historical · victorian · angst · family · forbidden romance · duty · sibling dynamics · internal conflict
The conservatory at twilight was a cathedral of glass and ghostly foliage. The last copper glow of sunset seeped through the domed ceiling, catching on jasmine vines and the pale faces of dormant orchids. Arthur stood motionless before a night-blooming cereus, its bud clenched tight like a secret. He was not alone. Edmund lingered a few paces away, having delivered a message, yet neither man made a move to depart. The humid, perfumed air grew dense with everything left unsaid. ‘It will open soon,’ Edmund murmured, his voice barely stirring the silence. Arthur did not turn. ‘Some beauties are meant to flourish only in the dark,’ he replied, each word weighted with meaning. Then, defying every instinct his upbringing had carved into him, he shifted. The look that passed between them…