Chapter 6
Canary

The official excuse was a summer visit to relatives. But everyone knew Claudine von Brandt hadn’t come to Arvis for such a trivial reason.

Before announcing an engagement, there had to be negotiations between the families and a chance for the betrothed to grow familiar with each other. The purpose was obvious, and neither family bothered to hide it. Least of all Claudine.

“Good day, Lord Herhardt.”

Claudine greeted Matthias with perfect poise as she stood before him. There was no trace left of the little girl she had once been.

“Welcome, Lady Brandt.”

Matthias returned her greeting with equal formality, as if addressing a lady he was meeting for the first time.

The two smiled gracefully as they looked at each other.

There was nothing surprising about it. They weren’t particularly close, but they had watched each other for years and therefore knew. They knew just how thoroughly aristocratic Matthias von Herhardt and Claudine von Brandt were—down to their very bones. And that was the clearest reason they had chosen one another.

Matthias smoothly escorted Claudine inside. Afternoon tea had been prepared in the glass conservatory behind the mansion, a thoughtful arrangement by Elise von Herhardt, who knew Claudine loved the place.

“This conservatory is always so beautiful. It’s as though Lady Herhardt has brought heaven itself here.”

Claudine spoke with delight as she set down her teacup without a sound. Her words were bright and girlish, yet carried a calm dignity.

“It has been cultivated with care over many long years,” Elise replied gently. “I look forward to the day I can pass it on to a mistress who will appreciate its value.”

The Count and Countess of Brandt gazed at their daughter with pride and emotion. Claudine, with modesty befitting the moment, added nothing more than a demure smile.

“Matthias, show Claudine Arvis’s heaven.”

Toward the end of tea, Elise spoke lightly. It was a signal—the real negotiations were about to begin.

When Matthias held out his hand, Claudine placed her gloved fingers delicately upon it. For the briefest instant, the memory of a small hand smeared with dust and blood flickered across his mind, only to vanish.

They strolled the paths, exchanging polite conversation. At the center of the conservatory, a marble fountain spilled water in a slow trickle. Birds sang sweetly, softening the drowsy afternoon air.

Claudine cast a sidelong glance at Matthias. Even with a pleasant smile on his face, it was impossible to read his emotions. His manner toward the world was the same—impeccably courteous, but beneath it lingered the pride of a man who had never once bowed his head to anyone. It was an aspect of him Claudine found deeply satisfying.

“The birds in this conservatory are truly lovely.”

Claudine admired the brightly colored birds perched among the branches. Only then did Matthias seem to take notice of them.

Elise von Herhardt loved birds as much as she loved roses. In both cases, she enjoyed them in the same way—tended by hired keepers, to be admired and cherished from afar. That was her way of loving the world.

“They’re so tame. How astonishing. I’d love to know the secret.”

Claudine smiled as a little bird perched on her outstretched hand.

Matthias glanced around. Indeed, the birds in this conservatory were remarkably docile. Even with the windows wide open, they made no attempt to escape. They sang sweetly, always at peace.

At Matthias’s signal, the silver-haired bird keeper approached.

“Their wing feathers are clipped, my lady,” he explained softly. “That way they cannot fly far or escape, and their temper becomes more docile. A bird that can fly freely rarely allows itself to be tamed.”

“Their wings? Doesn’t it hurt them?”

“It’s only the feathers being trimmed, not the flesh. There’s no pain. It keeps them safe—prevents them from flying somewhere dangerous or getting hurt. In fact, it’s better for them. Would you like me to demonstrate?”

“Would that be all right, Lord Herhardt?”

Claudine’s eyes sparkled as she asked.

“As you wish, my lady.”

With Matthias’s permission, the keeper led them to a large cage at the far end of the conservatory. Inside were young birds that had not yet had their wings clipped. He reached in and drew out the most beautiful of them, a bird with gleaming golden feathers, then carried it to the workbench.

“What kind of bird is it?” Matthias asked quietly.

“A canary, my lord. They’re known for their beautiful song.”

He covered the bird’s eyes with a handkerchief, spread its wing, and picked up a sharp pair of scissors.

With practiced precision, he snipped away. Feathers fell in a small shower onto the table. He repeated the procedure on the other wing, then set the bird free.

The canary flapped desperately, but after only a short flight it dropped to the ground. It tried again and again, but the result was always the same.

Matthias bent down and picked it up. The little bird writhed and cried in his hand, but the sound was more like a scream than a song.

“It won’t tame right away, my lord. It takes time for them to adjust,” the keeper said hurriedly, as if to reassure him.

“Would you like to try, my lady?” he then asked Claudine, stroking the bird gently.

“I’ll be content just watching. Thank you for satisfying my curiosity.”

With graceful refusal, Claudine turned away.

“Let’s go back to the table now.”

This time, it was Claudine who extended her hand first. Again, for an instant, Matthias remembered the small hand once dirtied with dust and blood before the image slipped away.

But before leaving, Matthias gave an impulsive command.

“Take it to my chambers.”

“…Pardon, my lord?”

The keeper blinked in surprise.

“That bird.”

Matthias’s gaze narrowed.

“My canary.”

Layla tied her neatly brushed golden hair back tightly, slipped on an apron, and picked up a large basket.

“Today I’ll finish it.”

Her muttered words carried unusual resolve.

With the Duke back in Arvis, and Lady Brandt visiting just days earlier, Layla felt pressed for time. She needed to gather enough wild raspberries before the Duke claimed the forest and before Claudine began summoning her at will. Thankfully, both had been quiet so far—likely occupied with the matter of their engagement.

Pressing her straw hat down firmly, Layla strode toward the forest. The brambles were thick with fruit, more than enough for the people and the animals of Arvis, with plenty left to fall and rot on the ground.

By noon, her basket was full to the brim. Heavy enough to ache her arms, yet her heart was light.

She dropped the basket beneath a tree and hurried down to the riverbank. She scrubbed her hands clean of raspberry stains and splashed water on her face.

The Schulte River wound through the Herhardt woods and valleys. Lovely even in the city, but at its most beautiful here in Arvis, where the clear waters met the green of the forest.

Layla wiped her face with a handkerchief, cooled by the water’s freshness. She thought of dipping her feet, but shook her head quickly.

She remembered her first foster home, where five older cousins had bullied her relentlessly. One day, they dragged her to the river and threw her in. They called it an “initiation,” the price of living under their roof. If not for the neighbor who had heard her screams and rushed to save her, she might have drowned.

It had been their cruelty, but that night it was Layla who was beaten by her drunken uncle. A few weeks later, she was cast out—accused of being troublesome and ungrateful.

It was unjust, but the next home had been better, so Layla told herself it was for the best. She told herself that every time she was passed on to another house, until finally she had come here—to Bill’s cabin. And if she believed it hard enough, perhaps it really was true.

So yes, it had all worked out.

Layla smiled faintly, then skipped back beneath the tree. She tucked the folded newspaper into her apron pocket, clambered up the trunk, and settled on her favorite branch. She wasn’t as nimble as when she was younger, but she had grown more skilled. Bill had taught her.

Balanced comfortably, she gazed out over the Schulte River. To her, it was the most beautiful sight in the world. Even Kyle, who had traveled to many cities, had agreed—it must be true, then.

She watched the waterfowl searching for food, the silver light on the rippling surface, the deep green banks on either side. This was why she looked forward to summer. Even with the Duke as an unwelcome presence, summer was still the most beautiful season.

Satisfied with her conclusion, she pulled out the newspaper and found the page with the serialized mystery novel. The detective was just about to unmask the culprit.

Layla dove eagerly into the story.

Matthias surfaced at last, chest rising and falling as he drew in deep breaths. Droplets ran down his bare torso, muscles shining like the reflection of green shadows on the water.

Instead of leaving the river as he had intended, he turned and swam with the current once more.

He had converted the boathouse beside the dock into his private retreat. His grandmother and mother rarely ventured that far, so it remained his domain alone.

When there were no guests at the mansion, Matthias often came here. To gaze idly through the windows, to read, to nap—whatever he chose, it was always peaceful. But most of all, he loved moments like this, surrendering his body to the river.

He floated on his back, staring up at green boughs and the sky between them. Leaves whispered in the breeze, birds sang overhead, and the ripples broke softly around him. After the recent commotion at the mansion, the calm seemed all the sharper.

The negotiations between the Herhardt and Brandt families were proceeding smoothly. If nothing changed, the engagement between him and Claudine would be announced before summer ended.

The Brandts expected the betrothal period to last about a year, and Matthias agreed.

As Duke, he already had sufficient honor. There was no need to remain an officer for long. After a year or two more with the Guard, he would resign, marry, and then focus on managing the family’s business.

Life would flow as gently as the river.

Closing his eyes, Matthias let himself drift. Sunlight, cool water, and the music of ripples—this was the whole world.

But when he opened his eyes again, perfection was broken.

A woman sat in the branches of a great riverside tree. In the same instant he recognized her, she folded her newspaper and turned her head toward him.

Layla Llewellyn.

That infuriating girl.