Serena pov
The damp, stone walls of the dungeon closed in around me like a tomb, swallowing every breath I took into their cold, unfeeling silence. The air tasted of rust and mildew; even the flickering torchlight seemed weighed down by the despair trapped in this place. My wrists ached from the iron shackles, and my thin prison shift did nothing to keep the chill from sinking into my bones.
But even in this suffocating gloom, the sudden shift in the air—the soft crunch of a boot on gritty stone—pulled my attention sharply toward the corridor.
A shadow stepped into view.
He knelt before me, lowering himself with that familiar, instinctive dignity. Even in the dimness, I recognized him—not the hardened, distant Frederick I had seen in recent days, but the Frederick who had stood by me for years. The one who always bowed slightly in respect before addressing me… even when no one else was present.
For a heartbeat, the ice around my lungs cracked. Relief, fragile and trembling, warmed my chest.
"This is the Frederick I knew from before…"
The flicker of joy was dangerous, foolish, but I couldn't suppress it.
"Lady Serena," he said, voice low and taut, as if weighed down by something heavier than the chains binding me. "Listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you."
The urgency in his tone cut through the silence like a blade. I raised my gaze to meet his, bracing myself against whatever truth he carried.
"…But I'm also afraid." The words slipped out before I could stop them, trembling on my tongue. "What are you about to tell me, exactly?"
Frederick didn't hesitate—didn't soften the blow.
"You'll be stuck here for a while." His voice held the quiet certainty of someone who had already seen the path unfold. "As you've guessed, the Prime Minister and the House of Grayan are the ones behind this."
A cold wave washed through me. I had suspected it, yes—but hearing it aloud snapped something raw inside me.
"Their objective is to seize the power and wealth of the House of Serenity," he continued, jaw tight, "and since the plan began with you, Lady Serena, it's likely to end with you as well."
End.
The word echoed through my skull like a death knell.
"End…?" My voice cracked, barely more than a breath. "Do you mean I might actually be executed?"
The shock dissolved into a surge of indignation so fierce my hand clenched violently, the sound of my fist tightening—CLENCH—echoing faintly in the empty room.
"Executed for something I didn't even do?" I hissed. "Treason may be a grave crime, but all I need to do is clear it up as a misunderstanding."
But Frederick shook his head slowly, sorrow shadowing his expression.
"Sometimes, it's the side that seizes momentum and luck first that wins. Whatever the truth may be, the outcome can often be shaped to fit the agenda of such people."
My pulse stuttered. He spoke with the weary certainty of someone who had watched justice twisted into whatever shape the powerful desired.
He paused, letting the grim reality settle around us like dust.
"However," he continued, "rather than hoping that you'll eventually be safely released, since the truth is that you're innocent, I'd like to prepare for the worst-case scenario. Of course, you should clear your name of these false charges. You'll need…"
Frederick's unfinished sentence lingered like a guillotine blade poised overhead.
"Of course, you should clear your name of these false charges," he said, tone sharpening. "You'll need to do it like your life depends on it, because it does."
His words struck harder than the frigid dungeon air, each syllable a stark reminder that innocence meant nothing in a battlefield of politics.
He leaned in, expression grave.
"The problem is that this isn't a fair power struggle, but a devious trap of their own design that you've been forced into completely unprepared."
Frederick rose to his feet, his shadow stretching long across the stone floor. His eyes scanned the iron bars with a familiarity that unsettled me—like someone who knew exactly how many secrets a dungeon could bury.
"Lady Serena, I'm familiar with situations like this," he said quietly. "I've seen the entire process and outcome more times than I can count."
A faint tremor crossed his face—an emotion quickly suppressed.
"Do you know how many times I saw while I was growing up… how my family made innocent people appear guilty and destroyed their lives?"
The revelation hit me like a blow. His knowledge wasn't hypothetical. It was lived. Witnessed. Learned from the inside.
He turned back to me, voice heavy with understanding and warning.
"Based on what I've seen and heard at the Serenity Manor and here… on the surface, this may seem like a conflict between you and the Kingdom of Meuracevia. But if you look closer, you're both a central figure in this and a hostage. Not a great combination."
The words sent a shiver through me far colder than the dungeon air.
A central figure.
And a hostage.
A pawn too important to kill outright, yet too dangerous to leave unbound.
Frederick pressed on, urgency sharpening every word.
"While you don't even fully grasp the situation, Lady Serena, the charge of treason they're wielding against you is a powerful one. Frankly speaking, you appear to be in great danger."
I turned my head away, unable to meet the truth mirrored in his eyes. The metal chains suddenly felt unbearably heavy, as though they'd fused with my own bones.
A hostage…
The quiet realization echoed through the cramped stone chamber, each repetition carving deeper into me.
The worst-case scenario Eiser warned me about.
I remembered the cold edge in his voice, the way he spoke as though outcomes were things to be sculpted, molded—bent—by whoever seized control first.
"It's possible," I whispered to myself, breath uneven, "including the fact that the side that takes control of the situation first can manipulate the outcome to suit their interests. …And you will be last. You're the final target and hostage in this fight."
My eyes narrowed, fury and understanding crystallizing into something sharp and painful.
They wanted Serenity's power.
But they couldn't seize it—not fully, not safely—without breaking me first.
And I had walked straight into their trap.
The depth of the Prime Minister and Grayan's treachery was breathtaking.
---
The panic that had clutched my chest a moment ago receded, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. My mind, previously swirling with fear and disbelief, now cut through the haze like a knife. I had to face the truth—unyielding, merciless.
"That's right," I thought bitterly. "Other than Eiser and Grandma, I'm effectively all alone."
I sank against the rough, damp stone wall, the iron chain on my wrist scraping across the coarse wood, a harsh reminder of my confinement. Even as my body pressed into the cold, unforgiving surface, my mind raced through the bleak landscape of my predicament.
"Even if I mobilize every single lawyer and influential figure at my disposal… as I don't have full knowledge of my predecessors' deeds and am currently detained, my ability to explain myself and clear myself of these charges is extremely limited."
A horrifying realization hardened inside me, sharp as broken glass.
"That's exactly why they arrested me so quickly. And for the most severe crime in the kingdom, at that. I'm in the perfect position to be framed."
Frederick's eyes were fixed on me, unreadable, patiently waiting for the moment I would fully comprehend the magnitude of the danger. His presence was steady, almost unnervingly calm, as if he already knew every step this treacherous game would demand.
Finally, I forced the words out, low but firm. "I understand what you're saying."
I lifted my gaze, locking eyes with him, the urgency undeniable. "Even so… you should get out of here." My voice wavered slightly under the weight of my conviction. "I can't, no, I won't drag you into this and have you risk your life… to save my own."
For the first time, Frederick's expression softened, though his jaw remained unyielding, resolute.
"No," he said gently, yet with absolute certainty. "There are bound to be moments when you need my help. It's better to have someone close to you than to try to endure everything by yourself, even if only as a precaution."
He wasn't merely offering comfort. He was offering himself as a shield, a resource, a calculated—but essential—sacrifice.
I swallowed hard. I knew he was right. Sentimentality was a luxury I could not afford. Survival demanded alliances, strategic advantage, and unwavering loyalty. And Frederick—loyal to the bone—was all of those things rolled into one.
I met Frederick's unwavering gaze, feeling a strange warmth in my chest where only cold dread had lived moments before. The reality of his risk pressed down on me like a physical weight, yet a sense of relief threaded through the tension.
"I can't, no, I won't drag you into this and have you risk your life… to save my own," I repeated, as if saying it aloud might somehow make it so.
He held my gaze with an intensity that brooked no argument. "No. There are bound to be moments when you need my help. It's better to have someone close to you than to try to endure everything by yourself, even if only as a precaution."
He shifted slightly, stance straightening, shoulders squared. The sharp lines of his military uniform suddenly emphasized the raw strength and determination he carried like armor.
"Besides, now that I've gotten involved, there's no turning back. My mind is made up, so people don't make me have to repeat myself."
A soft gasp escaped me. "Frederick…"
He allowed himself the faintest, weary smile. "Actually, I feel rather relieved. When we first met, you simply wanted me to be on your side and protect you."
I hugged myself tighter, the thin prison shift doing little to shield me from the chill of the stone and the magnitude of his words. "At last," I whispered, "it feels like I can keep that promise without any ulterior motives."
Shame washed over me—shame for the complex, perhaps selfish reasons I had relied on him before—but it mingled with gratitude. Frederick was true to his word, pure in intent, unwavering in his loyalty.
"Lady Serena, I'll be fine. I'll survive this, too. I won't let them kill me, so don't worry about me and focus on your own well-being."
He knelt once more, his gaze now sharp, instructional, the soldier and strategist shining through. Every detail of his posture, every measured tone, communicated the gravity of the situation.
"You need to keep your wits about you and stay strong from here on out. Don't psychologically surrender to them, no matter how coercive the interrogation…"
He paused deliberately, letting the weight of his words hang in the cold, echoing silence. The unspoken truth settled heavily: his next instructions could very well dictate my survival.
Eiser pov
The night air hit my face like a slap, sharp and cold, but it did nothing to extinguish the fire raging in my chest. Treason. They dared to accuse her of treason. The Prime Minister's precision, Victor Grayan's opportunism—this was no mere political maneuver. This was a trap designed down to the last detail, and if I didn't seize momentum now, I'd lose her. Permanently.
The towering silhouette of the Grayan Manor rose before me, arrogant and immaculate, its lanterns glowing like watchful eyes. My jaw tightened.
I didn't knock.
BURST!
The heavy double doors slammed open under the force of my strike, crashing against the walls. The echo thundered through the grand foyer, sending a ripple of panic through the staff.
Gasps—
Footsteps—
The sharp scent of polished marble and burning lamp oil filled the air.
STEP.
I walked in with deliberate calm, though my entire body thrummed with tension. A maid and two manservants stumbled forward, their faces blanching as they realized who had stormed their sanctum.
"Sir Eiser! Long time no see. Wh-what brings you at this hour—?"
Their voices were shaking, thin threads stretched too tight. I didn't even glance their way. My gaze was fixed on the sweeping staircase that led into the labyrinth where Victor hid his secrets.
"Where is Victor?" I asked, each word clipped, measured, icy.
A butler, dressed in immaculate black, stepped forward trembling. "Oh, Sir Victor? He's not home at the moment—"
TURN.
I pivoted sharply, my stare pinning him like a dagger through silk.
"I asked you where he was."
The temperature in the manor seemed to drop a degree. The butler swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from mine.
"W-we… we never know where he goes or what time he returns. I'm sorry, sir."
A useless answer. A practiced one. Victor's staff had always been trained to know nothing, say nothing, reveal nothing. Typical.
I didn't grant them another word. My boots struck the polished floor with a clear, echoing authority.
STRIDE.
STRIDE.
I took the stairs two at a time.
"Wh-where are you going?! Sir Eiser?!" a maid cried from below, but the question barely registered.
I needed to move fast.
The Prime Minister would not be at his desk at this hour.
The Holy See—my last legal lighthouse—would take time to respond to my urgent correspondence.
Every moment wasted was another rope tightening around her neck.
Victor Grayan wouldn't have dared conspire with the Prime Minister unless he'd already secured his pieces. Men like him didn't gamble—they calculated. And somewhere in this manor, his preparations were hidden.
The second floor was silent, heavy with opulent curtains and the suffocating stillness of wealth. A perfect breeding ground for treachery.
I reached Victor's study and pushed the double doors open without hesitation.
The room hit me in a wave of stale ink, dust, and ambition.
Stacks of documents cluttered the massive mahogany desk.
Political correspondence in sealed envelopes.
Maps pinned to the wall.
Financial ledgers stacked like bricks in a fortress of deceit.
Green-glass oil lamps cast an eerie glow on the chaos—illuminating the very nerve center of Victor Grayan's schemes.
I didn't waste a second.
I swept aside a column of papers with one arm—
WHOOSH—CRASH!
Loose pages spiraled to the carpet like wounded birds.
My eyes darted across documents, scanning signatures, seals, notes scribbled in margins. Each second ticking away hammered into my skull like a countdown.
I needed a clue, any clue, to expose the trap they had set for her.
Something tangible.
Something damning.
Something the Holy See could wield like a sword.
Because Frederick's warning rang in my mind with brutal clarity:
Whatever the truth may be, the outcome can often be shaped to fit the agenda of such people.
If they shaped the truth before I could uncover the real one—
If I couldn't intercept the narrative—
If I failed to find evidence—
Then the fate he feared…
The execution of an innocent woman…
Would become a reality.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
I had to be faster.
I burst into the residence, tension radiating off me like static before lightning. The servants' startled gasps echoed through the grand hall the moment they recognized me.
"S-Sir Eiser?!" one of them squeaked, a tray nearly slipping from her hands.
Shoes scraped against marble as a woman hurried forward, forcing a shaky smile.
"Sir Eiser! Long time no see. Wh-what brings you at this hour—"
Her nervous pleasantries hit my ears like meaningless noise. I cut them down instantly.
"Where is Victor?"
A man in a crisp black suit flinched, caught off guard. "Oh, Sir Victor? He's not home at the moment—"
STOP.
I turned sharply, pinning him with a stare cold enough to crack glass.
"I asked you where he was."
His breath hitched. He shrank back, shoulders stiff with fear.
"W-we never know where he goes or what time he returns. I'm sorry, Sir."
No answers. No cooperation. No surprise.
I said nothing more; I simply strode past them, boots echoing sharply against the polished floor as I headed for the staircase.
"Wh-where are you going?! Sir Eiser?!" one of the servants cried out, voice tight with panic.
I didn't waste breath responding. They were irrelevant. Every second counted.
The Prime Minister wouldn't be in his office at this hour.
The Holy See would take time to reply.
And I needed something—anything—to expose the conspiracy Victor had woven.
If he had teamed up with the Prime Minister, then he had done so with absolute confidence.
Confidence came from preparation.
And preparation always left a trail.
I reached his study—an imposing room lined with bookshelves and stacked with papers. Without hesitation, I stepped inside and immediately began searching.
Files.
Letters.
Ledgers.
Maps.
I swept aside the neatly arranged piles on Victor's massive desk, flipping through pages with the speed of a man on the edge of desperation.
I needed a clue.
Any clue.
Something that revealed what gave Victor the nerve to orchestrate this kind of political stunt. Something that exposed instructions he had given to his operatives.
Something the Holy See could use when they answered me.
The Prime Minister wouldn't be at his desk now, and my message to the Holy See—my lifeline, my only legal leverage—was somewhere between here and the capital, waiting to be opened.
But I couldn't wait.
She couldn't wait.
My heart hammered as I tore through another stack of documents. A rising panic—sharpened into determination—drove my hands faster.
I rounded the corner of the desk, taking a sharp, urgent STEP—
A voice cut through the room.
Deep.
Measured.
And belonging to the last man I wanted to see.
"What's all the commotion at this late hour?"
I looked up.
Victor's father stood in the doorway—a tall, aging figure leaning heavily on an ornate cane carved into the shape of a serpent's head. His rumpled dressing gown hung loosely on his aristocratic frame, and his face bore the deep, permanent creases of a man who had lived too long among politics, power, and secrets.
He took in the scene with tired eyes—the scattered documents, my presence, the charged air.
"Storming in without warning and going through your brother's office…" he said, voice flat, unimpressed. He lifted his serpent cane slightly, as if scolding a misbehaving child. "You caused quite a scene the last time you were here, too… and you seem even more unrecognizable now than you did then."
I stared at him, frustration simmering into something dangerously close to rage.
"You should be relieved," I said, my voice low and edged like a blade. "Imagine the chaos if Victor had been home."
I stepped forward, the heat in my gaze unmistakable.
"If he were home, I'd have ended the life of the one and only successor to the House of Grayan."
Victor's father held my stare without so much as a twitch. No fear. No anger.
Only a weary, knowing look—one that felt far too familiar.
As if he understood the depth of my fury…
perhaps even more than I did.
The cane tapped once against the polished floor—an old man's gesture, yet it carried all the oppressive power of centuries of Grayan authority.
"Yes, yes. Why don't you calm down so you and I can talk?" Victor's father suggested. He stepped further into the room, unhurried, as though he owned not only the study but the very air inside it. His tone was that practiced Grayan blend of patient superiority. "I was actually planning on writing to you. There's something I'd like to discuss with you in private."
My fingers curled around the papers on the desk. SNAP—then CRUMPLE. The pages with Victor's handwriting—his neat, arrogant loops—were reduced to nothing under my grip.
"No thanks," I answered, my voice stripped of warmth. "I'm not interested in hearing anything you have to say."
A pause. A flicker of something in his expression—disappointment, annoyance, or calculation. It was impossible to tell. The head of the House of Grayan was a man whose emotions lived behind locked doors.
"Serena Serenity," he said simply. The name fell heavily, an iron weight placed deliberately on the wound he already knew existed. "You want to save that girl who's been carted off to prison."
I didn't move. I didn't nod. But the stillness of my body answered for me.
He continued, lowering his voice until it carried the softness of a blade being drawn.
"You probably don't want her to end up like your mother, who was little more than a living corpse by the time she made it out of there..." His eyes sharpened, watching the crack form in my expression. "Or that lawyer, who died a miserable death after trying to become a friend to you."
The air pulsed. A red haze flickered at the edges of my vision.
My jaw locked. "Don't you dare bring up the deaths of my mother and Geoffric in my presence."
He ignored my warning. The faint curl of his mouth—small, cruel, and satisfied—was the smile of a man who knew exactly which strings to pull.
"Then let me be more direct."
He straightened, leaning into his serpent-headed cane like a judge delivering a verdict.
"If you accept my terms," he said, "I'll send that girl you cherish so much back to you without a single scratch on her."
A hollow, disbelieving laugh tore out of me—sharp, bitter. "Ha! What do you—"
He cut me off with a single command.
"I want you to stop all this," he said, each word measured, heavy, final. "...and come home."
He took a slow step toward me, the cane's serpent gleaming under the chandelier's dim light.
"Sit at that goddamn desk and take your place as a son of Grayan. That is all I ask."
His voice shifted then—quiet, absolute.
"I want you to stop all this," he repeated, echoing his own ultimatum, "…and come home. Sit at that desk you're in front of… and go back to living as Eiser Grayan."
His terms. His price.
I felt the words settling into the room like dust after an explosion.
My gaze drifted to the ornate golden scales sitting on Victor's desk—an absurd decoration for a house that knew nothing of true justice. One plate held my freedom, my life's path, everything I had clawed out of the mud to build. The other held Serena's safety.
My father—because that was who he was, no matter how I tried to cut the cord—stood waiting. He knew he had cornered me. He knew this was a battle he could win with nothing but words.
He knew the one person I couldn't sacrifice.
My throat tightened. I could face Victor. I could fight the Prime Minister. I could confront the Holy See itself if it came to it. But Serena—
Serena was where the line was drawn.
My shoulders fell, the fury inside me cooling into something far worse: resignation.
A deep, unsteady breath slipped past my lips.
Cold resolve settled into my bones.
I knew, with painful clarity, what I had to do.
I had lost.
Chapter 116 End.