***
The Duke's question echoed in the small, fire-lit room, heavy and final.
"What, exactly... am I supposed to do with you?"
My heart was a hummingbird, beating itself to death against the cage of my ribs. The man before me was the judge, jury, and, by all accounts, the enthusiastic executioner. I was a confessed thief and arsonist. This was an open-and-shut case.
The System, which had been blissfully silent, flickered back to life, its blue windows as frantic as my pulse.
[CRITICAL SCENARIO: The Duke's Judgment!] [Objective: SURVIVE!] [Recommended Action: [Plead for Mercy] (Success Chance: 10%)] [Recommended Action: [Blame Thorne] (Success Chance: 5%)] [Recommended Action: [Remain Silent] (Success Chance: 1%)]
Ten percent. The System was offering me a one-in-ten chance of survival if I got on my knees and begged for my life.
I looked at the man in front of me. Zander Voronoff. A man who had just looked at his butler's sniveling, weeping, groveling display and called it "disgusting."
This was not a man who respected pleading. He was a creature of logic, of ice, of cause and effect. He had come here not to hear me beg, but to understand the anomaly. I had been a bug in his perfect, cold code, and he was here to see why.
Pleading was the same as asking for death. Silence was death. Blaming others was definitely death.
That left...
[Improvise.]
I unclenched my fists, my broken nails digging into my palms. My voice, when it came, was not a whisper. It was not a plea. It was a hoarse, ragged, but steady thing.
"You aren't supposed to do anything with me, Your Grace."
The Duke's head, which had been tilted in that curious, predator-like way, straightened. His black, obsidian eyes narrowed. It was a microscopic movement, but it was a surprise.
I had just given the one answer, and the System hadn't even calculated.
"This household hired me to be a governess," I continued, my voice gaining a sliver of strength. "So I am... governing."
"Governing," Zander repeated. The word sounded absurd in his mouth. He took a half-step back, a purely rhetorical gesture, and his gaze swept the room.
"You call this governing?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "A prison cell for a nursery. A 'governess' who looks more like a chimney-sweep. An act of arson. An act of theft. This... chaos... is what you call 'governing,' Elara von Steiner?"
He was testing me. He was laying out my crimes, waiting for me to break.
I did not.
This was my testimony.
"Yes," I said.
His eyes snapped back to mine. The surprise was back, greater this time.
"The 'chaos,' Your Grace, was here long before I lit that fire," I said, and my own gaze, my own point, went to the corner of the room.
"I was brought to a room with spoiled food. Fact," I said, pointing at the congealed gruel he had knelt before.
"I found a child who was freezing and starving. Fact," I said, gesturing to Kaelen, who was watching us, his magenta eyes huge and terrified, clutching his bread.
"I went to your kitchens, and I was denied food. Fact," I said, my voice hardening. "The Head Cook called him a 'monster' and threw me out."
"I found a wooden closet. It was locked. Fact," I said, my gaze finally landing on the iron pole I had dropped by the door. "So I 'improvised.' I acquired food. I acquired warmth."
I was shaking, trembling from head to toe with cold, fear, and a strange, unhinged adrenaline. But I did not stop.
"A governess's first duty is to keep her charge alive," I said, my voice rising, echoing with a desperate, ragged passion I didn't know I possessed. "The 'how' was... a crime. I know that. But the 'why' was necessary. So, yes, Your Grace. This is me. Governing."
I finished, my chest heaving, my words hanging in the air. I had said it. I had confessed it all, but I had not apologized. I had told the Archduke of the North that I had done his job for him.
I was, without a shadow of a doubt, going to die.
[... ... ...] [SYSTEM... ERROR... ERROR... ERROR...] [PLAYER 'ELARA'S' 'LOGIC' STAT HAS OVERWHELMED THE 'PLEAD' SCENARIO.] [...RECALCULATING... RECALCULATING...]
Zander Voronoff stared at me.
He just... stared.
His face was a mask of carved, perfect ice. Unreadable. Impassive. I had given him my grand speech, my "testimony," and it had bounced off him like a pebble off a mountain.
He had not been convinced. He was not moved.
I... I had failed.
My strength, fueled by pure, desperate adrenaline, evaporated. My shoulders slumped. The iron pole on the floor looked like a good pillow. I was so, so tired.
Zander's gaze was... intense. He was analyzing me, and he had found... nothing?
"So," he said, his voice terrifyingly soft. "You did all this... for him?"
His gaze, for the first time, moved away from me and truly landed on the boy.
It was the most intense, piercing gaze I had ever seen. He looked at Kaelen, at the silver hair, the magenta eyes, the face that was a miniature, half-starved, terrified version of his own noble line. He looked at him, and his face... his face twitched.
It was the first emotion I had seen. It was not anger. It was not pity.
It was... pain. A deep, cold, agonizing pain.
"My brother's son," he whispered, so low I almost didn't hear it.
And Kaelen, who had been frozen in terror, watching the giant, dark man who looked like him... he broke.
The Duke's stare was too much. The pressure was too high.
Kaelen's face crumpled. His eyes squeezed shut. He let out a tiny, choked, animal sob, a sound of pure, complete terror.
And in his fear, his small, clutching hand... brought the stolen bread to his mouth, and he bit into it.
It was not an act of hunger. It was an act of comfort. It was the only good thing he had. He was a terrified child, hiding in the dark, clinging to the one thing that had brought him warmth and sustenance: the bread I had given him.
It was a tiny act. It was a betrayal. He had just, in front of the Duke, chosen his only comfort... and that comfort had been provided by me.
Duke Zander. Flinched.
He didn't move his body, but I saw it. His eyes widened, his breath hitched. He had seen it, too. He had seen his traumatized, mute nephew, who had been in this house for months, refusing all food, all comfort... just ate the food given by this insane, soot-covered girl.
He had seen his nephew, in a moment of pure terror, seek comfort not from him, his blood, his uncle... but from my stolen bread.
The silence that followed was louder than any scream.
Zander Voronoff tore his gaze from Kaelen and looked at me.
And his face... was unreadable. The ice was back. The wall was up. The emotion, the pain, the flicker of... whatever... it was gone.
I held my breath.
[SCENARIO 'SURVIVE THE MALE LEAD': ... 90% COMPLETE.] [...Status: PENDING.]
I had survived the words. Now I just had to endure the... after.
Zander's gaze was heavy. He was processing. He was a machine of logic, and I had just fed him a set of impossible, contradictory data. My speech... Kaelen's reaction... it wasn't enough to just talk.
A new, desperate thought clawed its way into my brain. I had to prove it. I had to show him I was not just another liar.
While the Duke was frozen, his mind clearly reeling, I moved.
It was my final gamble.
My eyes darted around the room. I needed... a cloth. A rag. Something. The tattered shawl I wore was too thin; it was my only protection from the cold. That left...
That left the hem of my own skirt. The thin, scratchy, gray wool shift was the only "uniform" I owned.
I didn't care.
I lurched forward, my body screaming in protest. The Duke's head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing, but he didn't stop me. He was too stunned by my audacity even to react.
I turned, not to the fire, not to Kaelen, but to the other corner—the one with the spoiled gruel. The one Zander had knelt by.
I didn't hesitate. I couldn't.
I dropped to my knees—my second time on this filthy floor—and I did not grab Kaelen's blanket. I grabbed the coarse hem of my own skirt.
I started cleaning.
I used the bunched-up wool, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold it, to scrape and wipe at the congealed, gray, sour-smelling mess.
It was disgusting. The smell of spoiled milk gruel and old dust hit me like a physical blow, and my stomach churned, my whole body gagging in protest. The filth soaked into the fabric, cold and damp against my fingers. I was ruining my only garment. I was abasing myself. I was a noble-born governess, on my hands and knees, scrubbing a floor with my own clothes, but these didn't matter; I must survive.
I did not stop.
[...SYSTEM ALERT: UNEXPECTED ACTION DETECTED!] [PLAYER 'ELARA' IS... CLEANING?] [...CALCULATING... NO SCENARIO FOUND. NO, SERIOUSLY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?]
I heard a sharp, almost inaudible intake of breath. It was Zander.
He was watching me.
I didn't look up. I couldn't. I just kept my head down, my matted hair falling into my face, and scrubbed.
My pride was not a factor. It had died back on the 44th floor of that office building. This wasn't humiliation; this was war. This was a necessity. I wasn't just cleaning a mess. I was destroying the evidence. I was erasing the last trace of Thorne's and the Head Cook's abuse. I was, with my own two, trembling, soot-covered hands, showing the Archduke of the North that my testimony was not just words, and this wasn't just for me, it's for the young master.
It was a fact.
This was my last, desperate act of self-preservation, and it was the first, real act of childcare this room had ever seen.
I scrubbed until the patch of floor, while still splintered and stained, was clean of the filth. The hem of my skirt was a ruined, disgusting, damp clump.
I sat back on my heels, my entire body shaking, my breath coming in ragged, painful sobs. I had nothing left.
I had given my testimony. I had presented my evidence. The trial was over.
I finally, finally, looked up.
Zander Voronoff was staring at me. His face was... it was gone. The mask of ice was gone. It wasn't pain, or anger, or surprise.
It was... nothing. It was a complete, terrifying, beautiful blank. He was a man who had just seen a ghost, a man who had just seen a logic puzzle he could not solve.
He had seen me, a confessed criminal, kneel and clean up the evidence of his own household's crime with my own clothes.
[SCENARIO 'SURVIVE THE MALE LEAD': ... COMPLETE.] [Status: ...PASSED.] [...SYSTEM IS... CONFUSED. BUT... OKAY. NEW 'REPUTATION' STAT UNLOCKED.] [Reputation (Zander Voronoff): 1 / 100]
One. One out of a hundred. It was the most beautiful number I had ever seen.
Zander Voronoff tore his gaze from me. He turned his back. A full, complete turn. He was finished.
He walked over to the fire. He looked at his nephew.
Kaelen was trembling so hard I could see it from the door, his eyes squeezed shut, the bread clutched in his hand.
Zander just... stood there. A tall, black, silent shadow, looming over the child. He didn't kneel. He didn't speak. He just... loomed.
"My... my lord?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "Your Grace... you're... you're scaring him."
The Duke's head snapped around, his black eyes flashing with a cold fire. "And you," he hissed, "are not."
It was a revelation. It was an accusation. It was... the truth.
He looked back at the boy. He let out a long, slow breath, a plume of white in the cold room.
"The staff summons," he said, his voice flat, speaking to the fire, to the child, to me, to the room. "It's in ten minutes."
He turned, his long coat sweeping around him. He walked to the door.
He did not look at Kaelen again. He did not look at me.
He stopped in the doorway, his hand on the iron handle.
"You," he said, his back still to me. "Will come with me."
My heart, which had been in my throat, dropped into my stomach. "W-what?"
"You are a mess," he said, his voice filled with a cold, aristocratic disdain. "You are covered in soot, you are wearing a rag, and you... smell... of something akin to a garbage bin, smoke, and stolen cheese."
My face burned, a hot, shameful flush.
"But," he continued, "you are the Governess. And you have just... testified."
He turned his head, just enough to pierce me with one cold, obsidian eye.
"You will stand with me, Governess Elara. You will stand with me, exactly as you are... when I pass my judgment on my household. You will be my... 'evidence.'"
He pushed the door open, revealing the long, dark, empty hall.
"Come."
(End of Chapter 7)
(Author's Note)[System Alert: New Ally(?) Acquired!]
Seeing Kaelen choose the bread over his uncle was... oof. 💔 That was the turning point.
Zander has realized something is wrong, and he is dragging Elara to the Great Hall to prove it. She is no longer just a servant to him—she is a tool.
If you enjoyed the chapter, please drop a Power Stone! It helps the System rank our story higher!
See you next #TickyTockTuesday for the showdown!💎
👉 SCENARIO POLL! (Tap the paragraph to vote):
The Duke just "promoted" Elara from 'Vermin' to 'Evidence.' What is her real role in this upcoming scene?
A) Exhibit A: The Household's Failure. (The "Object Lesson" route)
B) The Duke's Personal Weapon. (The "Time for Revenge" route)
C) The Ultimate Test Subject. (The "I'm Watching You" route)
D) The Official Scapegoat. (The "It's Still Her Fault" route)
E) The Unlikely New Boss. (The "Accidental Power" route)