"Kira, bring me paper and a quill, immediately," the command was crisp, cutting the silence of the chamber.
"At once, my lady," the maid replied, her movements swift and silent.
Seated at her heavy oak desk, the Duchess began to write. Her hand was quick, yet a tremor of desperate haste ran through the flowing script. When she was done, she pressed the seal—the elaborate, cold mark of the Duchy—onto the wax and handed the missive to Kira.
"This must reach the Crown Prince today. There can be no delay. Furthermore… inform me the instant Isabella returns."
"As you command, Your Grace."
Alone once more, the Duchess sagged against the desk, her head falling into her hands. Her whispered plea was a mere breath, lost in the plush silence of the room.
"I only wanted to set things right… but it seems I've walked into a greater disaster still. Merciful God, help me."
Under the cool gleam of the lamplight, Kyle Macquell, Crown Prince of the Lesser Empire, sat in quiet contemplation, meticulously scrutinizing the letter before him. The Duchess's official seal—a glinting challenge in the gold—was what first snagged his curiosity.
> Please attend the Duchy of Locron at your earliest convenience for an urgent matter.
> Signed: The Duchess.
>
He read it once, then again, and finally a third time. His expression was a curious blend of confusion and faint, habitual disdain. For the first time in his life, his sister—the notorious Duchess—had formally written to him.
A sardonic smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"She must have finally lost her wits," he murmured to himself, the words laced with a familiar mockery.
"But if this letter bears the Duchess's seal, then it signals a problem—or a truly magnificent scheme brewing in that madwoman's mind."
He raised his eyes to his waiting aide and issued a sharp, curt order.
"Have the carriage prepared. We depart for Locron immediately."
The aide hesitated, his voice uncertain.
"Your Highness, it is already a matter of quite late—"
Kyle cut him off with a gesture, rising to his full height, the letter clutched tight in his hand.
"It matters not. This is the first time my sister has seen fit to summon me. I must see for myself what she is planning this time."
At Locron Manor, Olivia stood near the grand iron gates, her steps restless and short, her gaze riveted on the distant, deepening horizon. When at last she spied the royal carriage approaching, a slight, almost imperceptible shiver traced its way down her spine.
Kyle descended with his customary, flawless grace, each stride radiating the authority and innate confidence of a Crown Prince.
"Greetings, Duchess of Locron," he intoned formally, his voice measured and cool.
"And greetings to you, Your Highness," Olivia replied, her tone outwardly calm, yet her eyes betrayed a faint, persistent flicker of unease.
They stood facing each other in the gloom, an exchange of tense, unreadable glances hanging between them. At last, Kyle's patience began to wear thin.
"Your Grace," he asked pointedly, his voice edged with impatience, "are you not planning to invite me inside?"
Olivia blinked, as if startled from a deep reverie. For a fleeting moment, she appeared utterly flustered before mastering herself.
"Ah, yes… of course. Come this way. But not through the main hall."
"What?" Kyle's brow furrowed in confusion as she unexpectedly took hold of his arm.
With an urgency that bordered on paranoia, Olivia began to lead him away, casting furtive glances at the manor's shadowed windows, as though wary of unseen, prying eyes. She guided him through narrow, utilitarian passages and secluded corridors until they reached a discreet back door that opened into her private chambers.
Kyle followed in silence, his expression hardening as he observed her peculiar, cloak-and-dagger behaviour. He offered no comment, merely stepping into the room as she swiftly closed and bolted the door behind them.
Once inside, Olivia quickly dismissed the servants—even Kyle's ever-loyal aide—with a wave of her hand. She let out a long, heavy sigh, as if shedding a physical weight, but the relief quickly vanished, replaced by an expression of simmering anger and outright disdain.
"Your Grace," Kyle began, his voice dripping with thinly veiled mockery, "what was the purpose of your earlier theatrics?"
The tense, heavy silence in the room only served to amplify the storm brewing violently in Olivia's chest. She began to pace, her footsteps quick and sharp across the polished floor, each beat an echo of her mounting frustration as she relentlessly cornered Kyle.
"Just answer me this, once and for all: You knew she was his sister, didn't you?"
Kyle, looking for all the world like a chastised, shamefaced schoolboy caught in a lie, muttered his confession. "Yes… Mathias mentioned her once."
Olivia whirled, her rage cresting. "And why did you not inform him? Explain that to me! I know they do not meet often, but you knew the truth of her identity. Why did you keep silent?"
Kyle's voice wavered, a desperate attempt at self-defence. "She asked me to keep it a secret from her brother. She said he had already done enough for her and did not wish to burden him further with her concerns."
"And is that a reason for the Crown Prince of the Empire to abandon his responsibilities and wed her in secret? Tell me!"
He raised his head, his voice now carrying a mixture of profound sorrow and indignant anger. "You would not understand…"
She crossed her arms, cutting him off with cold finality. "What is it that I would not understand? Speak your mind, so I may judge!"
He drew a ragged, deep breath before the words finally burst from him in an uncontrolled torrent. "I love her. I have loved her since the moment I first saw her beside Mathias, when she came to visit him at the camp. Even when I was injured, I went to the hospital where she worked—not to seek treatment, but simply to see her. I tracked her steps all the way to her home. How do you expect me to reject her request for a marriage when I have loved her for so long?"
Olivia stopped dead in her tracks, her fixed gaze holding him captive in disbelief. "You… loved her?"
"Yes, I loved her… and I still do."
"Then why did you not go back to her?"
He looked down, as if ashamed to even admit the truth. "I did go back, but her mother told me she had left with the Baron. I could not stand in her way. So…"
He did not finish his sentence. A sharp, stinging sound cut through the air as Olivia's open palm struck his cheek with sudden, savage force.
Kyle staggered back, clutching his face, his eyes wide with shock. "What in the name of the Gods is wrong with you? Why did you strike me?"
Her eyes burned with a blazing, destructive fury. "You couldn't stand in her way? She is your wife, you coward! You just let her leave with another man? Are you insane? Have you lost your mind?"
"Yes, I have lost my mind!" he shouted back, desperation raw in his voice. "I just wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn't with me."
"Happy? She is your wife! Your responsibility! How could you not even consider ensuring that she made this decision willingly? Why would you assume she betrayed you without even a single word of inquiry?"
His voice dropped, drained of all energy, carrying a devastating finality. "Because I knew she only married me for her mother's sake and her work. It meant nothing more to her than a contract."
For a brief, painful moment, Olivia's anger cooled. His words held a raw, undeniable truth that settled heavily between them. But she quickly regained her footing, her tone turning gravely serious.
"And the child? Were you not aware of her?"
"What are you talking about? I don't understand."