"My lord, you may send envoys to the Linnor Apothecary, they will find records of my purchase. If I had not been blinded by jealousy, I would never have done such a thing. I accept all responsibility."
Lord Rynnic's handsome face contorted with rage. His whole body trembled.
"Silence! Do not attempt to whitewash Zyra's name!"
The brothel… he thought bitterly. Who allowed her to mention the brothel?
The shame still clung to him like a foul stench.
"It's not whitewashing!" Celia's eyes flashed with fierce determination, a flush rising in her cheeks as her voice rose several octaves.
"I envy the close bond between Zyra and her guard, Lord Kaelen. I wanted to drive a wedge between them… to ruin her."
Lord Rynnic's brow furrowed deeply.
This situation was spiraling beyond his control.
The nobles and servants within the hall exchanged glances, their eyes full of a strange mixture of disbelief and curiosity as they looked at Lord Rynnic.
"So that's the poison? I thought it was something deadly…"
"I've heard the tale of the brothel incident as well."
"The Lord Heir is… quite the scandal."
"He sleeps around, then accuses innocent people? Shameless."
"Lady Zyra is truly unfortunate."
"Just because she loves Lord Kaelen, the heir accuses her? That's too much."
For a brief moment, every member of House Morwyn despised Lord Rynnic silently, finding him less of a man than they had thought.
Even the guards who had accompanied him lowered their heads in shame, feeling the burning heat of disgrace on their cheeks.
Men and women are different.
If a lady falls victim to lust poison, her honor and future may be irreparably shattered.
But when a lord is poisoned… well, it's just a night's pleasure, and perhaps he even enjoys the forbidden thrill in secret.
Lord Rynnic had just indulged himself at the brothel, now he was seeking revenge.
"Seize Celia Morwyn!" Lord Rynnic commanded, voice dark as a thunderstorm.
"Take her to be questioned!"
"Yes, my lord."
The guards swarmed, taking hold of Celia without resistance.
Yet despite this, Lord Rynnic's face remained grim.
He approached Lady Zyra with slow, measured steps, eyes burning with warning.
"I will uncover the truth sooner or later. Don't think a few clever tricks will save you."
Zyra gave him not a single glance in return.
Her coldness only inflamed Lord Rynnic further.
"Lady Zyra, what kind of woman are you? Do you need me to remind you? This month alone, you have declared your love for me nine times and sent twenty gifts, all of which I have rejected."
"A joke, nothing more. Did you really take it seriously?"
Zyra's mind was a mess.
She wasn't about to admit any of it.
She was still a maiden, and marriage or courting wasn't something she needed to worry about, for now, at least. Besides, humans lived so fleetingly, and the fey blood within her granted a far longer life.
"Pretending, are you?" Lord Rynnic's face darkened with fury, teeth clenched tight.
"Keep pretending then! Zyra Morwyn, there will come a day when you'll weep for this!"
He refused to believe that the woman who had loved him desperately just yesterday could suddenly abandon him.
No, this had to be some sort of calculated act, a play for power and control.
"We leave!" With a cold snort, Lord Rynnic stormed away, and as he passed, deliberately shoved Zyra hard.
She staggered, nearly falling to the floor, but caught herself on a sturdy wooden table.
Her sharp eyes caught a faint trace of pale blue dragon aura on him, a feeble, diluted dragon's essence. Blue was already the weakest of the dragon energies, but his was even paler, mere imitation.
His father, Lord Rynric the Elder, ruled over a quarter of the kingdom's lands and was whispered among courtiers as a "Second Emperor."
But clearly, the heir was a fraud.
Destined for nothing but ruin.
How could he compare to Kaelen, her steadfast guard?
"Zyra, are you alright?"
Her uncle Morwyn approached, concern plain in his voice.
Though blind, he could hear everything: the insults, the cruelty. How could he bear to see his niece suffer? What if she broke under the weight of it all?
"I'm fine, Uncle."
Zyra quietly fingered the coin pouch she had slipped from Lord Rynnic's belt.
Heavy.
Lord Rynnic truly was the son of a vast domain, with riches to spare, a plump sheep for the taking.
"That's good." Uncle Morwyn, reassured by her calm tone, finally relaxed. "Rest in your chambers today. You've suffered enough."
"Thank you, Uncle."
Zyra regarded her handsome uncle warmly, grateful for his kindness.
Back in her chamber at Morwyn Keep, she emptied the pouch, five hundred silver coins, a piece of deep crimson jade, three runic talismans, a vial of rare elixir, and a carved wooden token. Not bad at all.
Though she was the seventh daughter of the Prime Minister's family, orphaned early, without the mystical core to cultivate magic, and deemed useless, she received but five silver coins monthly.
Never enough.
According to her memories, the original Zyra had lived lavishly, indulging in shopping for dresses, jewelry, cosmetics, keeping detailed accounts that were mysteriously paid off by the Morwyn patriarch.
Her uncle was ailing and poor, how could he afford that?
In truth, the patriarch, half-brother to her father and uncle, had always looked down on Zyra, disdainful and neglectful.
"It must be Kaelen," Zyra thought.
The mystical white beast, with knowledge of heaven and earth, past and future.
He was a master of aura reading.
Aura was not merely imperial might; it encompassed fortune, wealth, blessings, curses, and even ghosts.
Kaelen's face always radiated abundance, riches beyond measure.
Zyra mused: Though outwardly her guard, Kaelen surely held his own estates and influence behind the scenes, how else could he always bail her out and foot the monstrous bills?