"Max, I'll be resting in my parents' chamber. Make sure no one disturbs me until—"
"Welcome back, Your Grace!"
Kayona lifted her gaze. Baroness Anita descended the staircase with practiced grace, a stamped envelope in hand. She bowed lightly once she reached her.
"I trust your visit to Kartegen went well?" she asked.
"Anita, my head aches. We'll save that talk for later," Kayona replied curtly.
"Of course, Your Grace. But there is something urgent you must know." Worry clouded Anita's tone.
"And that is?"
"A letter—arrived from the imperial court." She extended the envelope with both hands.
Kayona took it at once, broke the seal, and unfolded the parchment marked with the imperial crest. Her eyes traced the sharp lines of the message:
____________________________________________
To Her Grace, Archduchess Kayona Obregón,
By command of His Majesty and in accordance with the duties owed by all houses of ducal rank, your immediate presence is required at the imperial court tomorrow at the first hour. Noncompliance will be construed as a direct affront to the Crown and the established order, and such defiance will not be overlooked.
All matters concerning your position, obligations, and conduct will be addressed during this audience. You are expected to arrive fully prepared and mindful of the gravity of this summons. Consider carefully the consequences of hesitation or negligence.
Failure to heed this command will bring about repercussions of the utmost severity.
By authority of the court,
Duke Matteo Verriton
Member of the Imperial Court
____________________________________________
Her hand tightened, the letter crumpling between her fingers.
"Are they so frightened they cannot even name the reason for summoning me?" she said coldly, passing the opened letter back to Anita.
"What does it say?" Maxwell leaned in at her shoulder, scanning the parchment with Anita.
"But tomorrow is far too sudden, Your Grace! How could they be so inconsiderate?" Anita exclaimed, her brows furrowing.
Maxwell's gaze lingered on Kayona instead, his jaw tight. "This feels calculated. I don't like it."
Kayona's eyes lifted to him for the briefest moment, a silent recognition of his unease, before she pressed her fingertips to her temple, massaging away the tension.
"Cancel my schedule for tomorrow. Since it is the Emperor's demand, I will present myself before the imperial court."
Then, with regal composure, she turned and began climbing the stairs. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble until the sound began to fade. Anita and Maxwell could only watch her retreating figure.
"We will discuss the rest after tomorrow," she added over her shoulder. "Inform Rael of the situation. I'll be in my parents' room."
The echo of her footsteps lingered long after she disappeared upstairs.
***
Kayona closed the door softly behind her. The hush of her parents' chamber wrapped around her, heavy and suffocating.
She crossed the room without haste, each step dragging more than the last. By the time she reached the bed, her body could no longer carry the weight she had been holding. She let herself fall back against the mattress, her arms slack at her sides, eyes fixed on the ceiling above.
For a moment she was still, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. But the silence pressed down too heavily. Her vision blurred, and the ceiling swam as tears slipped toward her temples.
One tear slipped free, then another, until they blurred together, sliding hot across her temples. Her breath caught, broke apart, and suddenly the sound escaped her—a sob she couldn't swallow back. It ripped through her chest, raw and shaking, and more followed, tumbling out in waves she had no strength left to fight.
The room that had guarded her parents' last memories held nothing but the sound of her grief.
Outside, the sound reached him.
Even through the thick doors, Maxwell could hear her breaking. It was never just crying—her voice carried a kind of ruin that settled into his chest and would not leave.
He stood where he always did when she came here: a silent guard in the corridor, back straight, hands folded behind him. She had never asked it of him, never needed to. He knew. Whenever she shut herself in this room, he made certain to stand close, in case her grief swallowed her whole.
Tonight was no different. Her sobs rose, muffled but unrelenting, carrying through the halls—and against his will, they pulled him back, back to that evening, when the world had first shattered around her.
The evening her parents were assassinated.
Maxwell remembered chasing her through the corridors of the Obregón mansion, his pulse hammering as her skirts cut the air ahead of him. The mansion was a blur of movement—maids scattering, guards barking orders—but he hardly noticed them. His eyes stayed fixed on her. She didn't slow, didn't heed the voices calling after her. She knew where she was going.
To the mourning chamber.
The iron doors loomed ahead, heavy and unyielding, flanked by attendants already pale with dread. They bowed at the sight of Kayona, parting the way as she slipped past into the chamber. By the time Maxwell reached the threshold, the chill within swept over him—thick, still and suffocating.
And there, in the center of the room, lay the Archduke and Archduchess.
Her father's silver hair framed his pale face, his red eyes closed as if in sleep, though sleep would never look like this. Her mother lay beside him, her dark hair fanned around her face, the familiar brightness of her sky-blue eyes stilled forever. Maxwell could feel the weight of their absence pressing down on him, as though the air itself carried their loss.
The physician of House Obregón stood silently by, while the mortician carefully draped white cotton over the bodies. Both men bowed respectfully toward the Archduke and Archduchess before noticing Kayona and Maxwell at the door.
Kayona's head lowered, her lips pressed tight, her hands clenching at her sides. The quiver in her shoulders betrayed the effort it took to keep her composure. Then, her voice, barely above a whisper but firm enough to carry, commanded:
"I want to be alone with them."
The physician and mortician exchanged a wary glance before answering.
"As you wish, Your Grace," the mortician said softly.
"We will be right outside if you need us," the physician added.
They stepped aside, their eyes lingering on her with quiet sympathy. One glanced at Maxwell before leaving.
"Please make sure she doesn't do anything to hurt herself."
Maxwell gave a short, tight nod, his jaw set, eyes never leaving her.
Kayona took measured steps toward where her parents' bodies lay. She stopped in front of the tables, her hands trembling just above the pale linen that veiled them. The chill of the chamber seemed to crawl into her fingers, and her chest tightened with each uneven heartbeat. She drew a shaky breath, bracing herself for what she had to see.
Then, slowly—deliberately—she lifted the fabric—