The echo of Sable Veyr's surrender still clung to the marble.
Elma stood in the center of the sigil, chest rising hard, silk torn and damp with sweat. Her ribs ached, her throat burned with frost, but her grin—bloody and alive—was impossible to mistake. She had forced the heir of Frostspawn to yield in front of half the city.
The crowd didn't know whether to cheer or whisper. So they did both.
Nitron rose. He hadn't moved once during the duel, but now his presence swept the hall like a blade. "House Frostspawn challenged my weapon," he said, voice calm as iron. "They failed. Consider this proof: Vale still rules."
His words silenced most of the hall, but whispers persisted in corners. Elma could feel them crawling against her skin.
[Rumor Meter: 43%]
Narrative: The leash-witch wins—but for whose glory?
Sable staggered to his feet with help from his attendants, his jaw tight, his pride bleeding louder than his cuts. He shot her a look of hatred and respect tangled together.
"This isn't over," he muttered, quiet but not quiet enough. "You fight for his wife, not for him. Everyone saw it."
Her smirk didn't falter. "Then everyone should be afraid."
Gasps rippled. The Frostspawn delegation pulled him away before words turned to weapons. But the damage was done.
The hall emptied in waves of perfume, silk, and rumor. Donors bowed to Nitron, voices slick with false admiration, but their eyes glittered with calculation. Every concession promised in defeat would be chewed, twisted, maybe spat back later.
Nitron dismissed them with a flick of his hand. When the doors shut, the silence was heavier than applause.
He looked at Elma. Not pride. Not anger. Something colder.
"You fought well," he said.
Elma bowed, hiding her smirk. "I fought to win."
"You fought for her." His gaze flicked toward Calista.
The words landed like a blade between them.
The system pulsed, smug.
[Shared Risk Escalation]
Loyalty drop: −4%
Cause: Fighting for the Wife.
Elma's throat tightened. She hadn't realized how clearly it showed. Or maybe Nitron was simply too clever.
Calista sat rigid, her mask unbroken, but her knuckles were white against the chair's arm. She didn't meet either of their eyes.
Nitron's lips barely curved. "Do not forget who forged your leash."
He turned away, cloak whispering across the marble, leaving them both in his shadow.
Later, when the hall was finally empty, Elma leaned against a column, ribs screaming every time she exhaled. The braziers guttered low, the sigil dim and forgotten.
Calista's voice slid out of the dark. "You should be dead."
Elma smirked, even through the ache. "So should he."
Calista stepped closer, skirts whispering across marble. Her mask was gone now. Her eyes blazed. "You made it obvious."
"He already suspects," Elma said. "Doesn't matter if I hide it."
"It matters." Calista's voice cracked, a whisper sharpened into a blade. "Every time you bleed for me, he sees it. Every time you look at me like—like that—he tightens the chain."
Elma pushed off the column, staggering closer. "Then maybe the chain should break."
The system hissed at the thought, a warning flare.
[Danger: Loyalty Stability Failing]
Penalty looming.
Calista's hands trembled. She caught Elma's bruised jaw, not gently, but like she needed to feel the damage herself. "I can't watch him destroy you for me."
Elma laughed, bitter and broken. "Then don't watch. Help."
Calista's lips parted, fury and hunger colliding. "You think I won't?"
Her thumb brushed Elma's split lip, tender and violent at once. "Let him think I'm porcelain. Let him think you're his weapon. We'll be the knives he doesn't see coming."
Elma swallowed hard, heat crawling her spine.
The system purred in warning, but also something else: curiosity.
[Flag Updated: Wife's Rebellion]
Risk: Unstable.
Potential Outcome: Coup.
The door creaked. Both women snapped apart before the attendants entered. Kade stepped into the hall, his silver eyes cold as mirrors.
"Master requests your presence, Elma," he said. His gaze lingered on the distance between them, calculating.
Elma wiped her mouth, blood and heat both smeared across her sleeve. "Lead the way."
Kade inclined his head, unreadable. "Of course."
Calista didn't move. She sat back in her chair, mask settling over her face once more. But as Elma turned to leave, she felt the ghost of Calista's touch still burning on her skin.
And in the shadowed rafters above, whispers had already taken flight.
[Rumor Meter: 49%]
Story Seed: The leash-witch bleeds for the wife, not the Master.
New Quest Pending…