"So this is the place?"
Livius Carter's voice tore through the morning silence of the working-class quarter, forcing the nearest passersby to hastily lower their gazes and quicken their pace.
Even without seeing the ducal crest on the guards' uniforms, these people could sense danger a mile away — that very scent of power, which for commoners was more terrifying than the plague.
"Yes, my lord," Morris, Livius's faithful shadow, bowed his head even lower. "All clues point to this very house."
Livius Carter, the second son of the duke, a man whose name was now spoken in the capital with the same reverence as his father's, frowned. His amethyst eyes, cold and piercing, slowly surveyed the dilapidated building before him.
It was a wretched structure — a sagging roof, walls that had not seen whitewash for a long time, tiny windows. A house like hundreds, if not thousands, in this quarter. And this house, according to his subordinates, had become a refuge for his fugitive brother and sister.
At first, Livius truly found it hard to believe.
Remesis, his younger sister, the princess of House Carter — hiding in such a hovel? It seemed absurd.
But Morris was not one to make mistakes.
Having received the order to locate the fugitives within a day, this man had set about the task with his characteristic meticulousness. He had questioned all the servants, interrogated the guards, checked every lead. And in just a few hours, he had led them here.
Livius shifted his gaze to Morris, standing slightly behind with the unchanging expression of a stone mask on his face. This man had never let him down before.
"We go inside," Livius's voice sounded even, but it already carried that very steel which no one dared disobey.
"Yes, my lord."
Morris nodded almost imperceptibly, and that was enough.
The guards of the Carter estate, who had arrived with them — ten elite warriors in black uniforms with silver embroidery — moved forward without a word. The first kick landed squarely in the center of the wooden door, and it swung open with a pitiful crack, slamming against the wall.
Livius didn't even flinch at the noise. He had no time for formalities. His sister, who had dared to run away from him, was somewhere here. And he wanted to see her as soon as possible.
He entered first.
The inside of the house turned out to be even smaller than it appeared from outside. A cramped hallway leading into a tiny living room that also served as a kitchen. The furniture was old, worn, but clean. In the corner, a hearth where embers still glowed. The smell of simple food, cheap soap, and something else that Livius couldn't immediately identify.
His gaze swept across the room, registering every detail. But not for long.
Then his gaze stopped on the people.
There were two of them. A man and a woman, standing by the hearth, clearly caught off guard by the sudden intrusion.
The man — large, with calloused hands and the face of someone accustomed to hard labor — stepped forward, instinctively shielding the woman. His jaw was clenched, and in his eyes was that very animal fear that appears in those who know that before them is a force they cannot contend with.
The woman was shorter, thin, with a pale face and dark circles under her eyes. She clung to her husband's arm with such force that her knuckles turned white.
But even so, even through the tension and terror, Livius recognized her without difficulty.
His lips twitched in a barely perceptible smirk.
Of course. Unlike Michel, he recognized this woman immediately. How could he not remember her? She had been Remesis's maid since childhood, always following his sister like a faithful shadow. Even now, after so many years, he could recall her face.
Her name... her name was also on the tip of his tongue.
"...Seyla, correct?" Livius said, and his voice sounded almost gentle, although there was no hint of warmth in his eyes. The corners of his lips lifted, and this smile was like a knife blade — sharp and cold. "I sincerely apologize for such a sudden intrusion."
Silence hung in the room. Only the crackling of the embers in the hearth could be heard.
"Nevertheless," Livius continued, taking a step forward, and the guards behind him moved in sync, filling the entire space of this wretched hovel, "I do not intend to harm you. I simply need you to cooperate with me."
Seyla and her husband Jonas stood motionless. Their faces were equally pale, the same fear frozen in their eyes. But Seyla still found the strength to step forward.
She bowed her head slightly before the lord. The gesture was practiced — the very one taught to every servant in the Carter house.
"My lord," her voice sounded steady, although Livius could clearly see her hands trembling, hidden in the folds of her apron, "to what do I owe your visit?"
Livius smiled. He liked it when people maintained their dignity even in the face of danger. It was a pity that this would not change their outcome.
He was not going to waste time. Livius preferred to act directly.
"My sister and brother," he said. "Are they currently here?"
Seyla's heart lurched. Livius saw it. She did not dare to raise her gaze, staring somewhere around his chest, and this was more eloquent than any words.
"My lord..." the woman's voice trembled slightly, but she quickly composed herself, "I do not understand what you are talking about."
"You don't understand?" Livius raised an eyebrow. "How is that possible? Are you not hiding them in your house?"
"No!" for the first time, notes of panic broke through in Seyla's voice, although she tried her best to hide them. "How could my lady and my lord be in my house?! That... that is impossible!"
Livius sighed. This sigh was heavy, full of patient condescension.
"My younger sister and my brother both disappeared last night," he said slowly. "And, as it happens, according to the head maid, you were the only servant in the house who also left the estate last night. Tell me, Seyla... do you call that a mere coincidence?"
He paused, letting his words settle in the woman's mind. Seyla grew even paler. Her lips pressed into a thin line, she tried her hardest to maintain her composure, but Livius saw her frantically searching for words that might save her.
"My lord, this is just a misunderstanding," she finally managed. "I am in no way connected to this... I swear on my life!"
"Then why did you leave the house so suddenly last night?" Livius tilted his head to the side. "You had no leave or day off. The head maid confirmed this."
Seyla froze for a moment. Her gaze darted to her husband, then back to Livius. She took a deep breath, and her voice sounded a little more confident — or at least she tried to lend it confidence:
"I... I simply happened to learn that my son was sick. A friend passed the message to me. So... so I was very worried and left the house to check on him! It was my mistake, my lord, I know I broke the rules, but..."
"Is that so?" a smile still lingered on Livius's lips, but his eyes remained as cold as the winter sky. "So you want to say that this is indeed just a coincidence? That your sudden departure on the very same night my brother and sister disappeared is a mere coincidence?"
"Y-yes..." Seyla breathed out, and this exhale cost her enormous effort. "Yes, my lord. It is a coincidence."
Livius sighed loudly. He looked at the woman's face with a heavy, probing gaze, as if trying to discern in her features the traces of the lie she was weaving so clumsily.
And then he uttered only one phrase, throwing it into the silence like a bone to hungry dogs:
"Search."
"Yes, my lord!"
The guards of the Carter family, who had been waiting only for this word, scattered through the house like a pack of hounds catching a scent. Their heavy boots thundered on the floorboards, rough voices shouted over each other, commands rained down one after another. Somewhere a chair fell with a crash, dishes shattered, the sound of tearing fabric rang out.
Seyla stood amidst this commotion, clinging to her husband's arm, her face deathly pale. She did not look at Livius. She looked at the floor.
Five minutes. No more. It took only five minutes to search this wretched house from top to bottom. And then one of the guards approached his lord with a guilty expression on his face.
"In this house..." the guard faltered, not daring to raise his eyes to his lord, "my lady and my lord are not present."
Flame flared in Livius Carter's amethyst eyes.
"Is that certain?" his voice sounded sharper, and the guard involuntarily stepped back. "Did you search everything properly?!"
"Yes, my lord..." the guard's voice trembled. "We checked every room. They are truly not here."
Livius could not believe it. Could not, did not want to, and was not going to.
Everything pointed to this house, all the evidence said that his fugitive sister and brother were hiding precisely here. So had this insignificant maid turned out to be smarter than he assumed?... Had she managed to move them somewhere else before his arrival?!
His fingers clenched into fists. Anger, hot and viscous, rose from somewhere deep in his chest, clouding his vision with a crimson veil. One more moment — and he was ready to break, to lash out at this woman, to shake the truth out of her by any means, regardless of anything.
Morris, standing slightly behind, cast a cautious, almost imperceptible glance at his lord. Concern showed in his eyes — not for Seyla, no, of course not. He was concerned that anger might cloud Livius's reason, and then everything would not go as planned.
But before Livius could lose control, the guard, that very one, suddenly stepped forward and hastily added:
"...But in one of the rooms, we managed to find this!"
He extended his hand, and on his palm lay an object — small, crumpled, but recognizable at first glance.
Livius silently took it. His fingers closed around the soft, cool fabric.
It was a nightgown. Made of the finest silk, with silver embroidery on the collar. The very one he had seen on his sister that night.
Livius brought the fabric to his face, and a smile blossomed on his lips — quiet, almost blissful, which made the guards standing nearby break out in goosebumps.
He turned to Seyla, holding the gown in his raised hand like a banner, and his voice sounded with a triumph that was hard to hide:
"And after this, you still want to say that they were not here?"
Seyla's face became deathly pale. She looked at that very object which Remesis had left here in haste, forgetting to take with her, and horror froze in her eyes.
"This..." her voice broke, she swallowed convulsively, frantically running through possible excuses in her mind, "this is mine!"
"What?"
"This object... belongs to me!" Seyla blurted out. "I... I bought it at the market! It is mine, my lord, I swear!"
The young man smirked — quietly, but such that the sound cut through the silence like the crack of a whip.
"This nightgown," he said slowly, drawing out the words, as if savoring each syllable, "is made of the finest silk, which is supplied exclusively to the Carter house. It has embroidery that can only be ordered by a member of our family. And you want to say..." he stepped towards her, and Seyla involuntarily recoiled, "that an ordinary maid like you can afford such an object?"
He was right. This was the simplest, the most irrefutable rebuttal that came to mind. Seyla opened her mouth, trying to think of something, but the words stuck in her throat, refusing to form a plausible lie.
Livius sighed heavily.
This clumsy, hastily concocted lie seemed so absurd to him that he no longer had the inclination to continue this farce. He was tired. Tired of these games, of this resistance, of people who stood far beneath him daring to lie to his face.
At least now he knew for certain: Remesis and Michel had been here. But they had left. Left, perhaps very recently, while he was wasting time on this empty conversation.
Annoyance burned him from the inside, but he quickly suppressed this feeling.
Nevertheless...
"I will give you one more chance," Livius said, and his voice became colder than an arctic wind. He looked down at Seyla, and there was nothing in his gaze but icy, merciless calm. "Tell me the truth right now. Where are they?"
Seyla was silent. Her lips were tightly pressed together, perspiration appeared on her forehead, but she did not utter a word.
Livius waited patiently.
This was strange — this patience, which he had lacked just a minute ago. But now, looking at this woman, he truly tried to restrain himself. She was a maid, insignificant, worthless, but she was a trusted person of his sister. She had raised Remesis, cared for her, been there when he himself could not be there.
For this, he was willing to show leniency.
"Only because you are close to my sister," Livius said, "was I magnanimous enough to give you another chance. And you had better use it before it is too late."
Silence. Seyla stood, not raising her eyes. Her husband, Jonas, held her hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He did not utter a word, but in his gaze, fixed on his wife, there was something that made Livius freeze for a moment.
It was readiness. Readiness to accept any outcome.
Seyla slowly raised her head. In her eyes, full of tears and fear, something suddenly flared that Livius had not expected to see. Not fear. Not hope. Calmness. The quiet, deep calm of a person who had already decided everything.
"I... truly do not know anything, my lord," she said, and her voice did not waver.
At that moment, the woman exchanged a covert glance with her husband. He only nodded seriously to her, and in this nod there was so much understanding, so much silent agreement, that it seemed absurd.
Livius looked at her for another moment.
And then the corners of his lips twitched in a smile.
"Wonderful," he said quietly. "Just wonderful."
He paused, and his next voice was devoid of all emotion.
"Then I no longer need you."
Seyla and Jonas held each other's hands tighter. Their fingers intertwined, and in this gesture was everything: years of lived life, shared worries, shared joys, shared losses. And now — a shared end.
Livius coldly and completely mercilessly uttered only one phrase, throwing it into the silence like a sentence:
"Kill them."
Bloodshed began in the small, quiet commoner's house.
The guards of the Carter family moved simultaneously — a practiced motion, honed to automaticity.
Jonas stepped forward, shielding his wife, and his broad, strong body took the first blow. He did not cry out — only exhaled dully when the sword entered his chest, and slowly sank to the floor, never releasing his wife's hand.
"Jonas!" Seyla fell to her knees beside him, but before she could even touch his face, steel had already pierced her body as well.
She fell next to her husband, and their hands were still intertwined. Dark, thick blood spread across the floor, soaking into the old boards, leaving crimson splatters on the walls.
Livius exhaled — slowly, drawn out, as if releasing from his lungs all the anger that had been building in him since morning. He cast a final, careless glance at the woman's body.
In a way, he felt sorry for her.
She had turned out to be such an idiot. And her husband — the same kind of idiot. They could have lived, could have continued their miserable, worthless lives in this wretched hovel. But they chose death. A meaningless, stupid, unnecessary death.
Because sooner or later, Remesis would still end up in his arms. It was as inevitable as the change of day and night, as the arrival of spring after winter. This woman had cut off her own path to salvation — and for what? For a few hours of reprieve? For a fleeting hope that would not come true anyway?
A worthless death.
Livius turned away from the bodies lying in a pool of blood and again brought his sister's nightgown to his face. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and a blissful, almost ecstatic expression slid across his face, replacing the former coldness.
A faint, barely perceptible scent — of flowers, of clean linen, of something indefinably familiar — filled his nostrils. He drew in this scent, like a bloodhound memorizing a trail, and for a moment his lips twitched in an almost tender smile.
But when he opened his eyes, there was again nothing in them but ice.
Livius gripped Remesis's garment tighter in his hand. The silk crumpled under his fingers, but he didn't care. The main thing was that now he had a piece of her — his sister's scent, her presence. And that was enough to continue the chase.
It was annoying that they had already left this house. But they couldn't have gone far yet, could they? They couldn't dissolve into thin air, couldn't disappear without a trace.
At that moment, Livius Carter spun around sharply.
"Search!" he shouted. "Cordon off the entire city, raise all the men, but find them! They must not leave the capital!"
"Yes, my lord!"
The guards streamed out of the house after their lord, leaving behind only the thud of boots and an ominous silence.
When the last of them had disappeared, complete silence fell in the house again. But this time it was different — heavy, oppressive, saturated with the smell of blood and death.
It was at that moment, when the house became utterly quiet, that something above creaked barely audibly.
It was a floorboard in the attic — that very attic which the guards had glanced into briefly, seen only dust and old junk, and hastily reported that no one was there.
Michel Carter sat in pitch darkness, clutching a small, tightly swaddled bundle to his chest.
He was pressing his hand over his mouth with all his might, and blood had already appeared on his lips — he had bitten through his skin, trying to stifle the scream tearing from within. His eyes, wide open in the darkness, were full of horror.