"You know," she said softly, circling me again, "it wasn't supposed to be you."
My breath slowed slightly.
She stopped just behind me.
"He was supposed to be mine."
The words didn't come out loud.
They came out certain.
Like a fact that had been delayed by inconvenience.
I turned my head slightly. "What are you talking about?"
Matilda gave a quiet laugh.
Not amused.
Almost tired.
"You really don't understand, do you?" she asked. "Draven Everfrost didn't just appear like that. The South didn't just 'get' him."
Her gaze sharpened.
"I was there before you ever knew his name."
A pause.
"We trained together. Grew in the same systems. Same expectations. Same discipline. I knew his habits before he even spoke in complete sentences without calculation."
Her fingers tightened faintly at her side.
"I understood him."
Then her eyes lifted to mine.
"You didn't."
Something about her voice changed there.
Softer.
Dangerous in a different way.
"You think what you have is love?" she asked quietly. "Or fate?"
A faint smile returned.
"It's interruption."
My fingers curled slightly.
"I don't need this conversation," I said firmly. "Whatever you think—"
"Oh no," she interrupted gently.
"You do."
She stepped closer again.
This time, I didn't like how close she was.
"You know what's funny?" she continued. "He was never supposed to become this cold."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"That started after the South made him a weapon."
A pause.
"And after people like you started calling him a monster."
My chest tightened.
"I never called him that."
Matilda's gaze flickered—sharp, immediate.
"Oh?" she said softly.
"Then what did you call him at the ball?"
Silence.
The memory hit before I could stop it.
The council hall.
The tension.
The way I spoke.
The way the room reacted.
Matilda's smile sharpened slightly as she saw my expression change.
"There it is," she murmured.
"You did insult him."
I swallowed.
"That's not—"
"You questioned his authority," she continued smoothly. "In front of people who were already looking for reasons to doubt him."
Her voice lowered.
"And then you smiled at Ephraim like you weren't standing beside a man everyone fears."
My throat tightened slightly.
Matilda tilted her head.
"You didn't notice?" she asked. "How quickly everything changed after that?"
A pause.
"Or maybe you did."
Her voice softened again.
"But you thought it didn't matter because he follows you around like a shadow."
Something cold slid through her tone.
"He doesn't follow you," she said.
"He monitors you."
That word made my stomach drop slightly.
Matilda stepped even closer.
"And even then," she whispered, "you still didn't listen when I warned you."
My brows furrowed. "Warned me?"
She gave a slow nod.
"Yes."
Then she smiled faintly.
"I told you not to push him too far."
A pause.
"I told you you were standing in a place you didn't understand."
Her gaze sharpened again.
"But you didn't stop."
Her hand lifted slightly, brushing the air near my shoulder without touching me.
"So now we do it properly."
My breath caught.
"Matilda—"
She cut me off again, voice suddenly colder.
"You think I'm doing this because I hate you?"
A pause.
Then she laughed softly.
"No."
"It's because you're in the way."
The air shifted faintly after that.
Not yet danger.
But intention.
Sharp.
Focused.
"You should've stayed where you belonged," she said quietly.
Then her eyes darkened slightly.
"But you didn't."
A faint breeze moved through the garden.
And for the first time—
something in my instincts tightened.
Wrong.
Very wrong.
My system flickered faintly in the background of my mind—
"And now we stop pretending you didn't choose this."
Matilda's voice was soft.
Almost polite.
But the moment she finished speaking, the air in the garden shifted.
Not dramatically.
Not visibly.
Just enough that my skin reacted before my thoughts did.
I stepped back instinctively.
"…Matilda," I said carefully, "what is this?"
She didn't answer.
That was worse.
Her gaze stayed on me, calm and steady, like she was watching something already concluded.
Then she lifted her hand slightly.
A simple gesture.
That was all it took.
The wind stopped.
Not slowly.
Not naturally.
Just—gone.
The roses froze in place as if the garden itself had forgotten how to move.
Matilda's hand remained lifted.
Calm.
Controlled.
Like she was simply waiting for something that had already agreed to arrive.
Then—
my skin tightened.
Not pain.
Not power.
Instinct.
Something in my body reacted before my mind could form a thought.
A cold pressure slid down my spine.
And then—
[WARNING: HOSTILE INTENT DETECTED]
My breath caught sharply.
Not a guide.
Not a strength.
A warning.
Raw and immediate.
My stomach dropped.
"…What is this?" I whispered.
Matilda smiled faintly.
Not surprised.
Not even interested in my question.
"You're slow," she said gently. "That's the problem."
My fingers curled.
"This isn't funny."
"I'm not laughing."
Her voice was calm.
And that was worse.
Because now I understood—
this wasn't anger.
This wasn't jealousy.
This was preparation.
I stepped back again.
One step.
Then another.
But the moment my heel shifted—
something moved behind the hedges.
Too quiet to be footsteps.
Too coordinated to be chance.
My head snapped slightly.
Another movement.
Then another.
Shapes.
Dark.
Still.
Waiting between the roses like they had always been part of the garden design.
My throat tightened.
"No…" I breathed.
Matilda finally lowered her hand.
Slowly.
Like closing a door.
"I told you," she said softly, "you should've stayed where you belonged."
The air around me changed completely.
No longer warning.
Now confirmation.
My body reacted instantly.
I turned—
and ran.
A hand shot out from the hedge.
I twisted away just in time.
Fabric tore at my sleeve.
Not enough to stop me.
I stumbled forward into the path—
and another figure stepped out.
Masked.
Silent.
Blocking the exit.
My pulse spiked violently.
Behind me—
slow footsteps.
Unhurried.
Matilda.
"I really did hope it wouldn't be messy," she said, almost disappointed.
My breathing sharpened.
"You're insane," I snapped.
She tilted her head slightly.
"No," she corrected gently. "I'm consistent."
A figure grabbed my arm.
Cold grip.
Hard enough to stop my momentum completely.
I jerked back—fighting instantly—
but another hand caught my shoulder.
Then another at my waist.
Too fast.
Too coordinated.
My breath broke.
"Let go of me—!"
The system flashed again—
[WARNING: CRITICAL HOSTILE ENGAGEMENT]
Not help.
Just alarm.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
I kicked backward.
Hit something solid.
A muffled grunt.
It wasn't enough.
A hand clamped my neck from behind—not choking fully, but forcing me down.
My knees hit the ground.
Pain shot through my legs.
I gasped.
The garden blurred slightly.
Matilda stepped into my view.
Slowly crouching just enough to meet my eyes.
For the first time—
her smile didn't look controlled.
It looked relieved.
"There," she whispered. "Now we can stop pretending."
My vision sharpened sharply with panic.
"Hit her," Matilda commanded, her voice sharp and cold.
A fist connected with my face, a blinding flash of pain exploding across my cheek.
My head snapped back, a dizzying kaleidoscope of stars blooming behind my eyes. I tasted iron – my own blood, warm and metallic, gushing from my split lip. A kick landed hard against my ribs, stealing my breath, forcing a choked gasp from my lungs.
I crumpled further, my body a puppet whose strings had been cut.
*No. Not like this.*
"Where is your mighty Duke now, Seraphina?" Matilda's voice, a venomous hiss, cut through the haze. "Did he abandon you? Did he ever truly care?"
I tried to push up, to fight, but hands like iron clamps held me down. Another blow, this one to my temple, sent a jolt of agony through my skull.
My vision blurred, the masked faces swirling into indistinct blurs. I could feel the cold, hard ground against my cheek, the damp earth seeping into my clothes. My body screamed in protest, every nerve ending alight with torment.
*Draven…* The name was a desperate, silent plea, a last flicker of hope in the encroaching darkness. I pictured his sleepy, grumbling face, the warmth of his arm, the steady beat of his heart. It felt like a lifetime ago.
"Finish her!" Matilda shrieked, her voice laced with a manic glee. "Make her pay!"
A heavy boot pressed down on my back, grinding my face into the dirt. I couldn't breathe.
My lungs burned, screaming for air. The world tilted, spinning wildly. The blows continued, a relentless, merciless assault. Each impact was a hammer blow, driving me deeper into unconsciousness, closer to the abyss.
*This is it.* A chilling certainty settled over me. *This is how it ends.*
My limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. The pain was a dull, throbbing ache now, my senses fading.
The masked figures blurred into one monstrous shadow. Matilda's triumphant laughter was the last sound I registered, a cruel symphony accompanying my descent into oblivion.
Just as the darkness threatened to consume me entirely, a faint, distant roar, like thunder, seemed to vibrate through the very ground beneath me.
But it was too late. My eyes fluttered shut, my body going limp, the world dissolving into a silent, suffocating black.