Chapter One – Beauty in the Fog

The taxi struggled along the path, slowing to navigate the sharp curves cut through the mountain to reach the impenetrable fortress sitting at its very top. A medieval castle centuries ago, Veridien Academy should have been an unlikely option for an educational institution, especially for the offspring of affluent families. The draw bridge had been removed and the moat filled with stone and dirt, over which large slabs of granite had been placed to press down the bloody history of the place.

Through the car window, Lawrence observed the looming construction. Once he went through the gates, he’d be on his own, despite his uncle’s and Marius Vassier’s assurances to the contrary. It was only an observation; he preferred to work alone, and this was his first true shot at real fieldwork. Whatever he’d done at the police academy until now barely counted as homework.

“Here will do,” he told the taxi driver.

“Are you sure, young man?” The driver was well into his sixties and close to retirement. Too often for Lawrence to ignore it, he had stolen glances at him through the rearview mirror. “It’s quite a hike to that school.”

The way the driver said the last words made Lawrence wonder about the myths surrounding or involving the academy. The place commanded respect, fear, and unnatural superstition. It was expected that the locals would tell tales about it.

Later, when he’d go down to the village, he’d casually converse with the people there, see what kind of rumors they enjoyed spreading about the old educational institution.

“It is fine,” he confirmed and waited for the taxi to slow down to a stop around a bend.

When he got out, the first thing Lawrence noticed was the thin layer of ice covering the tarmac. The elderly driver was better off not risking his and his passenger’s lives on these curves.

Snow came early here. Lawrence rubbed his hands together, enjoying the cold. Vassier had insisted on purchasing a high-quality pair of gloves for him, but he intended to use the extras so lavishly offered as little as possible so he could return them in good enough shape to be resold. The private investigator had removed the price tags in front of him to ensure that Lawrence wouldn’t just put the gloves aside, with no intention of using them at all.

He understood why both his uncle and Vassier insisted so much on his projecting a certain level of wealth. Credibility was essential for an undercover agent. But the closest he stayed to his true self, the less likely he was to make mistakes. He would balance things.

The taxi disappeared from view, its taillights slowly fading into the morning fog that had yet to lift. Lawrence inhaled, then exhaled, taking in the mist of his breath becoming one with the haze surrounding him.

The air was fresh and sharp. His lungs were thankful for it, but Lawrence became quickly aware that breathing in too deeply made him dizzy. The elevation would take a bit of getting used to, he duly noted.

The snow that had fallen overnight clung to the needles of pine trees, but it hadn’t been abundant enough to cover the earth with a soft blanket. That would happen later, without a doubt. It was barely mid-October, and here the weather was harsher already.

Lawrence grabbed his luggage and began climbing the demanding slope. Choosing to walk by the road instead of on it, he made sure he wouldn’t slip by accident. The fashionable boots Vassier had insisted on purchasing for him had reasonable grip, but Lawrence still considered his old footwear better. That pair was stashed at the bottom of his luggage, just in case.

The driver couldn’t have known, and Lawrence preferred to keep things to himself, but he hadn’t gotten out of the taxi early just to enjoy the exercise.

It was one thing to study the crime scene on maps and imprecise drawings made on blackboards at the police academy – the cadets usually enjoyed the illicit nature of speculating on ongoing investigations – and another to see and examine the place himself.

According to what he knew, he wouldn’t have to walk far. Right ahead, to the left, the ground gave way, and a ravine stretched alongside the road, like a wound opening inside the earth.

Of course, to get closer to his destination, Lawrence needed to abandon the road altogether. He wasn’t expected until eight sharp, which gave him enough time to conduct his examination of the place where Lukas von Keller had fallen to his death. Or been pushed to it.

The thin snow crunched underneath his feet as he walked in earnest. The slope grew sharper here, making the chasm to the side look menacing and dark.

At least the air was still. Strong winds wrapped around Veridien Academy, its thick walls and tall spires. Lawrence took a moment to catch his breath and observed the old castle, rising like a long dark shadow, not so far from where he stood. Guarded by sharp cliffs from three sides, the castle could only be accessed from the side where the moat used to be. The fog bathing the ground made it appear as if the dark building floated, like a figment of imagination or a fairytale.

He was about to move again when an incongruous sight stopped him from advancing.

Someone was there, standing at the highest point above the ravine – according to Lawrence’s approximate calculations – about a dozen yards away from him. The fog engulfed the lower part of the stranger’s body, so at first glance, Lawrence thought he had to be completely naked.

It was a young man, with light blond hair and skin so white that it was easy to miss him by how well he blended with the fog around him. The same as Veridien Academy, he appeared to be floating above the ground, like a character from a fantastic story.

His arms were hanging by his sides. From the position of his body, Lawrence garnered a wealth of information. The young man was lonely, saddened, maybe even ready to take a reckless last step.

Cautiously, Lawrence put his luggage down. Then, with measured moves, he shimmied out of his coat, which he slowly folded over his arm. He needed to make just the right amount of noise so he didn’t startle the man. From the corner of one eye, he considered the distance between him and the chasm to the left. A wrong step was all it would take.

Closer and closer, the stranger came into view completely. He wasn’t naked. He wore dark navy pants, which Lawrence recognized as being part of the Veridien uniform. But his feet were naked, and the toes curled over the edge, the ravine opening below.

Lawrence considered his options. In two steps, he’d be there and snatch the young man before the unthinkable happened. But if his assumptions were wrong, he risked making a fool of himself before even stepping inside Veridien. It wouldn’t bode well for his first day.

He stopped when the stranger turned his head, alerted by his presence. Lawrence thought his eyes were playing tricks on him for a moment.

Because he was staring at a shockingly beautiful face. It wasn’t the perfect symmetry that made it so, but the slight imperfections, such as a bottom lip that looked too full and petulant, or the purple shadows underneath the eyes.

Eyes as pale and clear, yet dark, as river ice.

“A bit chilly today, isn’t it?” Lawrence asked, eager to break the spell that knocked the air out of his lungs momentarily.

The stranger stared at him for a long moment that hurt Lawrence’s face. Under that watchful gaze, he found himself breathless once more.

“What an old man thing to say,” the stranger said in a warm, unhurried voice.

Lawrence struggled with the ticklish sensation sneaking close to his skin at the sound of the stranger’s voice.

“Is that for me, Sir Galahad?”

The soft mockery was evident. But as he turned, the beautiful stranger no longer appeared to teeter close to the edge. He had moved away from it, abandoning whatever thoughts had plagued him earlier in favor of the solid ground.

Lawrence offered his coat without another word. Now that the initial shock of staring into the very face of beauty was beginning to wear off, he knew who the young man was.

Bastien Hawthorne. The main suspect, according to the von Kellers. His uncle had advised him to keep an open mind, and Lawrence intended to do so.

Bastien took the offering the way a king would accept a gift from a vassal. With deliberate moves, he draped it over his shoulders. Lawrence bit his lips not to smile. While the Hawthorne heir wasn’t a small man by any means, that big coat swallowed his entire frame, making him look like a kid.

A lost one.

Lawrence stared at Bastien’s naked toes.