Olivia bit her lip with such suppressed fury that a single, crimson bead of blood blood on her skin. She fought the rising tide of bile in her throat; she refused to let a single tear fall before this wretched woman.
Quiet, Olivia... stay calm, she hissed to her inner self. Do not cry. Do not give her the satisfaction of a victory.
She let out a long, weary sigh, her teeth still gritted. "So, that is the reason," she murmured, a hollow, glacial smile touching her lips. "Are you not afraid? Afraid that I might take this truth to the Emperor myself?"
The Empress erupted into a jagged, mocking laugh. "You? Tell the Emperor? Please, Olivia, be serious."
"And why do you think I wouldn’t?"
The Empress raked her eyes over Olivia from head to toe, her expression dripping with a calculated, poisonous condescension.
"I am the Empress, Olivia. The woman who occupies the Emperor’s heart—the woman he loves more than anything in this world. Do you truly believe he would side with the delusions of a Tharon’s daughter? Did you think a fool for telling you this? My position is unshakable; I have an entire nation to love . While you..."
She paused, leaning in to deliver the killing blow. "Does even your own husband love you? I highly doubt it."
The words were ant to be lashes, a cruel retaliation for Olivia’s earlier insults. Yet, Olivia remained a statue of ice, offering nothing but a cold, vacant stare. With a fluid, impeccable grace, Olivia dropped into an elegant curtsy.
"It seems my visit has reached its natural conclusion. I shall take my leave." She turned, her spine rigid, and walked toward the door.
"Leaving?" the Empress called out, her voice rising in a triumphant sneer. "What’s the matter, Olivia? Have you finally felt the sting of an insult?"
Olivia pivoted, her icy restraint finally shattering under the weight of the Empress’s mockery. "Fine. Fine, you asked for this."
"You speak of insults?" Olivia’s voice was a low, jagged blade. "You say no one loves ? The whore who birthed never loved , so why should I care for a trifle like love? Your words aren’t an insult, Mother—I am rely stunned by the sheer, unadulterated monstrosity of your soul."
"You! Watch your mouth!" the Empress shrieked, her face twisting into a mask of feral rage as her hand blindly sought the heavy crystal vase on the side table.
"My mouth?" Olivia scoffed, her eyes burning with a lethal fire. "For the first ti in my life, I feel my father did sothing right. Ravaging a whore like you... you deserved every second of it. You—"
The air was suddenly cut by the whistle of moving porcelain. The Empress hurled the vase with a panicked, hysterical strength. It struck Olivia’s temple with a sickening thud, shattering into a thousand crystalline shards that rained down like diamonds soaked in red.
"Ah... my head..." Olivia gasped, her hands flying to her brow. Warm, relentless crimson began to seep through her fingers, blurring her vision. The room tilted. "You... madwoman... what have you done?"
She collapsed onto the floor, her limbs turning to lead. But the Empress was possessed by a white-hot insanity. She did not stop. She lunged at the fallen girl, her fingers locking around Olivia’s throat, squeezing with a murderous, desperate intent.
"You should never have been born!" she hissed, her voice a guttural rasp. "You ruined my life from the mont you breathed! You stole everything—even my son! Kyle obeys you now, he looks to you instead of ! You should have died in your cradle... but I will end it now. Die! Die!"
Olivia clawed feebly at the hands crushing her windpipe, but the blow to her head had stolen her strength. The world was fading into a dark, airless void—until a roar of pure horror shattered the room.
"MOTHER!"
Minutes Earlier...
A frantic, rhythmic pounding echoed through the Crown Prince’s study. "Enter!" Kyle barked, his mind buried in statecraft.
The Lady-in-Waiting burst in, her face pale as bone, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Your Highness... the Empress... Duchess Olivia has forced her way into the chambers. I have a terrible feeling, My Lord... what if sothing happens?"
Kyle didn’t wait. He sprinted toward his mother’s wing, his heart hamring against his ribs. He expected a shouting match; he expected a clash of wills. He did not expect to see the woman he had idolized—his own mother—straddling his sister’s limp body, her face twisted with a demonic hatred he had never seen before.
The Empress recoiled, her hands flying away from Olivia’s bruised throat as she began to tremble. She stared at Olivia’s motionless, blood-soaked form, the red mist clearing from her eyes only to be replaced by a paralyzing, wretched terror.
"I... I didn’t an... she... it was her..." she stamred, her voice failing as she t Kyle’s horrified gaze.
Kyle ignored his mother’s frantic stamring, lunging toward Olivia’s crumpled form with a cry of pure, unadulterated terror.
"Hey... Olivia, answer !" he choked out, his voice cracking. "Olivia, open your eyes. It’s ... it’s Kyle. Your little brother."
His fingers trembled violently as he hovered them over her mouth, praying for a sign of life. A sob broke from his chest when he felt the faint, warm flutter of her breath against his skin. "Thank God... you’re still breathing. Co on, Olivia, talk to . It’s just —the annoying little brother who used to wake you up too early. Please, wake up."
Horrified by the reality of her own violence, the Empress crept closer, her hand reaching out with a ghostly hesitation. "Is she... is she alright, Ky—"
"Don’t touch her!" Kyle roared, slapping her hand away with a look of visceral disgust.
Olivia’s eyelids fluttered, opening just enough to reveal a glazed, unfocused stare. Her lips moved, barely more than a breath. "My... my head... it hurts..."
In his desperation to see her breathe, he had montarily overlooked the crimson river seeping from her temple, staining the carpet a deep, dark red. Panic surged through him anew. He gathered her fragile body into his arms, lifting her with a protective ferocity, and turned toward the door to head for his own private chambers.
Before he crossed the threshold, he stopped. He turned his head just enough to pierce his mother with a gaze of absolute contempt.
"What have you done to her?" he whispered, the words colder than a winter grave.
He didn’t wait for an answer, leaving the Empress standing alone in the ruins of her sanctuary, a woman drowning in a sea of sudden, paralyzing guilt.
Kyle sprinted through the palace corridors, his heart hamring against his ribs. Every shadow felt like an enemy. He lived in terror of crossing paths with Matthias, who was still in council with the Emperor; he knew that if Matthias saw her in this state, the empire itself might burn before dawn.
He burst into his chambers, startling Layla, who was holding little Ann. She looked up, her expression shifting from confusion to horror as she recognized the broken woman in his arms.
"Kyle? Is that... is that Olivia?"
Then she saw the tears streaming down his face. She quickly placed Ann in her crib and rushed toward him as the lantern light caught the blood sared across Olivia’s pale forehead. Kyle laid her onto the bed with desperate care, his eyes searching Layla’s for a miracle.
"Layla, please," he sobbed, his composure finally shattering. "Help her. Please... she’s bleeding so much."
Layla moved with a frantic yet precise urgency, her hands glowing with the soft light of her healing arts. Her heart hamred against her ribs; for her, Olivia was more than a noblewoman—she was the one who had extended a hand when the rest of the world offered nothing but cold shoulders. Seeing her like this, broken and bloodied, felt like a personal violation.
Minutes passed in a blur of shimring light. Gradually, the jagged wounds on Olivia’s face closed, leaving behind only the pale mory of the trauma. A bead of sweat rolled down Layla’s forehead as the magic took its toll.
Kyle sat by the bed, his fingers intertwined with his sister’s cold hand, his head bowed in a posture of total defeat.
"Kyle," Layla whispered, her voice trembling but sharp. "Tell exactly what happened to her. Look at ." She turned to face him, her eyes burning with a newfound ferocity. "Who did this to my brother’s wife?"
The weight of the truth felt like a physical burden on Kyle’s chest. He swallowed hard, the word catching in his throat like a shard of glass. "My mother... It was my mother. I don’t know the details—everything was just... chaos."
Layla stared at him, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You an... her own mother?"
Kyle lowered his head, his face burning with the sha of his lineage.
"Kyle, there were bruises on her throat. Soone tried to strangle her!" Layla’s voice rose to a scream. "Do you realize what she has done?"
"I know," he choked out. "I know."
Layla looked at him with a gaze full of silent accusation before turning toward the door.
"Where are you going, Layla?" Kyle asked, reaching out a hand as if to stop her.
She looked back at him, her expression hardening into a mask of righteous fury. "To find the Emperor. I don’t care if she is the Empress or a god—she is still my brother’s wife and the Duchess of Luceron. I will not be silent about this atrocity. Stay here with your sister."
Kyle didn’t dare stop her. He was a man caught between two worlds, torn between the mother he once loved and the sister he had nearly lost.
Layla reached the Emperor’s study in a matter of minutes, the distance vanishing beneath the heat of her rage. She didn’t knock; she burst inside, her eyes locking onto the Emperor imdiately. She dropped into a quick, perfunctory bow.
"Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty, but I must speak with you regarding the Empress’s conduct."
The Emperor sighed, a weary sound. He assud it was another petty court squabble, another instance of his wife’s sharpness. "Speak, then," he said, rubbing his temples.
"How dare Her Majesty physically assault my brother’s wife?" Layla’s voice shook with suppressed fury. "Even if she is her mother, Olivia is still the Duchess of Luceron. This is an outrage!"
"Assault whom?"
The voice ca from the shadows of the sofa. Layla jumped, her eyes snapping toward Matthias. In her blinding rage, she hadn’t even noticed he was there.
The air in the room has turned to ice.
Matthias rose slowly, his movents like a predator stalking its prey. The air in the room didn’t just turn to ice—it felt as if the very oxygen had vanished, leaving only the suffocating weight of his presence. His eyes, usually cold, were now voids of pure, lethal darkness.
"Repeat that," Matthias commanded, his voice a low, terrifying vibration that shook the very foundations of the room. "Tell exactly what she did to my wife."
The Empire was no longer on the brink of burning. The fire had already begun.
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