His skin has taken on a shade between pale white and gray. His face remains forever devoid of hatred, contempt, or any other emotion that once defined him.Though they keep him meticulously groomed, with his hair arranged and beard neatly trimmed, they cannot hide his gaunt face, his sunken cheeks, his bruised, hollow eyes. And the smell in the room—of sickness, of human waste—cannot be masked, not even by the fragrance of roses.
After these three, almost four years in a coma, nothing remains but a sack of flesh and bones of what once was Regentus Mallory, a man who once inspired fear in hundreds and now evokes nothing but pity.Since he fell into the coma, I have had to come every two weeks and sit by his side. I have had to keep administering the poison that maintains him in this state.
Everyone sees me as a dutiful daughter, always returning to visit her father, keeping him company in his condition… despite the kind of person he was. What would they say if they knew I am the one who put him in that bed? The one who is killing him slowly?
Malcol's voice echoes in my mind:"I couldn't ask for a better sister than you. That's one of the reasons I love you so much: how good you are to everyone," he told me one afternoon with such pure sincerity that I nearly broke into tears.
Because as he spoke, I could still smell the dust of the deadly petals on my fingertips.
With this poison, it has been like killing the Regentus again and again, over and over. At first, being near him was unbearable.I had to remind myself of what one was capable of, recall the atrocities this monster disguised as a man had inflicted on us, just to keep going.
It became easier after I learned the villa was practically a cemetery, with hundreds of bodies laid there by his ambition and sadism. Hearing of all the servants he tortured for pleasure helped me understand why everyone here was grateful for what had happened.
So now, only rarely do I question my right to strip the vitality from another human being. Despite his unspeakable sins, who am I to make such a decision?
But what truly terrified me was wondering if all this was turning me into someone like him—into a monster without a heart—because more and more often, the only thing I felt, coming to kill him little by little, was boredom.
Once the poison finally dissolved in his mouth without leaving a trace, I was able to walk out of that room and return to my office, accompanied by my personal guard: Paladin Sir Edmun.
Thank the gods, everything was exactly as I had left it, and no one awaited inside. So I sat behind the desk and continued analyzing the copied pages of ancient sacred scriptures.
I couldn't stop searching for answers to my curse; a desperation so deep consumed me that merely imagining I might never die made me want to tear the skin from my own body.
So far, I hadn't found anything truly useful. Only one story: the minor goddess Eliska takes pity on a village whose children died from a terrible illness and brings them back to life.
In some versions, it is a bearer of a Kalyx stone—like the rulers of this planet and its moons—who revives the children, but they return with the consciousness of a wild beast and devour their parents. Because of this, the god Supremus Soter strips the Kalyx stones of the ability to modify living beings.
The moment I heard the office door open, I sighed, exasperated, refusing to look at the visitor in the hope that indifference might drive him away. It didn't.
"Miss Mallory, I've been looking for you. We need to discuss next month's villa budget, arrange the sponsorship for Colonization Day, address the construction of the new orphanages and—"
"Sponsorship is not my concern. That is something you must discuss with Regentus Katlya," I say, cutting off Mr. Wails's relentless chatter.
When I helped secure him his position as advisor and administrator—due to his great talent and commitment, despite his low status—I never imagined I would regret his excessive dedication.
I thought that by hiring more and better staff based on ability rather than connections, I could turn my back on everything and focus on my research. But responsibility only expanded, and though nearly everything was done by others, I still had to make the final decisions.
All because Katlya entrusted the administration of the villa—and more—to me while she governed in her spouse's absence.
"Mr. Wails, you must start making these decisions yourself without consulting me. What will you do when I join the Order of the Resonants as a Novitiatus?" I scold.
The man shifts uncomfortably. He tilts his head slightly, about to speak, but ends up swallowing the words and adjusting his monocle instead.
"I believe we know each other well enough by now for you to give me your opinions without dancing around them, don't we?" I tease him, more exasperated by what I had done before arriving here than by Wails himself.
"It's just that I cannot believe you would join the Order. I simply don't understand. You have everything: status, power, wealth. And if you desired even more, with your grace, bearing, and intelligence, you could obtain it easily." He finally looks directly at me. "It makes no sense for someone like you to do such a thing… it would be madness," he blurts out, before lowering his gaze, embarrassed by his honesty.
"Perhaps the problem is that you still see joining the Order as a sentence for those children who won't inherit a title or cannot secure a financially advantageous marriage. Despite everything, you continue thinking like an arrogant Excelso." I let the words hang in the air, watching his shame grow. "Not all of us desire status, power, or wealth. Some of us see those things as empty. I prefer what brings me true pleasure: my books, knowledge, peace… something the Order can give me if I work for it—something no one else can."
Mr. Wails's face is as red as a tomato. He stares at me, slack-jawed, then drops his gaze to his shoes, as though they were the most fascinating things in the world.
"When you stop working for what others consider valuable, and instead strive for what you truly desire, then you will have confidence in yourself. Because you will be content with who you are and won't want to be anyone else."
He listens to my words as if I were a wise elder, and I almost laugh at the reaction from a thirty-year-old man—until worry creeps in. His lack of resistance, how easily he could be tangled in pretty words and swallow lies whole, is unsettling.
The truth is, I'm not excited about joining the Order at all. I'm doing it only to gain access to classified manuscripts on magic, to break my curse. And it ensures I won't become a threat to Malcol's future succession as Regentus.
He seems about to speak when someone knocks and enters without waiting for permission—a nurse from Regentus Mallory's care team, her face drawn and pale.
"Miss Mallory, your father has just passed away," she says between hurried breaths.
"What are you saying? I was just with him and he was fine—as fine as a dead man can be!" I snap, nearly shouting.
She flinches, yet answers anyway:
"I know, miss, but it seems his body gave out. He went into cardiac arrest, they tried to revive him, but nothing worked. The staff is waiting for your orders." Her voice is carefully measured, as though tone alone could soften the news.
"NO, NO, NOOO!" I scream, sweeping everything off the desk with a violent arm. "He can't die! Not yet, not yet… it's too soon, it's—"
I grab one of the statuettes and hurl it to the floor. It explodes into fragments.
I'm about to collapse, but my Paladin, Sir Edmun, catches me by the waist, holding one of my hands to steady me. I rub my forehead with my free hand, trying to breathe with some semblance of calm.
"Thank you, Sir Edmun. I'm fine now, you may let go," I say as evenly as I can.
"Always at your service, my lady," he responds confidently.
I nod. His presence always steadies me. He is the only guard I trust. His loyalty has been mine since I hired him, despite his forty-eight years—an age no one else would have considered, even for a man as skilled as he is. And not just any guard: a Paladin, the highest rank short of a captain of the palace guard.
"Come, Sir Edmun. I need to confirm my father's death with my own eyes," I say, heading for the door.
The walk to Lord Mallory's room is a blur. When I enter, the family doctor greets me.
"Miss Mallory, my condolences for your loss," he says, his aged face creased with what looks like practiced sorrow.
The nurse beside him also offers condolences. One by one, everyone follows—nurses, maids, guards.
I answer none of them. I approach the bed where Regentus Mallory's body lies and uncover his face. He looks even more ashen than he did this morning.
Inside, I curse him for hurting us even in death, for not holding on four more years—the time Malcol needed to inherit legally without trouble. Now the vultures will descend to take everything from us. Malcol's life—and everyone else's—is in danger.
I clench my fists, fighting the urge to strike the corpse back to life.
"Sister? Is it true? Is Father…?" Malcol's trembling voice reaches me.
I turn to him. His shocked gaze is fixed on the body. I cover the dead man's face again, and Malcol looks at me with that lost expression he hasn't worn in years.
I rush to embrace him, shielding his tears from the others. Maintaining that foolish Excelso decor—that men should not cry in public, as though feeling were shameful.
We stay like that for a moment. Then he looks up at me, and I discreetly wipe away a single tear from his cheek.
"Am I bad for feeling relieved and sad at the same time?" he whispers, searching my eyes for truth.
"Oh, Malcol, of course not," I say, smoothing the fabric on his shoulders. "Being human means having contradictions that try to eat us from the inside. What matters is not letting them win. Do you understand?"
He nods, though I can still see guilt gnawing at him. Meanwhile, I marvel that anyone could feel sorrow for that man.
I step away from Malcol and address the others waiting for guidance in Katlya's absence.
"Regentus Mallory XIX is dead. May his soul find the path to the Gods' embrace, and may the god Soter receive him with mercy," I declare like a priest delivering mass.
"So be it," they all reply.
"Now I order every person here, and everyone in this household, to speak not a single word of the Regentus's death to anyone beyond these walls. We will begin arrangements to cremate the body discreetly, tomorrow, here in the villa—"
The elderly doctor interrupts me, aghast:
"But miss—what are you saying? The Regentus's body must be blessed and cremated in the Grand Temple of Nova Gaelia, by the Orator Dei Majoris, after the funeral procession and—"
"Mr. Ruiders, do I need to remind you that you are only a doctor in this house?" I cut him sharply. "I am the one who runs it!"
I take a few steps, commanding the room:
"Do you know what will happen when this news spreads? Every opportunist who has been waiting for a chance will come for us."
I stop, letting my gaze lock onto his pale face.
"Yes, we have a male heir—but he is not yet of legal age to hold the title. And that alone is enough for them to see us as easy prey. They will come for power and for our lands, even if they must bleed this nation dry and destroy everyone living in it. Each nation will want a piece for itself while stripping us of everything—even the clothes on our backs."
Silence suffocates the room as I study their terrified faces. Even the doctor swallows hard. They are imagining the consequences. And I silently wish Malcol were not hearing any of this.
"But do not worry. The Regentus Widow and I are here to ensure none of that happens. Trust us, as you have during my father's absence, and as before, we will keep everything standing. Because the Mallory house is stronger now than ever."
The panic in their eyes slowly fades; some nod, and no one dares contradict me. And only when Sir Edmun strikes his chest and bows to me do they all follow.
"Eternal glory to House Mallory," Sir Edmun says solemnly, and the room echoes the phrase.
If we were alone, I would embrace my loyal paladin in thanks, but there is no time for such things now.
"As I said: the Regentus Mallory's body will be blessed and cremated tomorrow in the banquet hall by the family's Oratus Dei. Everyone will attend the funeral prayer. After that, no one will speak of this again. From now on, no one leaves the villa without my express permission." I sweep my gaze over them. "By the power granted to me by the Regentus Widow, I will execute anyone who disobeys. No exceptions."
My mind calculates how long we need to reinforce the borders as I glare at the audience—until my gaze lands on Malcol.
For an instant, he looks at me as if I had turned into a wild wolf, and my heart tightens, but in the blink of an eye that expression vanishes. He takes the hand I offer as I approach, and together we leave the room. And although his hand trembles ever so slightly, I hold it firmly. I cannot allow doubt to take hold of me now.