Arthur stepped out of the basement, the cold night air hitting his face like a slap. He was free, but he knew the danger was far from over. The mansion was quiet, but it was the silence of a held breath, a pause before the scream. He moved stealthily through the corridor, his blood-stained shirt hidden in the shadows.
Isabelle sat in her room, the single candle flickering on her desk. In her hands, she held the small wooden box. Her fingers trembled as she traced the carved patterns on the lid.
Her mind drifted back to that day—the day June died. The spear. The blood. The promise.
*I was a coward,* Isabelle thought, the guilt crushing her chest. *I ran to my son. I abandoned my daughter yet again.* June might be dead, buried in an unmarked grave, but the secret wasn't dead. The promise wasn't dead.
She looked at the box, her eyes stinging. *How am I going to explain this to Colden? How do I tell him he has a sister he never knew?*
Suddenly, a sharp hiss and a knock rattled her door.
Isabelle jumped, clutching the box to her chest. *Who could it be at this hour?*
She stood up, sliding the box under the bed, and walked to the door. She opened it, expecting a servant or perhaps a guard.
She exhaled sharply, her hand flying to her mouth. She was too shocked to scream.
Arthur stood there. He was disheveled, bruised, and covered in dirt. But it was the look in his eyes—cold, predatory—that terrified her.
Before she could slam the door, Arthur stepped forward, pressing a knife against her throat.
"Keep quiet," he whispered.
Isabelle froze, her back against the wall.
But Gladis
She gritted her teeth, pulling against the ropes until her skin tore. With a final, violent tug, the knot snapped. She broke through the strings, stumbling to her feet. Her arms were bruised, her dress torn, but that didn't stop her.
She threw open the door of her room and stepped into the hall. To her surprise, she wasn't alone.
A dozen maids stood there. They weren't cowering. They were armed. Their dresses were ripped at the hems, allowing them to run faster. They held meat cleavers, rolling pins, and kitchen knives. Their faces were set with grim determination.
One of the maids stepped forward. "You have always protected us, Miss Gladis. And this place too. We have to protect it now."
Gladis felt a swell of pride. She hugged the maid tightly. "Thank you."
She pulled back, her eyes scanning the group. "Where is that new maid? Jesta?"
The maids exchanged dark glances. "She is found dead in the basement," one of them said quietly. "Stabbed. But there is something bad that has happened."
"What?" Gladis asked, her heart pounding.
"Arthur's cell was open," the maid whispered. "And he wasn't there."
Upstairs, Arthur held the knife steady against Isabelle's throat.
"You're making a mistake," Isabelle hissed, her voice shaking with rage rather than fear. "The guards will—"
"Your guards are dead," Arthur cut her off.
Suddenly, a noise echoed from outside the window—a loud, rhythmic thumping. It wasn't just footsteps. It was the sound of marching.
Arthur dragged Isabelle to the window, keeping the knife hidden but ready. He peered out into the darkness.
The grounds of the mansion were swarming with figures. An army of guards, clad in the dark colors of Alteria, moved like a tide toward the house. Torches flickered, casting long shadows.
It was the army of Clamptous.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. *He knew,* Arthur thought. *Clamptous knew I couldn't be dead. He sent one of his assassins.*
He glanced back at the basement door. *The girl—Jesta. She wasn't just a maid. She was the avenging sister. A pawn sent to kill me, or perhaps to test me.*
But the army outside wasn't just there for Arthur. They were there for the King. They were attacking in hopes of killing Colden, to wipe out the Everhart line once and for all.
But Colden wasn't there.
"They want to burn the place down," Arthur murmured, watching the soldiers pile torches against the walls. "They think the house is empty of protectors."
Isabelle stiffened. "They don't know," she whispered.
"They don't know the maids are still there," Arthur said, a grim smile touching his lips. "And they don't know I'm out."
He looked at Isabelle, then pushed her back into the room.
"Get down," he ordered. "It's beginning."
To be continued.