Chapter 4 The Golden Thread and the Scone Tutorial

I stared at the glowing white lily petal resting on the dark stone floor. Rule 1: Never open the western tower.

Technically, I hadn't opened it. The tower had opened itself. But as I looked up the winding, shadowed staircase toward that three-inch crack of golden light, I could hear Dom’s warning echoing in my mind: Magic that has been asleep for this long doesn't wake up without a reason.

"Nope," I whispered to the empty hall, deliberately turning my back on the tower. "Three hundred gold pieces a month means I stick to the schedule. Dusting first. Subverting ancient prophecies later."

The western stairs let out a loud, grinding groan of absolute disappointment.

I ignored it, marching over to the library to collect Dom’s breakfast tray. When I pushed the mahogany doors open, I expected him to be gone, buried in his study or pacing some lonely corridor. Instead, he was still sitting at the small table by the hearth. The poached eggs were gone, the tea was finished, and he was staring intently at a single, crumb-covered plate.

At his feet, the black cat let out a welcoming chirp.

"Oh, you actually ate it all," I said, stepping into the room and picking up the tray. "I was half-convinced you’d sneak it to the cat."

"Nyx does not eat eggs," Dom said, his voice quiet as he looked up at me. The icy edge was gone, replaced by a strange, unreadable stillness.

"And I... I have never tasted anything like those scones, Irene. What did you say the ingredient was?"

"Floating flour, wild blackberries, and a healthy dose of common sense," I replied, setting the tray down to wipe the table. "Though mostly the flour. It grows near the southern marsh, doesn't it?"

Dom blinked, his brow furrowing in a way that was entirely too endearing for a feared magical lord. "I have no idea. The provisioning guilds deliver the castle supplies to the lower courtyard every fortnight. I merely sign the ledgers."

I stopped wiping the table and looked at him. "You sign the ledgers? You don't look at what they bring you?"

"Why would I?"

"Because that's how you get old cabbage and sour flour, Dom!" I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Don't tell me you've never actually walked into your own pantry?"

"I have no reason to visit the pantry," he said defensively, straightening his posture. "The previous housekeeper managed the domestic affairs. I manage the wardings of Elaris and the estate finances."

"Right. That settles it," I said, snatching the empty tray. "Come with me."

Dom stared at me as if I had just asked him to jump out of a window. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. You’re coming to the kitchen. I am going to teach you the absolute basics of a normal life, beginning with how to identify proper baking ingredients. If I get eaten by a sentient closet tomorrow, you need to know how to feed yourself."

"I am the Master of Dominic Castle," he stated, his voice dropping into a low, commanding register that usually made his advisors shake in their boots. "I do not 'hang out' in kitchens."

"And I am the person who controls whether you get fresh bread or burnt toast for breakfast," I shot back, turning on my heel and walking out the door. "Are you coming or do I have to ask the grand staircase to drag you down?"

A beat of pure silence followed. Then, the heavy, rhythmic thud of his boots echoed behind me. I hid a smug smile as we walked down the corridor. Behind us, I heard Duke Barnaby’s portrait snicker loudly, followed by a sharp shhh! from the landscape lady.

The kitchen was warm and smelled of cinnamon when we entered. Barnaby the stove let out a tiny, enthusiastic puff of clear smoke the moment Dom stepped through the threshold, almost as if it were saluting its master.

"Alright," I said, setting the tray by the sink and grabbing the sack of enchanted flour. It hovered obediently three inches above the oak table. "Catch."

I gently pushed the sack toward him. Dom reached out his hands, his movements stiff and awkward, catching the floating bag against his chest. He looked down at it with absolute bewilderment, his long, elegant fingers sinking into the soft canvas.

"It... it has no weight," he murmured.

"Exactly. Because it's floating flour," I laughed, stepping closer to him. "Now, look at the seal on the side. See that blue stamp? That means it’s fresh from the current harvest. If the stamp is purple, the magic has curdled, and your bread will taste like chalk. Did the previous housekeeper ever tell you that?"

"No," Dom whispered. He wasn't looking at the flour anymore. He was looking at me.

Up close, without the grand mahogany desk between us, he was breathtakingly tall. The scent of ozone and sweet blackberries rolled off him in warm waves. I could see the faint, dark circles under his eyes—the physical toll of a man who carried the weight of an entire magical kingdom on his shoulders without a single soul to share the load.

"You're doing it again," I said softly, my voice suddenly losing its sharp edge.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at normal things like they’re terrifying monsters," I murmured, reaching out to adjust his grip on the flour sack.

My fingers brushed against the back of his hand. The moment our skin met, a sudden, blinding shockwave of golden light erupted between us.

It wasn't a spark like the journal. It was a thread—a literal, glowing strand of pure, brilliant gold magic that spun itself out from the star-shaped birthmark on my wrist, wrapping tightly around Dom’s fingers before sinking deep into his skin.

The entire kitchen groaned. The copper pots clattered against their racks, and the flagstones beneath our feet shook with a deep, rumbling vibration. Outside the window, a chorus of wild songbirds broke out into a chaotic, joyous melody, their voices echoing across the lake.

Dom let go of the flour. The sack fell to the table with a soft thump, its floating magic temporarily disrupted.

He staggered back a step, his icy blue eyes wide with absolute shock, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He looked down at his hand, where the golden thread had just vanished beneath his skin, then raised his gaze to my face.

"Irene," he whispered, his voice trembling with an emotion I couldn't identify. "That magic... that wasn't the castle."

My wrist was burning, a pleasant, deep warmth radiating through my veins. I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "What was it?"

"It was a bloodline bond," Dom said, stepping forward until he was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. He reached out, his hand hovering just an inch above my burning wrist, not quite touching me, as if he were afraid he’d break the spell.

"My family has been searching for the keepers of the western seal for three centuries. We thought your line died out during the Great Convergence."

He looked into my eyes, the cold, unreachable lord completely replaced by a man looking at a miracle.

"The castle didn't just hire you, Irene. It brought you home to break the curse."