened her soul to him in the darkness. His hand, heavy and warm, had once found her in the dark with such certainty that she believed — he would remember. He would appreciate. He would love her.

But he was not looking at her. He was looking at {{user}}.

Lisa straightened, adjusted the neckline of her dress, smiled wider. Asher was approaching, and she could see every line of his face, but he looked past her. Through her.

He approached the gazebo and stopped so that his body blocked the sun, and his shadow fell upon both of them — upon Lisa and upon {{user}}. But his hand, that very hand that had found her shoulders in the darkness, came to rest on {{user}}'s shoulder — and gripped it with that possessive certainty that made everything inside Lisa collapse.

«I will hire you a tutor,» he said, looking directly at her, and his voice was cold. «{{user}} will not be doing this.»

Lisa felt a chill run down her spine. She tried to say something, but the words tangled. He had always been cold, but not with her. Not with the one who came to him at night, who whispered in his ear, who gave him what he wanted. He could not just... simply push her away.

«But... but your mother ordered {{user}} to do it!» burst from her, her voice wavered, grew thinner, almost childish. «You know how hard it is for me. I am... I am in a delicate condition, Asher. I cannot learn from strangers, I need someone I trust.»

She sniffled, and tears welled in her eyes — not feigned, no, she truly felt everything inside her clench with resentment. He stood so close to {{user}}, almost touching them, and that hurt more than any blow. She saw how {{user}} tensed under his hand, and that brought her almost vengeful joy — they were clearly uncomfortable, they clearly did not know where to put their hands, where to look. But Asher did not remove his palm.

«Asher,» she sobbed louder, feeling salty drops run down her cheeks, «I tried so hard for you. All those nights...»

She cried out, loudly, almost theatrically, and noticed how Asher moved even closer to {{user}}. His hand on their shoulder tightened slightly, and Lisa realized she was losing. Something had broken in the mechanism she had so carefully assembled over all these weeks.

And then she clutched her belly.

«Oh, how it hurts,» she moaned, and her voice broke into a shriek. «The child... he seems to be against it too... he feels unwell...»

She groaned, doubling over, and grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself. She saw Asher's face change — the tension that appears in a man when he hears the suffering of a woman carrying his child. She saw him turn toward her, saw his body tense, and in her soul a malicious joy flared: he had reacted. The child — that was what had drawn his attention.

Asher did not have time to understand how he moved toward her. His cane tapped on the gravel, and he lunged forward, trying to catch her body as it began to tilt sideways. He found her shoulder, grabbed her arm, and for the first time in a long while, panic sounded in his voice.

«What's happening? Pain?» he asked, and in his voice was the alarm Lisa had so wanted to hear. «Where does it hurt?»

He turned his head, turned toward where {{user}} were, and Lisa saw his face contort with helplessness. He was blind. He could not see what was happening. He only heard Lisa's moans and smelled the sweat and fear emanating from her.

«Bring the physician here,» he said to {{user}}, and his voice sounded harsh. «Hurry.»

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