He held her gaze for a long moment, eyes sharp and unreadable, before turning toward Isabella.
"Forgive me, sister-in-law. Would you grant us a moment alone?"
Isabella rose without protest, but before she could take a step, his voice followed, cold and deliberate.
"On second thought… there's no need. Olivia, come with me to my chambers. We have much to discuss."
A sigh escaped Olivia's lips, resignation heavy in the sound. Sarcasm followed like a bitter aftertaste.
"Ah, yes. The devoted wife… I've become everything but that, haven't I? I'm finished."
Her words left Isabella unsettled. Their eyes met, tension lacing the silence until Olivia added with a dry smile,
"Remind me to kill you when I return. Every time I speak to you, trouble follows. That is, of course, if I come back alive."
Isabella lowered her gaze, unwilling to meet the sting of Olivia's words. Fear pricked Olivia's chest as she turned and followed him down the hall. She had never feared him before—not truly. But now, after confessing that she had killed his father, dread curled like iron chains around her heart. And dread, she knew, was reason enough.
He was waiting when she entered. The chamber was dim, lit only by the golden glow of a candelabrum. A small table had been set, arranged for two. He sat there in silence, studying her with unnerving intensity.
Her eyes flickered across the room, searching for escape, before falling back on him. Finally, his voice cut through the tension, low and edged with something dangerous.
"You walked all the way to my chambers… dressed like this?"
For an instant, her fear faltered, giving way to confusion. She glanced down at herself—at the sheer white nightgown clinging at the chest, the silken kimono loosely draped over her shoulders. She had been too consumed by the weight of her confession to notice how her maid, Kiera, had dressed her. No doubt the girl had assumed Olivia was to spend the night with her husband.
Rather than flush with shame, Olivia straightened, lifting her chin as though daring him to mock her.
"And what of it? The corridors were empty. No one saw me."
His hand tightened violently around the fork he held, metal bending under his grip until it nearly snapped. Fury flickered across his features, but he mastered it with effort.
At last, he gestured toward the chair opposite him.
"Sit," he commanded, voice clipped, restrained.
She sat, still puzzled, and pushed her plate away untouched.
"Aren't you going to eat?" he asked, eyes on his fork. She folded her hands in her lap, fingers knotting together. "Forget the food. Didn't you ask me something a little while ago?"
He chewed without haste, indifferent. "I do not like to speak of trivial matters while I eat. They upset my digestion."
The word lodged in her like a splinter. Trivial. She had confessed to murder, and he called it trivial? For a heartbeat panic flared hot and ridiculous. Heavens — she had killed his father, and he dismissed it as a petty annoyance. Then, with the small, stubborn logic of someone choosing the lesser folly, she decided to eat. At least it would keep her from staring at him. If he meant to kill her, she thought bitterly, she would not die hungry.
They finished their meal in quick, awkward silence. The servants returned with a decanter of wine; he poured himself a glass with languid composure while her curiosity burned like fever. When his hand lifted the goblet, his voice was soft, almost conversational. "I knew."
"Knew what?" she asked, throat tight. She swallowed and the word scraped like stone.
"I knew you were the one who poisoned my father." He said it as one might remark on the weather, as if naming clouds.
Her skin went cold. "Then what will you do to me now?" she demanded, sharper than she intended. He gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Do to you? Nothing." His eyes glittered with an ugly, private amusement.
"What do you mean, nothing? I murdered your father — what kind of reaction is that?" Her incredulity leaked into a tremor.
He toyed with the rim of his glass as though fondling an old ache. "Let us be precise," he murmured. "You poisoned his food that day — yes. You intended to kill him." He watched her, savoring the way the confession undid her, then went on, voice almost fond. "What you do not know is this: the poison alone would not have finished him. He was a stronger man than either of us suspected. In the end, the Duke's last breath was not taken by slow-acting venom."
Olivia's hand nearly dropped the decanter as she brought it to her mouth; the wine trembled in the crystal. "You killed your father?" The question escaped as if she had only realized the world had tilted.
He smiled then — not the warm curve of gratitude but a knife-edge smile. "Yes. In a manner of speaking. I killed him." He lifted his glass in a mock toast. "And yet, you should accept some credit. Had you not poisoned him, I might never have found the courage. Your fear, your act — they were the catalyst I needed. For that, I suppose, you have my thanks."
The room shrank around her. The candelabrum's light seemed suddenly cruel, revealing every line of his face as if chiselled. She had confessed expecting retribution, a trial, exile — anything but this calm conspiracy of cruelty and grace. He sat, placid and terrible, and the world she thought she knew split open beneath her feet.
She could scarcely believe the words leaving his lips. To her eyes, Matthias had always been a man of principle—stern, perhaps, even cruel at times, but never dishonorable. Yet here he was, speaking with unsettling ease about murdering his own father, savoring the memory as though it were a triumph.
It was as if she were staring at a mirror—only worse. A reflection of herself in her darkest imaginings, yet more ruthless, more merciless. He had done what she had once only dreamed of: taken a life close to him, unflinching, without remorse. For a fleeting, dangerous moment, she even envied him for it.
Her thoughts spiraled until his fingers snapped sharply before her face. "Hey," he said, voice cutting through her daze, "where did you wander off to?"
She blinked, startled back to reality. "Nowhere… I was only thinking." Her words wavered, but then the question spilled out, raw and unguarded. "Why? Why did you do it? Didn't you love him? You even agreed to marry me because of him, didn't you?"
His expression darkened, features tightening, though his composure remained intact. "I agreed to the marriage because it was commanded by the Emperor. As for my father—love?" He scoffed, almost pitying the word. "He was a wretch. A ruin dragging the duchy into decay. He had to die so that I could take the title, restore what he was squandering. His death was… necessary. And the world believes it was natural. The matter is closed."
A strange relief stole into her chest, so sharp it made her laugh—quiet at first, then bubbling against her will. "What a story," she murmured, shaking her head.
Her smile, faint though it was, seemed to catch him off guard. For a moment he simply stared, held captive by the flicker of warmth in her expression. Then, as though remembering something, he reached for a small box resting by his side. With deliberate care, he opened it, revealing a necklace of blue diamonds, their hue so vivid they seemed to mirror the depths of her eyes.
She gasped softly, unable to mask her astonishment. "What is this?"
His voice was steady, but his gaze betrayed something unspoken. "That day after funeral… you avoided me at every turn. You even changed the way you spoke to me, retreating into yourself, drowning in a grief I could read in your eyes."
A wistful smile tugged at her lips as she lifted her glass, sipping her wine. "Was it so obvious? Did I trouble you with it?"
He laughed, low and amused. "Troubling me is your craft, not mine. I am a man; my only duty is to soothe you." He leaned forward then, holding the necklace up so it caught the candlelight, gems glowing like stars. "Now, come closer, so that I may place it around your neck."
He drew her into his lap with a sudden, unyielding strength, one arm encircling her waist as though she belonged there. His fingers brushed her shoulders, sweeping her hair aside to clasp the necklace at her throat. Yet his touch lingered—deliberate, unhurried—trailing along her skin until the silken folds of her robe slipped down, leaving her in nothing but the fragile whisper of her nightgown.
Olivia's breath caught. She met his gaze, her voice low, half-reproachful, half-shaken.
"The necklace rests here… not upon my back."
His laugh was deep, disarming, a sound that made her pulse stumble. He tilted her face toward him, holding her as though he might never let her go, and then his mouth claimed hers. The kiss was fierce, unrelenting, stealing her breath until she yielded to it, until their hearts beat as though in one chest.
She trembled as he deepened the kiss, the world narrowing to his hands, his lips, the fire he poured into her. His touch seared, exploring, unashamed, and though her words faltered in protest, her body betrayed her—leaning into him, surrendering.
"Matthias—" she whispered, but he silenced her with another kiss, gentler this time, lingering, as though he wanted to memorize the taste of her.
"Stick out your tongue" he said
What? She answered in surprise.
Before she could finish, he opened her mouth with his hand and they kissed again. This time, it was deeper and longer, making her shiver.
He looked like a hungry lion that had found its prey, His hands quickly slipped under her robes, while his lips imprinted kisses on her body. He removed his shirt and looked at her.
By the way, I never told you this before. You have an amazing body, especially your breasts. They're really sexy.
It was the first time she've been shy in front of him "Shut up. What are these weird comments?"
He laughed at her words.
She continued, "By the way, just one round, Don't do this like an animal. I can barely stand it."
He was stifling his laughter with difficulty, narrowing his eyes as he examined her body.
"What do you mean?"
She yelled at him. "Seriously, look at the size of him. I can barely take it in, so control your lust."
He smiled and carried her from the couch and placed her on the bed.
"Ha, we'll see about that, my dear."