I follow her through the estate gardens, all the way to the farthest corner, where a large glass greenhouse rises under the vigilance of several guards. The air inside is humid, heavy with the scent of flowers and the fresh green of leaves. There are all kinds of plants; from their variety, they don't seem to be merely decorative. I can even distinguish some stalks that look similar to corn and wheat.
We reach the end, where a wooden cabin is connected to the glass structure. In front of it, a garden table with chairs awaits us.Lady Mallory sits with composed calm, her figure imposing even in stillness, surrounded by the chorus of insects and birds.
"Do you think anyone can hear what I say in here?" I whisper as I take the seat across from her, breaking our silence.
"I know for certain that no one can hear us here," she replies firmly, intertwining her fingers on the table. Her posture is perfectly rigid, and I can almost feel her inquisitive gaze behind the veil.
"How can you be so sure?" I ask, my eyes drifting toward a guard patrolling in the distance.
"Because this is my private place. Servants are strictly forbidden to come here. The guards outside ensure that no one but me approaches. The only one who could enter would be your father, but he cares so little he never will.Now…" she says coldly, though without contempt. "Are you going to speak, or do you intend to waste my time?"
My mind wipes clean everything I had planned to say. I don't even know where to start—but I know this moment is now or never.
"First… I want to apologize for what happened. I never meant to cause you trouble. I truly am sorry," I murmur, staring at the floor. Shame weighs heavily on me.
But she cuts me off.
"Stop apologizing. An excelsa never apologizes, because we know apologies fix nothing. Do you think your apology will solve this?" she says, removing her veil.
Her face is still bruised, distorted by the swelling. One eye is bloodshot; her lip is split. Her neck bears a collar of bruises in the unmistakable shape of hands.With the medicine they have here, there shouldn't be a single mark left. That can only mean she has been forbidden treatment.
A horrible weight expands in my stomach, as if something were trying to puncture it from within. I want to close my eyes, but it wouldn't change anything. I want to believe none of this is my fault… but I can't.
She watches me calmly, as if that marked body weren't hers. As if her skin were accustomed to pain and her soul to silence.I, on the other hand, feel like my chest is a vessel full of cracks.
"I know. An apology changes nothing. That's why… I think we need a plan, just the two of us, so none of this ever happens again," I say quickly. The words come out clumsy, dragged down by guilt.
"What plan could possibly save us from your father?" she asks, a bitter laugh hidden in her voice. I know she thinks I'm just a naïve child.
"A plan to kill him, of course," I answer seriously, looking straight into her eyes.I hold my breath.
Her face twists in shock and alarm. She looks around, as if afraid someone might hear us despite what she said earlier. Her eyes race through possibilities, risks, consequences.
Finally, she returns her attention to me.
"What are you planning?" she whispers. Her confidence is gone. Contained anger pushes her to lean toward me, far too close. "Is this a trap to get rid of me?"
"Not at all. I mean it. That day it was you… but tomorrow it could be me. All it takes is one moment where he doesn't measure his violence, and I'll end up dead. I'm not going to wait for that to happen. And you?"
She studies me carefully. Her gaze is fierce, but behind it—fear.Her fingers drum on the table: an involuntary tic that betrays her.
"The blow to your head has made you insane to suggest such a thing. Or maybe… ambition is starting to blind you," she spits, standing abruptly.
"You know things can't go on like this. That's why I thought that, of all people, you would be the one with the courage to do something," I reply. My voice trembles.
The greenhouse air thickens. The sweet scent of flowers becomes suffocating. The silence grows so heavy I can hear my own pulse pounding in my ears.
Lady Mallory grips the back of her chair. She walks toward the cabin…but stops halfway, turns, and comes back to me.
"May the gods forgive me. Of course I've fantasized about his death. About being free of him. About living without fear.But I will not condemn my soul to the Caenum for a man like your father. No suffering in this life is worth that," she whispers, pained."Pray those thoughts don't condemn you to the Perpetual Mire."
Hopelessness tightens around my throat.
"Not even to save Malcol? To spare him this horror?" I shout before thinking.
I nearly bite my tongue. Questioning someone's faith like that is a recipe for disaster.But she doesn't seem to notice.
She steps forward. Her cold gaze freezes the air.
"Do not use my son against me. You've lived far too little to believe you can manipulate me that way," she murmurs with a quiet, razor-sharp edge. "Let's suppose I help you and we kill your father.Then what?Who guarantees you won't try to kill us?Or that House Magnus won't force another husband on me just to name him Regentus?Do you think that man wouldn't kill Malcol to put his own blood in succession?Maybe you'd survive. But him…My son would not. He is the only thing that keeps me standing on my worst days."
She sits heavily. Her shoulders sink. Her eyes drift into nothingness.
I look at her… and I understand.Her resistance isn't cowardice.It is terror.Real terror.Justified terror.
I kneel beside her and gently take her hand.
"Please… you're the only one who can help me. I heard my father say he wants to betroth me to Regentus Talaveras.I could become his consort in less than a year.I can't. I can't marry a perverse man four times my age," my voice fractures.
For an instant, I see compassion.But it disappears.She closes off, like a wall sealing shut.
Tears roll down my cheeks.
"Then let us pray he is kinder than your father," she finally declares.
Her words hurt more than any blow from Regentus Mallory.
Three days have passed since that conversation that stripped me of all hope, and once again I find myself in the main dining hall, fully dressed and ornamented.I gave Malcol only a small smile when I walked in.I haven't looked at Lady Mallory.I can't.
The door opens. Firm footsteps. My stomach twists.The air grows heavy.
Before I see him, his shadow already invades the room.
Regentus Mallory enters, tall and wrapped in a black cloak. His presence erases everything else.
His gaze barely brushes mine, and I already feel small.Disposable.Property.
He sits with unsettling gentleness.
I try to eat. I fail miserably.Every bite is mud, ash.The utensils tremble in my hands.
I am his property, like this table or this chair.I wish I were the table, the chair, another piece of furniture.I want to disappear.To become an object forgotten, untouched by passing days.
But all I manage is to go unnoticed like they do.Time does not see me.And I wonder if I will ever manage to be as nonexistent as that.
Now I understand perfectly why the real Laila, even as a child, threw herself into the lake without knowing how to swim.