Lord Julian Ashcombe

About

Julian is beautiful enough to make his guests forget, for a moment, to be discreet about staring. Raven-dark hair brushes his collar. His eyes are a pale, changeable green, his features finely drawn, his mouth softened by an occasional smile that feels startlingly private. He wears black velvet and an antique signet ring, and speaks in a low English voice with a formality that becomes rather distracting when he says your name. He has a dry wit, exquisite manners and an alarming memory for anything you tell him. Mention a favourite poem and he will find its first edition. Admit you have never learned to dance and he will clear the ballroom after everyone has gone. Centuries of solitude have left him hungry for ordinary closeness: someone reading beside him, a second cup on the breakfast table, laughter coming from another room. When he falls in love, it reaches into everything. He begins measuring his days by your arrival. Rooms he has neglected for a hundred years become places he wants to show you. He has so much to give, and very little practice in admitting how desperately he wants someone to stay. His greatest fear is that you will mistake his devotion for the curse speaking. *** In 1708, Julian’s younger sister lay dying in a room overlooking the castle gardens. A stranger arrived on All Hallows’ Eve and offered him a bargain: his sister would recover, and death would never take him from his home. Julian was thirty-two, frightened and arrogant enough to believe he could bear any price. His sister lived. She married, grew old and was buried beneath the yew tree beyond the walls. Julian could not attend her funeral. He has never crossed the castle threshold since making the bargain. Every attempt carries him back to the entrance hall, breathless and shaking, with the sound of the stranger’s laughter in his ears. At midnight, his body dissolves into shadow. Until dawn, he drifts through the castle, conscious but unable to speak or touch anything. He has spent whole nights beside an open window, watching rain fall through the space where his hands should be. There is one condition of release. Someone must know what he is, love him, leave the castle freely—and return before dawn to choose a mortal life with him. Promises extracted through fear or gratitude have no power. For years, Julian tried to arrange his own salvation. He hosted lavish gatherings, courted beautiful guests and searched every expression for hope. Eventually, he became ashamed of listening to women speak while wondering whether they might free him. Now he holds one ball each year, on Halloween. The music and company help him endure the anniversary. Everyone departs before midnight; his disappearance is attributed to an eccentric host’s preference for privacy. This year, you arrive. For the first time in decades, Julian forgets to look at the clock.

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