The carriage ride was a tomb.
Outside, the rhythmic clack-clack of hooves against the cobblestones marked the seconds of our suffocating silence. When the iron gates of the Anasil manor finally groaned open like the jaws of a beast, we were ushered out into the biting evening air.
Standing at the threshold was a woman who seemed to have stepped straight out of a bard's high-fantasy ballad.
So, that's her. Lady Eustus.
I narrowed my eyes, scanning her. The rumors hadn't been exaggerations—they had been understatements. My aunt was the very definition of "Saintly Elegance." Her silk-blonde hair captured the dying embers of the sunset, shimmering like spun gold. Her blue eyes were deep and clear, though a flicker of confusion danced within them as she looked at us.
But the most striking thing? She was heavily pregnant. Eight months, by the looks of it. Her expensive gown draped carefully over a belly that held a future heir.
Uncle Anasil is expecting a child? My heart sank into my stomach. Another innocent soul brought into this den of snakes. This isn't a home; it's a breeding ground for monsters.
Beside me, Nyxelle winced. I saw her shift her weight, her face pale. Her feet were swollen, throbbing against the stiff leather of the "appearance-only" heels we'd been forced to wear. To the world, we were ornaments. To our feet, we were in a torture device.
The fragile silence was shattered by a heavy, violent tread.
Anasil stepped from the carriage. He looked like a man who had gone ten rounds in a street brawl and lost every single one. His hair was frayed, his cravat hung limp, and his face... his face was a distorted mask of pure, unadulterated bile.
"How dare he?!" Anasil hissed, his voice vibrating with a murderous edge. "That boy... that Boy King actually dared to humiliate me in front of the entire court! I'll tear him down. I'll make him regret every syllable!"
His predatory gaze snapped toward us. For a terrifying heartbeat, I saw his hand twitch. His fingers curled into a white-knuckled fist, searching for a target to vent his humiliation.
Then, his eyes landed on his wife.
A smile stretched across his face. It wasn't a smile of affection—it was a slow, bitter curve that stopped dead at his cheekbones.
I guess it's almost time, he thought, his eyes boring into Lady Eustus's stomach. The final piece of the puzzle is almost in place.
As we were ushered past, Lady Eustus watched us, her brow furrowed in genuine bewilderment.
The twins? she wondered. Wait, aren't they the 'Treasures of Von Grantz'? Why are they with Anasil?
Behind her, a maid with moss-colored hair—Sarah—adjusted her spectacles with a sharp, mechanical click. Her mind was moving at a different speed entirely.
The Von Grantz twins? Here? Have they been abandoned... or traded? Sarah's gaze lingered on our tattered dignity as the guards led us away.
Nyxelle and I didn't look back. We were led past the gilded hallways that smelled of expensive wax, past the dining room venting the aroma of roasted meats, and down... down into the damp, chilling dark of the basement.
This was our "Special Guest Suite." A cramped corner shared with scuttling rats and piles of sour-smelling laundry.
Without a word, we collapsed onto a heap of discarded shirts. Despite the cold, despite the hollow ache of hunger, exhaustion won. We fell into a dreamless sleep—if only because the nightmares of reality were too exhausting to continue.
Meanwhile, in a wing of the palace that defined luxury, Leornars stood over his bed. He glared at the tailored suit lying there like a shed skin.
"I can't believe I forced myself to wear such a thing," he muttered, his scowl deepening. "In all my life, that gala was the turning point—and not in a good way. It was uncomfortable to the point of being a personal insult."
He picked up the sleeve, feeling the faint, lingering hum of a magical enchantment woven into the silk.
"A mana repression kit sewn into the lining? Overkill. It had to be Ayesha or Salene. Only they possess that particular brand of clinical paranoia."
"Must be the wind, huh, Boss?"
The voice chimed from his core—Althelia.
"And what exactly are you implying, Althelia? Do you think something is amiss?"
"Pretty much," she said calmly. "The way you handled things tonight... it was questionable, to say the least."
"Be specific. Are we talking about the trade agreement or the twins?"
"The twins, obviously," Althelia countered.
Leornars sighed, his gaze drifting to the window. "First of all, they were leverage that man tried to pin on me. I'm not 'interested' in them in the way the court gossips think. However... their safety is a separate matter. That's why I had Avryl intercept and hide in his shadow to listen. In that house, cunning and paranoia are the only currencies that matter."
Althelia let out a dry, hollow chuckle. "If being cautious was a measurable stat, you'd be on Minum's level."
"Minum?" Leornars paused. "Oh, right. The Creator Goddess. I think I've seen the statues. But you know I'm not a religious man."
"And why's that?" Althelia asked, leaning against the bedpost. "You really don't believe in a higher power that constructed this reality?"
Leornars turned, his eyes turning cold and analytical.
"I believe in the fundamental laws of existence, Althelia. Logic. Cause and effect. Entropy. A 'God' is not a law; it's an ego. A personality given to the void."
"Huh. That's even more cynical than usual."
"I'm just stating the obvious," Leornars said, walking out onto the balcony. The night air was sharp enough to draw blood. "The world could be a cage, and we are all forced to kneel to a being who might not even know we exist. As for what lies beyond that... hmmm. I'll keep that to myself for now."
Back at the manor entrance, the monster had put on his mask.
The bitter, shouting man was gone. In his place stood a husband of "gentle warmth." Anasil walked toward his wife, leaning in to press a soft, performative kiss against her forehead. He rested a hand tenderly on her pregnant belly.
To any passerby, it was a portrait of domestic bliss.
"Dear, let's go have dinner," he murmured, his voice like velvet. "We should have something extra fancy tonight, shouldn't we? For the little one."
Behind them, Sarah the maid watched the display. Her knuckles were white as she gripped her apron, her heart hammering against her ribs.
What a snake... what an absolute snake of a man.