***Cadiz***
Three days had passed since I last set foot outside my chambers, three days of meals delivered to my door and eaten in solitude while the rest of Ravenshollow continued its daily routines without any apparent notice of my absence. The servants who brought my food never commented on my withdrawal, maintaining their usual polite efficiency while their eyes held that same careful neutrality I had grown accustomed to seeing.
Most telling of all was Raizel's complete lack of response to my disappearance from the dining room, from the corridors, from any space where our paths might cross.
No inquiry about my wellbeing, no summons to explain my behavior, no acknowledgment that anything had changed. His indifference was absolute, as though my presence or absence made no difference to the functioning of his household or his own daily existence.
I had once been foolish enough to interprete his silences as consideration, his distance as protection.
The memory of that night when raw instincts had overwhelmed both our restraints had haunted me for weeks afterward, coloring every interaction with hope that something fundamental had shifted between us.
I had watched for signs of softening in his expression, moments when his carefully maintained composure might crack enough to reveal genuine feeling.
What a fool I had been.
My gaze drifted to the connecting door between our chambers. Behind that door lay the man who had claimed me as his spouse, who had held me with desperate intensity for a few hours before retreating back into the cold formality that defined every aspect of our relationship.
The encounter had meant nothing to him beyond temporary loss of control, a biological inconvenience to be managed and then forgotten. I had been naive enough to hope it might represent the beginning of something more genuine, but Raizel's behavior in the days that followed had made his true feelings abundantly clear.
I was an obligation, a political necessity, a problem to be contained rather than a partner to be cherished.
Every attempt I had made to establish some meaningful connection with him or his household had been gently but firmly discouraged.
When I offered to help with the estate business, I was told my assistance was unnecessary. When I tried to ask about the strange incidents that seemed to follow in my wake, I was dismissed with cold finality.
Even my questions about the barrier I had somehow created during the creature attack had been shut down so harshly that I had not dared raise the subject again.
"You shouldn't speak of such things," he had said, his voice carrying a warning that made me shrink back into confused silence.
Yet I knew he understood what was happening to me far better than I did myself. The conversation I had overheard proved that his family was intimately aware of my nature as something called a null omega, even if they had chosen not to share that knowledge with me directly.
Raizel could have explained everything, could have helped me understand the abilities that were manifesting in me with increasing frequency. Instead, he maintained the same wall of silence that had defined our relationship from the beginning.
I was tired of waiting for scraps of affection that would never come, tired of interpreting every fleeting expression as potential evidence of deeper feeling. Whatever capacity for warmth Raizel possessed was clearly reserved for others, not for the unwanted spouse who had been forced upon him through political necessity.
Rising from my bed with movements that felt stiff from disuse, I made a decision that should have been obvious weeks ago. I would stop expecting anything from him beyond basic courtesy.
I would stop watching for cracks in his composure, stop hoping for conversations that went beyond weather and household logistics. Most importantly, I would stop allowing his indifference to define my sense of worth.
If I truly was this null omega they spoke of in whispers, then I possessed abilities that were valuable regardless of whether my husband chose to acknowledge them. The knowledge I sought about my nature existed somewhere within these walls, and I would find it through my own efforts rather than waiting for explanations that would never come.
I dressed with more care than I had shown in recent days, choosing clothes that made me feel less like an invalid hiding from the world. My reflection in the mirror looked pale but determined, and for the first time in weeks I recognized something of my former self in the face that stared back at me.
The corridors felt different as I walked toward the library, though I could not have explained exactly how. Perhaps it was simply my altered perspective, the way determination could transform familiar spaces into territories waiting to be conquered rather than mazes designed to confuse and discourage.
The servants I passed offered their usual polite greetings, but I thought I detected something like approval in their expressions, as though my emergence from self-imposed isolation was somehow noteworthy, not like I care about anyone's approval anymore.
The library welcomed me with its familiar scents and golden light, thousands of volumes waiting to surrender their secrets to anyone persistent enough to demand them. I had searched these shelves before without success, but that had been when I was looking for obvious references, clear explanations that might not exist in such accessible forms.
Today I would be more systematic, more creative in my approach. If direct mentions of null omegas were absent from the general collection, then perhaps the information I needed was hidden in texts that discussed related topics. Bloodline anomalies, magical deviations, historical accounts of individuals who did not fit conventional classifications. Somewhere in this vast repository of knowledge lay the truth about what I was and what I might become.
I would find it, not because anyone had chosen to help me, but because I refused to remain ignorant about my own nature any longer. Whatever game the Ashforde family was playing, whatever purposes they had in mind for me, I would meet them as an informed participant rather than a naive pawn.
The first section I chose dealt with historical accounts of unusual magical manifestations. If my abilities were as rare as Lord Eamon had suggested, then surely someone in the past had documented similar cases, even if they had used different terminology. I pulled volume after volume from their resting places, settling into the familiar rhythm of research that had always brought me comfort.
Hours passed as I worked through dusty tomes and faded manuscripts, my initial optimism gradually giving way to the same frustration that had plagued my earlier attempts.
Yet this time I pressed on, driven by a determination that felt different from mere curiosity. This was about claiming ownership of my own identity, about refusing to allow others to define me through their silence.
Somewhere in these pages lay the key to understanding not just what I was, but what I could choose to become. And I would find it, no matter how long the search required or how many volumes I had to examine.
For the first time in a while, I felt like I was taking control of my own destiny rather than waiting for others to decide it for me. The sensation was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure, but it was entirely my own.
That had to count for something.