Night had fallen over the city, and one by one, the glowing windows of the houses dimmed into darkness. A heavy silence reclaimed the streets of the capital.
Yet, within the Lorvil mansion, a single light still flickered in Lethia's chambers.
Lethia was dressed in men's clothes, wrapped in a heavy cloak. Ciro stood behind her, silent as a shadow.
Lethia turned to him, her voice low.
"Ciro, you still have time. If you want to walk away."
She looked at him intensely, her gaze unblinking. "But after the chaos we start tonight, there is no turning back."
Ciro met her eyes and bowed deeply. "My lady, I owe this life to you. No matter what you do, I will be your most lethal weapon until the end and I shall never regret it."
For a brief moment, Lethia's eyes softened, but her face remained clouded by a coming storm. She turned to the mirror, looking at her reflection one last time.
"Then, Ciro," she said softly, "there is no way back from this hell for either of us."
Extinguishing the final candle, they slipped out of the room, moving through the silent corridors. They vanished into the night, heading toward the place where the darkness waited for them.
***
Alea Domus stood as the most notorious den of vice within the capital Celestora. It was a place where the shadows held more weight than the light. A heaven for high stakes gambling, the company of courtesans, and the brokering of secrets. Within its smoke filled walls, men gathered for deeds that dared not face the sun.
The air in the basement of the Alea Domus was thick with the stench of stale ale and damp earth. Silas was strapped to a wooden chair, his face a mess. Arin an aide of Lethia stood behind him, his shadow looming large against the stone walls, his hands resting casually on Silas's shoulders a silent promise of more pain to come.
The heavy iron door creaked open. Lethia stepped in, the hem of her dark cloak brushing against the filthy floor.
As the light hit her face, revealing emerald eyes that looked less like jewels and more like poisonous glass.
A wicked, jagged smile spread across her lips.
"You have no idea how much effort it took to find you, Silas," Lethia whispered, her voice low. "I was starting to think Ophelia couldn't afford to lose her favorite pet. Tell me, did she hide you inside her own chambers? or were you just burrowing in the dirt like the rat you are?"
Silas shook his head frantically, his voice a pathetic croak. "Lady Lethia... please, the Marchioness, she... "
Lethia tossed a thick stack of parchment onto the table.
Silas stared at the papers, his face draining of color until he looked like a corpse. "How... how did you get those?"
"Forging the Imperial seal is treason, Silas. The penalty isn't just death. Your parents in the northern provinces? Your sister? They'll be stripped of everything and thrown into the mines. All because of you."
Silas's eyes filled with terror. "Leave them out of this. They know nothing!"
Lethia grabbed a handful of his hair, jerking his head back with a sharp, brutal tug. Her emerald eyes burned.
"The law doesn't care what they know."
"Stop! Please, stop!" Silas sobbed, his body shaking the chair. "What do you want? Kill me if you must, but spare them!"
Lethia let go of his hair with a look of pure disgust, wiping her fingers on his tunic as if he were a piece of rotting meat. She straightened up, her voice returning to a calm, terrifying chill.
"I'm going to give you a chance to save their worthless lives. But don't mistake this for mercy. I am simply the person holding the knife instead of the rope."
She added, "Whatever you intended to do to me that night... "
An amusing smile on her face, " You will do it to Catherine Calvane."
Silas looked up, his eyes wide with horror. "Lady Catherine? If the Marchioness finds out, she'll skin me alive!"
Lethia said, smoothing her cloak. "Don't worry about that, I will provide a carriage for you to the Eastern border. The North is ruled by the Sidereons, Ophelia's den. I wouldn't send you there if I wanted you to live. But the East is vast. You'll have enough gold to take your family and disappear. You'll be a ghost, Silas. A wealthy, nameless ghost."
He lowered his head, his spirit finally broken. "I understand... "
Lethia began to walk toward the door, but stopped, her hand hovering over the iron handle. She turned her head just enough for the candlelight to catch the sharp curve of her jaw.
"And Silas?" her voice drifted back to him, light as a feather but heavy as lead. "Don't entertain the pathetic delusion of running back to Ophelia for protection. Do you truly think that after knowing I have this evidence, she will extend a hand to help you?"
She turned to face him one last time, her emerald eyes shimmering with a cruel, false warmth.
"She will kill you to cover her tracks. I, on the other hand, am offering a fresh start, and enough gold to make your family forget you were ever a criminal."
The heavy iron door groaned open and shut. The lock clicked into place, leaving Silas in a silence so thick it felt like he was already buried alive.
***
The golden rays of the morning sun spilled across the sprawling hunting grounds, turning the dew kissed grass into a field of shimmering diamonds. The air was thick with the restless energy of the hunt, the frantic baying of hounds, the rhythmic stomping of horses, and the distant, melodic calls of ivory horns.
Lethia arrived at the hunting grounds accompanied only by her aide, Ciro. Serena had begged to join, her eyes full of pleading, but Lethia had been firm. After the scandal that had unfolded just days ago, the court was a shark tank, and Lethia would not hand her over as bait.
This time, she wore nothing elaborate or revealing... even her skirts were simple, stripped of their usual heavy layers for ease of movement.
As soon as Rysa spotted her, she hurried over to greet her. "Lady Lethia! Is Serena not with you today?"
Lethia offered a calm response. "Lady Rysa, Serena had to visit a very close friend of hers, so she couldn't make it today."
Hearing this, Rysa let out a small, adorable pout of disappointment, her frustration clear on her face.
As they began to walk, Rysa followed closely behind. Lethia glanced back at her and said quietly, "Lady Rysa, it isn't good for your reputation to be seen so closely with me."
Rysa didn't pull away. Instead, she pointed to the scar on her forehead. "It doesn't matter," she said softly. "People already look at me with distaste because of this. But when I am with you and Serena, I forget it's even there."
Lethia looked at the scar, which peeked through Rysa's hair whenever the wind caught it.
For a moment, she said nothing, but she didn't tell the girl to leave. She simply turned and allowed Rysa to follow her.
Seeing Lethia's arrival, Lady Valencia Montrose immediately sent a maid toward them.
The maid bowed and delivered an invitation, Lady Valencia requested Lethia's presence in the royal pavilion to sit with her.
Lethia shifted her gaze toward the pavilion.
At the highest tier of the Royal Pavilion, the Emperor and Empress sat in silent, formidable majesty. Flanked by stoic Royal Guards in gleaming breastplates, they overlooked the valley like deities of old.
To their immediate right sat Marchioness Ophelia Calvane and Duchess Ruhina Sidereon. Tucked beside them were Catherine and Seraphine, both girls kept under the watchful, sharp eyes of their mothers.
To the left of the imperial throne, the Crown Prince Lucian Incendios and the Grand Marshal sat together.
The lower tiers of the pavilion were a sea of vibrant silks and polished leather as the other noble families settled into their seats. Among them Lady Delayna Morcant sat in perfect, terrifying composure, the steam from her tea rising in a steady line to meet her cool, unblinking eyes. Beside her, sat Lady Valencia Montrose, she was talking to her brother Kallias.
Lethia's gaze drifted back on Catherine and she noticed something.
Catherine was stealing glances of Kallias Montrose.
A small, cynical smirk touched Lethia's lips and she turned to Rysa . "Lady Rysa go ahead and take a seat next to Lady Valencia. I will join you in a moment."
Rysa nodded obediently and made her way up to the seating area.
Lethia began walking toward the edge of the hunting grounds. Ciro kept pace with her, his presence silent and steady.
"Make sure that pathetic loser does exactly what he was told," Lethia said, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper so that no one passing by could catch her words.
She leaned in slightly toward Ciro as they walked, giving him a final instruction.
Ciro offered a sharp, disciplined bow and vanished into the crowd without a word.
Left alone, Lethia turned her gaze toward the grounds. The area was buzzing with activity. Knights and young noblemen were everywhere, dressed in their finest hunting gear. Some were busy calming their horses, while others lingered with their ladies, gracefully accepting silk handkerchiefs or ribbons as tokens of good luck. Everywhere she looked, she saw sons laughing with their mothers or brothers boasting to their sisters.
Lethia stood by the edge of the field, her eyes scanning the crowd.
I suppose he didn't come, she thought.
Then, she shook the thought away with a cold shrug.
Who cares? It's better this way. One less trouble to manage.
Her attention drifted to the weapon racks where the polished longbows were lined up. Lethia had loved archery since she was a child, it was the only craft her father had personally taught her. Perhaps it was the only thing she still treasured that carried his memory.
A distant voice echoed in her mind,her father's voice.
Lia, in archery, your mind is a greater weapon than your bow. First comes the thought, then the form of your body as you aim, and only then, the bow.
Even after her parents separated, Lethia's childhood hadn't been entirely dark. Her father visited her often, and despite the broken marriage, she still felt the warmth of their love. Back then, things weren't so bad.
But everything shattered after her mother died. Her father brought her back to the Calavne Marquessate, and shortly after, that Lethia got abducted, and it changed the course of her life forever.
Lethia grew to despise her father. Deep down, she knew he wasn't the one who had committed the act, but she hated him anyway.
She hated him for his weakness,for failing to protect her and her mother when they needed him most.
Her father tried to see her multiple times, seeking a way to mend what was broken, but Lethia refused every attempt. She hadn't looked at his face in half a decade. To her, he might as well have been buried in the same ground as her mother.
As the memory surfaced, the weight of it felt too heavy. She quickly pulled her gaze away from the bows, trying to bury the emotion. As she turned to leave, she didn't realize someone was standing directly behind her.
It caused her to lose her footing. She started to fall, but before she could hit the ground, a pair of steady hands caught her.
Lethia kept her eyes closed for a moment, the sadness from her memory still lingering on her face. When she finally opened them, her gaze was soft and tired.
It wasn't the usually cold Lethia looking up... it was just a girl who looked exhausted by the world.
Confused by her expression, Serik gently helped her stand upright. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low.
His blonde hair moved slightly in the breeze. As Lethia looked into his eyes, her expression was one of quiet pain. Serik looked composed, yet his own eyes were bloodshot and weary, as if he hadn't slept for days.
Lethia looked down at the grass, unable to meet his eyes. Her gaze remained painfully fixed on the ground.
"I called your name, but you didn't hear me," Serik said softly, still holding her arms to steady her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
"I keep falling in front of you." Lethia said bitterly, her gaze still fixed on the ground.
He gave her a warm smile. "I don't mind holding you, so please... don't worry about it."
He sounded worried, his grip lingering as if he knew she wasn't shaken by the fall, but by something else.
A few tears pricked at the corners of Lethia's eyes. She fought them back with everything she had. Suddenly, a flash of anger sparked in her... anger at her own vulnerability in his presence.
I need to stay away from this man, she thought desperately.
"I'm not worried," she snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite.
"I'm just... I'm just disappointed that it's you, a Sidereon."
She pulled away and turned to leave, her heart racing.
Suddenly, Serik reached out, his fingers catching her wrist with a firm but gentle grip. Lethia froze, her breath hitching as she turned her head just enough to see him. Serik stepped into her space, closing the gap until no air remained between them. Without a word, he unfastened his heavy cloak and draped it over her shoulders from behind, enveloping her in his scent and his warmth still radiating from the fabric.
"Winter hasn't arrived," Serik murmured, his voice a low vibration she felt against her spine, "but the chill has started early. Keep it on... I won't have you shivering."
He moved even closer, his broad chest pressing flush against her back, making her pulse hammer in her throat. His right hand settled heavily on her shoulder, his thumb grazing the line of her neck, while his left hand reached down to take hers.
Slowly he began to peel the thin silk glove from her fingers. The friction of the silk against her skin was electric, and as his bare fingertips finally brushed against her palm, a jolt of heat shot straight to her heart.
Serik leaned down, his face inches from hers, his warm, uneven breath ghosting over her cheek and the corner of her lips.
He pulled the glove free at last. With a tired, aching smile in his eyes, he whispered into the small space between them, "I doubt you'd ever grant me a handkerchief as a favor. So, I'll make do with this, My Lady."
His gaze dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second, heavy with a longing he couldn't hide, before he finally stepped back into the cold.
He turned and began to walk toward the hunting grounds, leaving her standing there in his cloak.
Lethia watched his back for a while, and finally, a single tear escaped, rolling down her cheek.
She watched him until he disappeared into the crowd, then she wiped the tear away and turned toward the pavilion.
You will finally wake up today, Serik. She thought, her face hardening back into a mask of iron.
She pushed every ounce of sadness deep down, her expression becoming dead serious once more. With her head held high, she began to walk toward the pavilion.