It was rare that mornings blossomed grey now. But when Harlan Hershel woke up, the sky was overcast and a faint mist ghosted the horizon.

In a dream, he saw Rosalind. She was quarreling with someone whose voice he could not comprehend. The vision had woken him. Harlan threw on his robe and quietly made his way downstairs.

As he passed the kitchen, he heard the maids readying breakfast yet the scent of eggs turned his stomach.

Harlan shuffled to the sitting room and slumped in his chair.

He saw droplets of dried crimson on the side table and his wine bottle lacked at least a glassful of liquid. Harlan reached for the goblet and took hold. He pressed his fingers onto the glass and inspected it. Sighing, he shook his head. "What have I done?" he uttered into the silence.

Harlan had traded his sons' well-being for his daughter's. Never had he thought that the high price for Jacob and Julian's salvation was to be Rosalind's damnation.

The patriarch aged decades the day he handed his only daughter to Lord Caspian – the horror of Transylvania – that fateful day nearly a year ago.

Though the Borgo Beast had vowed he would treat Rosalind as a respected guest, deep in his bones, Harlan had not believed him.

But he handed Rosalind over all the same.

Given the choice now, he would have opted to have her never step into the Borgo and anywhere near the murderous lord.

But what of my sons?

His gaze locked onto the red stains clinging to the interior of the glass. I would have begged, pleaded, implored. I would have pulled out my sword and fought the beast knowing death would claim me. His breath came quickly. He could not look away from the stains. These stains were not permanent.

Death would come bloody and gasping on immaculate white. The snow would cover Harlan like a shroud. He would have died but he would have died an honorable man.

But what of my sons?

Harlan had agreed—agreed with the devil — to let Rosalind stay at the Borgo manor for a month with a man who did nothing but terrorize and murder.

His grip on the goblet tightened. I should have let Lord Caspian slaughter me. I would have gone with dignity.

He squeezed his eyes shut. His chest ached. If the trade had not been made it would have been utter pandemonium. My sons would have perished. The beast promised to serve them death for supper. The ghastly trees with their nightmare limbs held them prisoners. Julian's and Jacob's bones would have become a feast for the little nocturnal beasts.

Now, drink tamed the guilt. It caged the regret.

He let go of the glass and clasped his hands together. My boys would have died with me. Then the wicked lord would have found our house. He would have taken her anyway.

Harlan opened his eyes and looked at the fireplace. Coal and soot were all that was left.

He never witnessed Rosalind slip away during the nights. If he did, would his shame allow him to call her back?

He knew she returned a different person. The sweet innocence in her eyes was a black plague, her words were often sharp.

Rosalind no longer fretted over her brothers when they went on a hunt. She never asked for them to bring her back anything special.

She spent her days in her room reading and her nights in the parlor sitting on dozens of pillows she threw on the floor in front of the fireplace where she remained for hours watching the flames.

When Rosalind brought Troy to her father's attention one morning a few months after the news of Lord Caspian's death, joy came over the old man. Her spark of interest made him think things would be alight again. Harlan believed Troy would be the perfect match for his daughter and the ideal distraction from the past.

"Father, this is the young lord who inherited the manor. It is said he has a kind heart and a sweet soul. They say he descends from English royalty. He was born in Southampton, you know." Rosalind had told him one day as they passed Troy in the street eight months ago.

Troy, having secretly planned the surprise meeting with Rosalind weeks before, bowed to Harlan in greeting as he passed them.

"He is from mother's place of birth. Were she still with us, I am certain she would have loved to meet him."

Though dead for years, Harlan kept Heather close to his heart.

The patriarch instantly knew Troy would be ideal for his daughter. "I shall arrange a meeting with the young lord, my dear. He seems like a true gentleman. You must get to know one another. There are not many English folks living in Transylvania. It is paramount your husband is the blood of your mother's and my land."

Unbeknownst to him, Rosalind and Troy already knew each other intimately and she did not care where he was from. In her heart, Troy was of the Borgo. Born and raised among hellish circumstances, hatred, and stone.

Soon, the pair was engaged and renovations on the manor began.

Being with the young lord did not bring back the old Rosalind. It was as though nothing could put the broken pieces of his child together again. Harlan knew she loved Troy. He made her smile though Harlan rarely saw it reach her eyes. Her engagement to Troy could not erase the faraway look she sometimes got. It was as though Rosalind was looking into an abyss.

Though news of Lord Caspian's death had brought delight to the land, Harlan noticed how his daughter's jaw clenched whenever someone mentioned the beast. Once or twice, he recalled tears glistening in her green eyes.

I will not harm her in any way, Lord Caspian's phantom voice whispered in Harlan's ear.

"What did he do to you?" he whispered gruffly. "He swore on his honor he would treat you well. Why do you not show happiness when his death is mentioned?"

He did not hurt me. He remembered Rosalind telling him upon her return. I was treated well.

Troy, young, handsome Lord Troy would be her salvation. At least Harlan hoped whenever he took a sip of sweet red wine.

Harlan thought back to the night Rosalind returned. Dinner was full of chatter mainly from her brothers who tried to keep the situation light.

After dinner, Rosalind had excused herself. As she headed to her room, she was cornered by Julian.

Harlan overheard the conversation.

"Was he unkind to you, sister?"

"No, Julian."

"You were not...violated in any way, were you? He did not try to –"

"The lord of the manor was a perfect gentleman."

"Somehow I cannot believe a monster like him had you as his honored guest and nothing more."

"What are you implying?"

"That he tried to make you his whore."

"If I tell you that he did not then take my word for it. He is not the man you think."

"Man? He is a beast, Rosalind. Nothing more."

"You are a fool! The lord was honorable. Never mention him again, Julian!"

Harlan momentarily hid his face in his hands recalling how her footsteps thundered as she ran up the stairs and violently slammed her bedroom door.

He would never know what truly happened. Exhaling harshly, Harlan muttered, "If there is a God above, let Troy erase all the damage we have done."

My fourth dedication is for MarCafeWrites who I met through the ONC a few years ago. I not only found a gifted storyteller but also an amazing friend.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴄᴋᴇᴛᴇᴇʀ

A tragic misunderstanding. A murder. A secret. An unlikely partnership. A spirited countess and an enterprising racketeer.

~~~

Manchester, England. May 1925.The Roarin' 20s. An era of glamor, decadent parties, jazz music, flowing booze, and opulent wealth. Possibilities are endless. Anyone can be a success, even families once seen as working class. But beneath the glittering exterior lies a world of corruption, prejudice, and civil unrest.

When the disappearance of a Russian refugee brings Countess Rose Sinclair to the doorstep of known racketeer William Mercer, neither party is prepared for the significant changes a single encounter can inspire.

Blackmailed by William into employment, Rose receives a swift and unwanted education regarding a side of the class struggle she has never before experienced.

As she unwillingly ventures deeper into the precarious world of the Mercer family and their notorious gang the Deansgate Streeters, Rose finds herself torn between her moral compass, her suppressed rebellious youth, her growing love for a motherless toddler, and her mounting attraction for William, a man she has every reason to despise.

Fun Fact! Julian actually insinuated Rosalind and Lord Caspian had, er, relations in the first story. He was sure the lord had somehow got his sister into his bed.