Matthias’s grip slackened, his fingers uncurling from his brother’s collar as the storm in his eyes began to recede. "Our father..." he began, his voice dropping into a hollow rasp, "well... that is a different tale altogether. You know exactly why I did what I did."
"I do," Leon replied, his tone chillingly level. "And so did I. I see no distinction between us, save for one: I did not lay a finger on Elia, whereas you... you truly ended him."
Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating. Matthias offered no rebuttal. Nearby, Olivia watched them, a phantom witness to their fraternal strife.
She felt like an intruder in a sanctuary of ghosts, yet a dark spark of pride flickered within her. He had done it. He had committed the very act she fantasized about in her quietest hours—patricide. The re thought of it brought her a sinister sense of peace.
"Well," Leon drawled, his voice laced with a practiced lethargy, "there was no other way. Besides, why am I the only one held to such a bitter account? Let us not forget, the sche was your wife’s design. Perhaps you should settle your debts with her."
He stood up, his gaze fixing on Olivia with a predatory sharpness. As he passed, he leaned in, his voice a poisonous whisper: "I told you, if I fall, I’m dragging you into the abyss with ."
Fury bubbled in Olivia’s chest. The scoundrel, she thought, trying to heap his filth upon . She drew a long, stabilizing breath before finding her voice.
"It was a re tincture, a mild dose," she said, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "It won’t harm her. You all act as though I’ve committed a massacre. I have the antidote; she will wake within the hour, rembering nothing of this."
Leon’s mouth twisted into a grotesque smirk—a jagged blend of mockery and disdain.
"Oh, how charming," Matthias interjected, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Poison her at your leisure, then? Shall I applaud? For heaven’s sake, be silent. I have no desire to hear another syllable of your madness. Do you truly believe everyone shares your perverse delight in playing with toxins?"
Olivia’s eyes flashed like struck flint, her composure fracturing. "Madness? And who, pray tell, are you calling mad?"
"Or have you forgotten your place, Olivia?" Matthias stepped closer, his shadow looming over her. "You have already driven a wedge between my brothers. I may have no intention of punishing you—yet—but my patience is a finite thing."
"Oh? Your patience has limits, does it?" Olivia shot back, a hollow laugh escaping her lips. "You speak as if you hold the keys to every locked door. Then please, enlighten . What stroke of genius would you have offered had I not taken matters into my own hands?"
Matthias hesitated, his lips parting as he struggled for a retort. "You could have... simply asked her," he muttered. "I doubt she would have refused to help Leila."
Olivia let out a short, mirthless bark of laughter.
"Ah, marvelous. Truly, I bow before your brilliance. You think that witch would help —help her own daughter? She would have flung herself from the highest spire before granting a single rcy. No, my dear Matthias... you ought to be thanking ."
"Thank you? For the chaos you’ve unleashed?" Matthias’s voice was a low growl.
Olivia let out a sharp, derisive laugh. "You know what? You’re right. I don’t need gratitude from a man like you. I do as I please, Matthias, whether it suits your fragile sensibilities or not." With a swirl of silk and a wake of cold fury, she turned on her heel and swept out of the room.
Leon watched her departure, then turned to his brother with a languid shrug. "My friend, I believe you’ve truly riled her this ti. She is your wife, after all; perhaps shouting wasn’t the most strategic move."
"And what is wrong with you now?" Matthias snapped, his frustration boiling over. "The two of you conspired to poison Elia, and you expect to offer smiles and applause?"
"But she is perfectly fine!" Leon countered, his nonchalance unwavering. "And I acted of my own volition. Olivia simply has... unconventional thods of offering assistance."
Matthias narrowed his eyes. "Are you actually defending her now?"
"I defend no one," Leon replied, his expression darkening with a rare mont of gravity.
"But consider this: if you are raised at the hand of a demon, you cannot be expected to erge an angel. That is her reality. I hold no love for her, but I cannot deny she has been our greatest ally these past two months."
Matthias let out a heavy, ragged sigh, the weight of his crown feeling heavier than ever. "Fine. What would you have do?"
"Go to her, man. Apologize. What else is there to do?"
Matthias marched toward her chambers, his mind rehearsing a peace offering he didn’t quite feel. But when he swung the heavy oak doors open, the room was a hollow shell, slling faintly of lavender and cold iron.
"You!" he barked at a passing maid. "You are her servant, correct?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," the girl stamred, dropping into a frantic curtsy.
"Where is your mistress?"
"My lady has gone to visit Lady Talia, Your Majesty."
Matthias struck his palm against his forehead, a groan escaping his lips. "Oh, damn it all, Olivia... what are you doing now?" Without another word, he pivoted and strode toward Talia’s wing.
In the dimly lit sanctuary of the vanity room, Talia sat paralyzed like a marble statue before her mirror. Behind her, Olivia moved with the grace of a practiced alchemist, swirling a pungent, viscous mixture in a glass bowl.
With a clinical coldness, Olivia unpinned Talia’s hair. The silver blades of her shears glinted in the candlelight as she began to cut and reshape the tresses, her fingers stained with a dark, rich dye.
"Why are you so rigid?" Olivia mocked, her reflection in the mirror wearing a predatory smile. "Relax. It is only hair dye."
She stepped back, surveying her handiwork as the new color took hold. The transformation was startling. "There. You look almost exactly like her now. All that remains is for you to swallow these two pills."
Talia stared at the small, obsidian-colored spheres in Olivia’s palm. "What... what do these do?"
"Well," Olivia whispered, leaning close to Talia’s ear, "one will alter the pignt of your eyes—permanently. The other is for your form; I need you to shed weight with a speed that borders on the miraculous. Now, take them. Ti is a luxury we no longer possess."
Hardly had the pills been swallowed when a guttural scream tore from Talia’s throat. Her eyes burned as if doused in acid, and a crimson streak of blood began to seep from her tear ducts, tracing a macabre path down her cheeks.
"Ah, I seem to have forgotten the anesthetic," Olivia murmured, her voice airy and unbothered. She patted her pockets with a mock theatricality. "Oops... it appears I left it in my chambers. Do try to endure, dear. It is a trifling pain—hardly more than the sensation of five bones snapping simultaneously."
The agony eventually subsided into a dull, throbbing ache, leaving Talia retching on the floor. Olivia seized the girl’s chin with a violent grip, forcing her head up to inspect the transformation. "Perfect," Olivia whispered, peering into the new iris pignt. "Exactly the shade I required."
A frantic pounding at the door shattered the heavy silence.
"Stand up, at once!" Olivia hissed. "You are Eloise now. I won’t have them thinking I am bullying a Duchess."
Olivia swept toward the door, nearly colliding with Matthias as she threw it open. She attempted to brush past him, but his presence was an immovable wall.
"Olivia! What in heaven’s na are you doing here?" Matthias demanded.
"Back for another round of bickering?" she retorted, her voice dripping with venom. "How persistent of you."
But Matthias wasn’t listening. His gaze had drifted past her, and his breath hitched. He froze, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief. Standing in the center of the room was a specter—a ghost of his own mother. The sa hair, coiffed in that unmistakable, regal style; the sa eyes, carrying that faint, haunting shimr he rembered from his youth.
"Mother?" the word escaped his lips as a broken prayer.
Talia’s heart hamred against her ribs, her eyes wide with shock. She had never expected to hear such vulnerability from him. Without thought, Matthias took a step toward her, his arms reaching out as if to grasp a warmth that had been cold for years.
Suddenly, Olivia’s hand shot out, her fingers clamping around his wrist like an iron shackle. "This is Talia," she said, her voice cold and grounding. "What do you think you’re doing?"
She saw the crack in his armor, the mont he had surrendered to the mirage. Matthias opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, turning his face away as a flush of sha colored his features. "Ah... nothing. It was nothing."
"In any case," Olivia announced, smoothing her skirts, "my work here is finished. We shall et on the wedding day."
As she moved to leave, Matthias found his voice again, though it lacked its usual steel. "Fine. Just... ensure you play your part well. Do not tarnish her reputation."
The irony of his words—protecting the dignity of a woman he treated as a stranger, yet who bore his mother’s face—was not lost on the shadows of the room. Talia bowed her head in silent, guilt-ridden acquiescence.
The mont the door clicked shut behind them, Talia collapsed. She crawled toward the vanity and stared at the reflection staring back. It was another woman’s face. A face she had loathed for two decades, now worn like a second skin.
"Even in death..." she rasped, her voice cracking. "Even in death, Eloise, you steal what is mine. Now you steal my very life."
She dug her nails into her cheeks, the urge to shred the flesh away almost overpowering. A scream, primal and jagged, tore from her lungs until she feared her vocal cords would burst.
Then, the storm passed, replaced by a chilling, hollow calm. A horrific laugh bubbled up from her throat—a sound of pure, unadulterated madness. She smiled at her reflection, a terrifying, jagged expression.
"I swear, Olivia," she whispered to the empty room, "I will make this wedding your funeral. I will unmask you both before the eyes of the world."
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