Olivia's hand shook as she struck her so hard the whole room seemed to tilt. "What do you mean by that, girl?" Her voice was a hiss of accusation.
The girl folded in on herself, sobbing. "I'm sorry, my lady—please—she threatened my family. I—" Her words unravelled, a frightened ribbon of confession. Then, without warning, her features betrayed her: the pupils of her eyes snapped back into her skull as if something had pushed them aside, leaving only milky white orbs. A froth of pale foam bubbled at the corner of her mouth. Black veins webbed along her wrists and throat, ink seeping beneath the skin like rot beneath old paint.
Isabella recoiled and Olivia caught her arm, dragging her back to the far side of the chamber. They watched the convulsions in uneasy silence; a low, wet gurgle escaped the girl's throat, and then—suddenly—the spasms ceased. The room went still as though a bell had been muffled. The girl's body slackened; her breath stopped. For a breathless moment the two women simply stood, listening to the absence of sound.
Olivia stepped forward at last, tentative as one approaching a trapped animal, and tipped the chin of the corpse with a cautious finger. The sight made her turn away with a sound halfway between disgust and sorrow. The face had been ravaged into a grotesque mask—features blurred, skin puckered and unnatural. Without thinking she thrust her hand into the pocket of her dress and flung a kerchief across the ruined visage.
"Why did you cover her?" Isabella asked, curiosity prying through something colder.
"She's dead," Olivia said flatly. "How—? Poison, black magic, or both. Who else but Vira would do such a thing?" Isabella looked at the body with a sudden, sharp pang of remorse. For a flicker of time she felt culpable—as if her presence had tethered the girl to this fate.
"Don't look at me like that," Olivia snapped, hearing something sharper in her own words than she intended. "Do you think she would have lived if you hadn't brought her here? You don't know my sister like I do. Vira disposes of loose ends—soon, like she did with your father." The name landed in the air like a stone.
Isabella swallowed, white-knuckled. The chill of responsibility crept over her. "What do we do with the body?" she asked, voice small.
Olivia's jaw tightened. "We bury her," she said after a beat, then, with a cynical curl to her lips, "though I'll leave the digging to you. I prefer to burn evidence."
Before Isabella could finish her trembling words, a sudden knocking at the door cut through the air.
"Milady," Kira's muffled voice called, "a woman has arrived asking for you. She says her name is Selene."
Olivia's expression hardened instantly, composure sweeping across her face like frost over glass. "Bring her to the guest chamber. I will join her shortly."
Kira bowed, obedient as ever. "At once, my lady."
Olivia turned swiftly to Isabella. "Help me change into something more presentable. This gown will not do."
"Of course… but—who is she?" Isabella asked, curiosity pulling at her tone.
A long silence stretched before Olivia finally spoke, her voice quiet, almost reverent. "The Duchess. Tharon." Then her words sharpened once more. "Now—see to the rest. And dispose of the body. I have a meeting I cannot afford to be late for."
Isabella's mouth fell open. "You speak as though it were nothing more than kitchen refuse and not—"
Olivia's laughter, soft and silvery, cut her short. "Oh, you timid thing. What a coward you are."
Isabella felt her cheeks burn. That laugh—light, enchanting, almost cruel—disarmed her completely. She looked away, ashamed of her own fear, unable to summon a retort.
In the grand guest hall, a woman waited, the very embodiment of poise. She was dressed in shimmering silk of golden hue, the fabric catching the candlelight like liquid sun. Her hair, a deep and vivid red, had been swept into a restrained style that hinted at elegance rather than extravagance. A delicate veil concealed her eyes, lending her an air of mystery, of distance. She was nobility distilled into flesh.
When Olivia entered, her steps were quiet, deliberate, her presence filling the chamber without need of words. With a subtle wave of her hand, she dismissed the servants. Even those who had just set down steaming cups of tea were waved away as she lifted the tray herself.
"I will serve her. Leave us. No one is to disturb this room."
The chamber fell silent as the last of them retreated.
"You may remove your veil now," Olivia said softly.
The woman's hands rose, and with a fluid motion she drew the fabric away. Beneath it, eyes like fresh spring grass were revealed, luminous with warmth. Her lips curved into a smile that seemed to hold both affection and sorrow.
"My dear girl," she greeted tenderly, her voice carrying an intimate familiarity, "how are you, little one?"
Olivia faltered, caught off guard. She dropped her gaze, her reply stumbling from her lips. "I… I am well."
"I am glad to see you in good health," Selene said, her tone full of gentle relief. "At least now your porcelain skin is unmarred, not bruised or broken."
Olivia did not answer. Her silence weighed heavy.
"I have heard troubling whispers," the Duchess continued, her eyes searching Olivia's face. "Stories about you… and about Her Majesty, the Empress. Tell me—is it true you quarreled with her during your brother's wedding?"
Olivia's head snapped up. "Who told you that?"
"The Emperor himself," Selene replied simply,
Olivia let out a bitter laugh. "Oooh, yeah, he's the one that told, Strange, isn't it? At times I forget you are siblings. You and he—so different it is almost unthinkable."
Her smile faded into a heavy quiet. "But do not try to change the subject, Olivia. You know why I ask." Her tone had shifted to warning, sharp and commanding.
Olivia's voice broke low with restrained urgency. "Please, Your Grace… I do not wish to speak of such matters."
For a fleeting instant, sorrow flickered across Selene's face. She looked away, almost to herself, and whispered, "The Duchess… yes. That is what I am, after all."
A hush lingered in the chamber, heavy as a shroud, before Selene finally broke it.
"You know," she began softly, her voice almost wistful, "your mother and I were once the closest of friends. Long before I wed your father—or rather, before I was forced to." Her words faltered, then pressed onward. "When she married him, I was… devastated. She loved my brother, deeply. They were inseparable. That day, I didn't understood why she bound herself to Duke Tharon—the monster, as he was called. She and my brother were so in love."
Her gaze grew distant, haunted by memories. "And then, only months later, you were born. Barely a month after your arrival, your parents divorced. Your mother chose to leave you behind. Not long after, my brother returned from the war. He did not care that she had married, borne a child. He took her as his wife regardless, despite the whispers, despite the fury of the court."
Olivia's lips curled into a bitter smile. "What a touching tale," she said, mocking, her tone like broken glass.
Selene's mouth tightened, but she pressed on. "You've always been impatient with me." Her eyes softened, carrying both sorrow and warmth. "Later, the Emperor decreed a political marriage—between me and Duke Tharon. I loathed him, and I still do. But an imperial order is not one you refuse. So I married him. And it was then that I first saw you. You were so small, barely four months old. Fragile. Refusing every wet nurse we brought to you. The Duke did not care whether you lived or died. But I—though I had never known motherhood—I found my heart claimed by you. You became the child I had never borne."
Her voice trembled, and for a moment the mask of a Duchess slipped, revealing a woman burdened with both tenderness and regret. "I was terrified of losing you. You were my light in that terrible castle, Desperate, I went to your mother. I begged her to see you, to hold you, to feed you herself, since you rejected all others. I thought—perhaps, if she saw your face—her heart might soften."
Olivia's laugh was sharp, cutting through the fragile air. "Let me guess. Did she push you aside? Tell you she had no need for garbage?"
Selene's eyes dimmed. "Ah… if only her cruelty had stopped there." Her voice lowered, heavy with remembered pain. "I remember it as though it were yesterday. I shouted at her, accused her—called her heartless, unworthy. And she… she looked at me with fire in her eyes and spat, 'Cecilia, do you abandon this child now? You chose to bring her into this world—take responsibility. Look at her frailty.
I don't want her. I don't want the daughter of that monster.'"
Olivia's fists clenched at her sides, her face carefully unreadable.
Selene's voice cracked : 'She is your child too, you madwoman! What now? You carried her before your marriage, and suddenly she is not yours? You may fool everyone else, but I am Duchess Tharon, and I know the truth. You were with child before you wed. You betrayed my brother the moment he went to war, then married the man he despised most. He forgave you… so why can't you forgive this girl, who is as much yours as she is his?'"
Selene paused, her eyes glistening. "And then Cecilia screamed. I had never heard such a sound. 'Because I did not betray him, you fool!' she cried."
Her words fell into silence. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Selene's expression broke, anguish flooding her features. She looked away, and when her voice returned, it was barely more than a whisper.
"She raised her eyes to me then, shattered, and I saw the truth in them. A tear slipped down her cheek as she said it: 'He forced me. Duke Tharon… he raped me.'"