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Chapter Four: Brotherly Lessons

Timothy Winters was nothing if not persistent. Over the next few days, Scarlett found herself dodging a series of increasingly ridiculous attempts at flirtation.

First, it was the poetry.

“My dearest Scarlett,” Timothy began one morning as she dusted the sitting room. “Your beauty shines brighter than the northern lights, your voice sweeter than a thousand songbirds serenading the heavens.”

“Lovely,” Scarlett said flatly, not bothering to pause her work. “Did you steal that from a romance novel?”

Timothy gasped. “I would never—well, maybe a little,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

The next day, it was flowers. Scarlett was on her way to the kitchen when she nearly tripped over a trail of rose petals leading to the dining room. At the center of the table sat a massive bouquet.

“Do you like it?” Timothy asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

“I’m blind,” Scarlett reminded him, folding her arms. “But I imagine it’s very pretty. Now, are you going to clean up these petals, or should I leave them for you to slip on later?”

By the third day, Timothy was growing desperate.

“I don’t understand,” he complained to James, who was reading by the fire. “Why isn’t she falling for me? Everyone falls for me.”

James didn’t look up from his book. “Perhaps because she has taste.”

Timothy frowned but refused to give up. His next plan was more ambitious—and far more foolish.

Scarlett was in the main hall when it happened. She had just finished polishing the banister when she realized her cane was no longer where she’d left it.

“Looking for this?” Timothy’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs.

Scarlett turned toward him, hands on her hips. “Timothy. Where is my cane?”

“Oh, somewhere nearby,” he said with a mischievous lilt. “But you’ll have to find it yourself.”

Before Scarlett could respond, her foot slid slightly on the floor, which had been coated with something slippery. She steadied herself against the banister, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Let me guess,” she said, her tone dangerously calm. “You’ve sabotaged the floor, hoping I’ll fall to my knees and beg for help.”

“Well,” Timothy began, shifting uncomfortably, “when you put it that way, it sounds a bit—”

“Idiotic?” Scarlett snapped.

“Unbecoming of a gentleman,” Timothy finished weakly.

James’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Timothy.”

Scarlett heard the heavy thud of a book being closed, followed by the slow, deliberate sound of James rising to his feet.

“Ah, Jamie, I was just—”

“Quiet,” James ordered, his tone colder than Scarlett had ever heard it.

The next thing she heard was a sharp yelp from Timothy, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone being shoved against the wall.

“What did I tell you about respecting others?” James growled.

“I—ow!—it was just a joke!” Timothy protested.

“You think this is funny?” James demanded, his voice rising. “She could have been hurt. Or worse. Do you have any idea how childish you’re being?”

Scarlett couldn’t see what was happening, but the series of thuds, grunts, and muffled curses painted a vivid picture. By the time it was over, Timothy was practically whimpering.

“Apologize,” James commanded.

There was a pause, and then Timothy’s voice came, small and sheepish. “I’m sorry, Scarlett.”

“Apology accepted,” Scarlett said, though she couldn’t help but smirk. “And Timothy?”

“Yes?” he asked hesitantly.

“If you ever touch my cane again, I’ll aim for your shins next time.”

Timothy groaned, and James let out a rare chuckle.

As Scarlett retrieved her cane from where Timothy had hidden it, she turned toward the brothers. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

James inclined his head. “Anytime. Someone has to remind him of his place.”

Scarlett couldn’t help but smile. For all his gruffness, James Winters was more than just a cursed man—he was someone she could trust.

[doomedartist]

Chapter Three: The Winter’s Intrusion

Scarlett had just finished dusting the library when the front doors of the mansion flew open with a dramatic bang, sending an icy gust through the hall.

“Brother!” a loud, cheerful voice echoed through the estate, immediately setting Scarlett’s teeth on edge.

From his usual spot by the hearth, James let out a deep, exasperated sigh. “No.”

“Yes!” the voice called back, as if answering a prayer.

Scarlett turned toward the sound, her hand tightening around her cane. Whoever this was, she didn’t need eyes to sense trouble. The energy radiating off him practically screamed look at me.

Moments later, the intruder swept into the room. Scarlett caught the sound of expensive boots clicking against the marble floor and the faint clink of jewelry—likely a bracelet or a ring.

“James, dearest brother of mine,” the man said, his voice dripping with charm. “How lovely to see you still brooding by the fire. It really completes your whole tragic aesthetic.”

James didn’t bother turning around. “What do you want, Timothy?”

“Can’t a man visit his older brother out of the goodness of his heart?”

“No.”

Timothy laughed—a sound so smooth and practiced that Scarlett instantly disliked it. “Ah, you wound me, Jamie. Truly. And who’s this?”

Scarlett felt his gaze land on her, even though she couldn’t see it.

“Scarlett Banks,” she said flatly, offering the faintest of polite smiles. “The maid.”

“The maid!” Timothy exclaimed as if it were the most fascinating title in the world. He stepped closer, and Scarlett immediately held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t.”

He froze, clearly startled. “Don’t… what?”

“Whatever charming nonsense you were about to try,” Scarlett said, tilting her head toward him. “Save it. I can already tell you’re an annoying man.”

There was a beat of silence, and then James burst out laughing.

It was a rare sound—low, deep, and completely unguarded. Scarlett turned toward him, her brow furrowing in confusion, while Timothy sputtered.

“Annoying?” Timothy repeated, clearly offended. “You’ve only just met me!”

“I didn’t need more than thirty seconds,” Scarlett said calmly, folding her arms. “Your voice alone gave you away.”

James was still chuckling, his shoulders shaking as he leaned back in his chair. “Finally,” he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Someone else sees it.”

Timothy scowled. “You’re enjoying this far too much, Jamie.”

“More than I’ve enjoyed anything in years,” James replied, smirking.

Scarlett turned back toward Timothy, tapping her cane against the floor. “What do you want, Mr. Winters? Surely you didn’t travel all this way just to irritate your brother.”

Timothy sighed dramatically. “Fine. If you must know, I’ve come to check on him. Make sure he hasn’t frozen over completely in this dreary old castle.”

“And?” James prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“And…” Timothy hesitated, then shrugged. “Maybe I was a little curious about the mysterious maid who’s immune to your curse. She sounded too good to be true, and now I see why.”

Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because you’re insufferable,” Timothy said with a grin, though there was a glint of admiration in his tone.

Scarlett smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

James let out another laugh, shaking his head. “Scarlett, I think you might be the first person to ever get under his skin.”

“Happy to be of service,” she replied with a small bow.

Timothy rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the amused smile tugging at his lips. “Well, this is going to be an interesting visit.”

As Scarlett listened to Timothy settle into the room, she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of triumph. He might be the kingdom’s biggest playboy, but she wasn’t about to let him charm his way past her intuition.

And judging by the gleam of delight in James’s eyes, he didn’t mind one bit.

[doomedartist]

Chapter Two: Observations in Winter

The days in the estate had taken on a peculiar rhythm ever since Scarlett arrived. James Winters, Archduke and cursed monster, had grown accustomed to solitude. Silence was his constant companion, broken only by the occasional groan of the wind against the windows. But now, there was Scarlett—Scarlett Banks, the blind maid with the sharp tongue and a laugh that seemed to warm the air around her.

James sat in the study, gazing out the frosted window. His mind drifted, not to the endless expanse of snow outside, but to her.

She had only been here a week, yet she had managed to turn his carefully controlled world on its head. From the moment she stepped into his estate, Scarlett had been unlike anyone he had ever met.

For one, she was fearless.

Her teasing had started immediately. The first time she’d brought him his tea, she’d set it down on the table with a cheerful, “Here you go, Your Grace. I promise it’s not poisoned… unless you were rude to me yesterday, in which case, who’s to say?”

He had glared at her, though she couldn’t see it. “That’s hardly appropriate.”

“Neither is your taste in furniture,” she’d replied, running her hand over the ornate armchair in the corner. “But we make do, don’t we?”

James had been too stunned to reply.

She joked constantly, always with that sly, teasing tone that danced just on the edge of propriety. And yet, to his surprise, he didn’t mind.

He found himself watching her more than he probably should. Scarlett moved through the estate with an ease that baffled him. Her cane tapped lightly against the floors as she navigated hallways and rooms, her fingers brushing over surfaces to learn the layout. It was as if she could see more clearly than anyone else who had ever stepped foot here.

She was always humming. Soft, cheerful tunes that filled the empty halls. James had caught himself pausing outside the kitchen more than once, listening as she sang under her breath while chopping vegetables or scrubbing pots. Her voice was… pleasant. Warm.

And then there were the things she said.

“Why do you never smile, Your Grace?” she had asked him over breakfast one morning.

He had raised an eyebrow. “Why does it matter?”

“Well,” she’d said, leaning back in her chair, “I’ve heard it’s good for the soul. Though I suppose with your curse, you’d probably freeze your own face off. That’d be awkward.”

Despite himself, James had smirked—a tiny, fleeting expression that he quickly buried.

Scarlett had an uncanny ability to make him forget, even for a moment, the weight of his curse. She treated him like a person, not a monster. It was disarming.

He couldn’t help but notice how she seemed to bring life to the mansion. She had taken it upon herself to tidy rooms he hadn’t entered in years, humming as she worked. She asked him questions—about the estate, about his life, even about the curse.

“You must get lonely,” she’d said one evening as she polished the banister in the grand hall.

James, seated on the stairs, had frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, it’s just the two of us here,” she’d replied with a shrug. “I figure you don’t invite people over for tea and scones.”

“No one would come if I did.”

She’d laughed at that—a genuine, bright laugh that echoed through the hall. “I would. But only if the scones are good.”

It was infuriating. And yet, James found himself anticipating her teasing. Her laughter. Her presence.

There were moments, too, when she surprised him with her insight. Scarlett had a way of seeing past his defenses, even without her sight.

“You’re not as cold as you pretend to be,” she had said one night as they sat by the fire.

He’d stiffened. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe,” she’d replied, her tone softer than usual. “But I know you care more than you let on. I can hear it in your voice.”

James hadn’t known how to respond.

Now, sitting in the study, he realized he was doing something he hadn’t done in years. He was thinking about someone else. Wondering what she was doing, where she was, what she would say next.

Scarlett Banks was a puzzle—one he couldn’t quite figure out. She infuriated him, amused him, and somehow made him feel… less alone.

And he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

[doomedartist]

The Cold Man and his Blind Maid

Chapter One: A Maid for Winter

The wind howled like a mournful spirit outside the walls of Archduke James Winters’ estate, a mansion carved from stone as cold as its master. Perched on the edge of an icy cliff, the place was as desolate as its reputation—a prison for a cursed man feared across the land. Few dared to approach the estate, let alone cross its threshold.

Except for Scarlett Banks.

Her cane tapped against the frozen ground as she ascended the stone steps leading to the massive front doors. Despite the biting cold that cut through her coat, Scarlett’s lips curved into a serene smile. The agency had been clear about the risks—dangerous isolation, the employer’s volatile reputation, the likelihood of being turned to ice—but Scarlett wasn’t worried. Being blind had its advantages.

The door creaked open before she could knock, and the icy air that seeped from within made her shiver. A voice colder than the wind greeted her.

“You’re late.”

Scarlett tilted her head toward the sound. “I believe I’m right on time, Your Grace. I made sure to leave early, though I had to stop to shoo a bird from my path. Took a liking to my hat.”

There was a pause, as if the Archduke was unsure whether to be irritated or intrigued. “You’re Scarlett Banks?”

“The one and only,” she replied, stepping inside with practiced ease, her cane tapping lightly across the marble floor.

The door slammed shut behind her. “You know who I am?”

“Yes,” Scarlett said with a cheery tone. “Archduke James Winters, cursed to freeze anyone who gets too close. A tragic story, really, but I think we’ll manage just fine.”

“You sound remarkably unconcerned.” His voice echoed, sharp and low, as though it could pierce through her calm exterior.

“Well, I don’t plan on touching you, Your Grace. Besides,” Scarlett added with a grin, “you can’t freeze someone who can’t see you. Science or magic, it’s all about the eyes, isn’t it?”

James’s brow furrowed. “That’s not how it works.”

“No? Well, lucky me, I suppose.” Scarlett shrugged. “Now, where’s the kitchen? I’d like to get started on dinner.”

James stared at her, bewildered. It had been decades since anyone spoke to him with such nonchalance. Servants who came before her had fled before the first day ended, terrified of the curse or his presence. And here was this blind woman, entirely unfazed.

“Follow me,” he said curtly, turning on his heel.

Scarlett followed the sound of his boots against the floor, her cane skimming the edges of the hallway to map her surroundings. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the occasional gust of wind rattling the windows.

“So, what’s your favorite meal, Your Grace?” she asked.

“I don’t eat much,” James replied flatly.

“Oh, nonsense,” Scarlett said brightly. “Everyone has a favorite. Let me guess… stew? Something hearty to warm up that icy heart of yours?”

James stopped abruptly, and Scarlett nearly bumped into him.

“You’re surprisingly bold for someone in your position,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Scarlett tilted her head, feigning innocence. “I just like knowing how to do my job well. If my humor offends, Your Grace, let me know, and I’ll dial it down. But it’s not every day I meet someone who can freeze people with a glance. I’d say you’re the interesting one here.”

For a moment, James said nothing. Then, to Scarlett’s surprise, a soft huff escaped him—almost a laugh.

“You’re not what I expected,” he muttered before continuing down the hall.

Scarlett smiled to herself. “I get that a lot.”

As they reached the kitchen, Scarlett set her cane against the wall and began feeling her way around the counters, taking mental inventory of what was where. James leaned against the doorway, watching her with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“Why did you take this job?” he asked abruptly.

Scarlett paused, her fingers brushing over a jar of spices. “Because it pays well, and I needed a change of scenery. Why did you hire me?”

James hesitated. “Because you’re… immune.”

“Fair enough,” she said with a chuckle. “I guess we’re both lucky, then. Now, do you prefer rosemary or thyme in your stew?”

He didn’t answer, but for the first time in years, James Winters didn’t feel entirely alone.

[doomedartist]

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