The golden light of morning filtered through the heavy curtains of the east wing, casting long beams across the polished marble floors. It was a quiet morning at the Frick Estate—deceptively quiet. But in the heart of its grand walls, a storm brewed.
Ella, dressed in her modest maid's attire, stood before the thick oak doors of Mose Frick's study. Her hands were clasped tightly, her knuckles pale. She inhaled, straightened her spine, and knocked twice.
"Enter," came the deep, commanding voice from within.
Ella stepped inside, bowing with practiced grace. General Mose Frick, clad in dark robes with golden trim, sat at his desk surrounded by ancient scrolls and an unfinished map of Aethia. His eyes, hard like obsidian, turned to her.
"You asked to see me, Ella?" His tone was calm, but beneath it was the undercurrent of danger that made the air heavy.
Ella nodded. "Yes, Master. I… came to report on the boy's condition."
Frick leaned back, folding his arms. "Ah, the stubborn brat. Still pretending to be weak?"
She shook her head. "No, Master. He's not pretending."
Mose's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"
"I fear…" she said slowly, carefully, "that if things continue as they are, he might not survive long enough to confess."
Frick said nothing, but his gaze sharpened.
"His condition is worsening," she continued. "The wounds on his back are infected. The chains on his ankles have cut deep. He eats very little and hasn't been bathed in weeks. If this continues, we risk losing him before he talks."
Frick drummed his fingers once. "Are you suggesting I coddle the boy?"
Ella kept her head bowed, voice submissive but earnest. "Not coddle, Master. Strategize. If we want him alive long enough to break, his living conditions must improve slightly. Let him regain just enough strength to endure what comes next. Food. A bath. A bed. And remove the chains—temporarily. He's just a boy. A few comforts may loosen his tongue."
A long silence stretched between them. Then, Frick stood and walked slowly toward her. Ella did not flinch.
"You're asking me to treat a traitor's son like a guest in my home."
"I am asking you," she said gently, "to make sure he doesn't die before we find the truth."
Frick studied her for a moment, and then to her relief, he let out a low grunt.
"Very well. He gets clean food, a bath, proper bedding, and—" he gestured vaguely—"a short leash. If he begins to act out, I'll string him up myself. You'll be in charge of him."
"I understand, Master."
"And Ella…" Frick's voice dropped slightly, more personal now. "Don't get too soft on him. He's still the enemy."
"I won't forget," she lied, bowing again before leaving the room with a heart pounding in her chest.
---
At that same moment, far from the calculated coldness of the east wing, Lady Lolita Frick sat in her sunlit chamber surrounded by embroidery silks and flower-scented oils. A soft breeze drifted in from the balcony, carrying with it the delicate scent of blooming lilacs.
She was an ethereal presence in white—her robe falling like mist from her shoulders, hair cascading in soft waves down her back. Yet despite her beauty, her eyes were not distant with luxury—they were sharp, focused.
For days, something had tugged at her. A whisper in the halls. The way the guards shifted around the western courtyard. How the servants avoided its path. The courtyard, once used for guests, had been locked for weeks.
And she could not ignore the rumors.
The Viont family. Slaughtered in one night.
The son? Missing.
And her husband… returning home that very same night, grim and brooding, blood dried on his boots.
She rose from her seat and crossed to the balcony, gazing toward the shadowed building at the western edge of the estate.
What secrets lie within?
---
Later that day, during supper, she sat across from her husband in the grand dining hall. Candlelight flickered over their carved platters and silver goblets. She waited until the servants had withdrawn before speaking.
"Husband," she said softly.
Frick looked up from his venison roast. "Yes, my love?"
"I've been meaning to ask… why is the western courtyard locked?"
Frick paused mid-chew.
Lolita met his gaze, calm and unwavering. "It used to be a guest residence, yet now no one goes there. There are guards. Locks. Servants whispering."
He swallowed slowly. "You've been listening to gossip?"
"I have ears," she said mildly. "And eyes."
Frick leaned back in his chair. "It is none of your concern, Lolita."
She tilted her head. "I am your wife. Should I not be aware of what shadows live within our walls?"
For a moment, silence hung. Then Mose stood from the table and walked to her side. He leaned down, cupping her chin in his hand—not cruelly, but with firm control.
"You are my heart, Lolita," he murmured. "But some matters are not for you to meddle in."
Her breath hitched—not from fear, but from frustration. He touched her cheek with his thumb.
"I know what you're thinking," he whispered. "But the Vionts were wiped out. All of them. Don't let idle rumors poison that beautiful mind of yours."
She looked away, hiding her trembling fingers beneath the table. "Of course, my lord."
He kissed her temple softly and returned to his seat.
But Lolita's mind was not calmed.
She knew he was lying.
She had seen the guilt flicker in his eyes for the first time in years.
And she would find out what truth he kept caged in that western courtyard.
---
That night, under cover of moonlight, Ella returned to Jaden's room. His chains were gone. A warm bath had been prepared. New sheets were folded at the end of his straw mattress. And the food? Still warm, rich with meat and spice.
"You did this?" Jaden asked quietly, blinking in disbelief.
Ella nodded. "You've been granted mercy. Temporary. Use it well."
He sat up, the shackles no longer biting into his skin, and for the first time in weeks, he felt something resembling strength return.
"I owe you," he whispered.
Ella knelt beside him and touched his hand. "You don't owe me anything. Just… survive."
And with that, she turned and left, unaware of the elegant woman watching from an upper balcony, shrouded in moonlight.
Lady Lolita, arms folded against the railing, whispered to the night.
"Who are you, Jaden Viont?"