The manor of Countess Louisa Nale Geovemine stood at the edge of the capital's noble quarter, a place of carved stone archways and gardens that had long lost their glory. Once, it had been the pride of her husband's family, but time and misfortune had left it half-forgotten.
The marble fountains no longer sang with water, and the vines along the walls clung more like burdens than ornaments. Yet inside, every corridor still bore the faint perfume of wealth, with silk draperies and polished wood floors whispering of past grandeur.
In the west wing, the Countess stood near the tall windows of her chamber. Pale sunlight fell over her features, illuminating the fatigue in her eyes. She clutched a comb in her hand, but it hung uselessly by her side as her thoughts swirled. Behind her, the door opened, and the Count entered.
He strode with sharp steps, his expression tight, jaw set as though braced for battle. "He failed again," he said without greeting. His voice was low, edged with fury.
The Countess turned, her hands tightening around the comb. "He is still young. There is time."
"There is no time!" He slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the porcelain set upon it. "Our son shows no spark of magic, not even a flicker. Do you know what that means? Do you know what whispers already chase us in the court?"
"I know," she said softly, voice trembling at the edges. "I know better than anyone. And I have tried everything. Tutors, healers, alchemists. I even sought blessings at the temples." She pressed her lips together, as though confessing a sin. "I would trade my own life for his gift if I could."
But the Count was unmoved. His eyes narrowed, brimming with accusation. "It is your blood. Your weakness. My line has always been strong, and now because of you, our heir is mocked as a hollow branch."
The words struck her like a blade. She flinched, then straightened with fragile dignity. "You dare blame me when you have done nothing but sneer at him? Do you think berating your own son will make him stronger? He needs guidance, not scorn."
His lip curled. He turned from her abruptly, his cape swirling behind him. "I will not waste another moment in this tomb."
The Countess's chest tightened. She knew where he was going. He had been slipping more and more into the arms of his second wife, the woman who had wormed her way into his heart with sweetness as sharp as poisoned honey.
She watched his back as he stormed from the room, and when the door shut, the silence left behind was heavier than before.
Moments later, a knock came at the door. The Countess inhaled, forcing herself steady. "Enter."
Her lady in waiting stepped inside, a woman slender and quiet, always keeping to shadows. She bowed lightly, then extended a folded parchment. "My lady. A letter has arrived. It bears the seal of the palace concubines."
The Countess raised a brow, her curiosity stirring. She accepted the letter, her fingers brushing over the seal before she broke it. Her eyes moved swiftly across the page, reading Beatrice's words—measured, deliberate, and dangerous.
An invitation. A plea. A seed of intrigue, wrapped in veiled promises.
The Countess's expression betrayed nothing as she read. At the end, she let out a faint laugh, though it held no mirth. With one smooth motion, she set the letter aside, as though it were of no consequence. "Leave it," she said. "I have no time for the ramblings of a fallen concubine."
The lady in waiting bowed again and retreated, silent as always.
The Countess resumed her day as if nothing had transpired. She oversaw the kitchen staff, corrected a servant on the arrangement of the dining hall, and kept her face calm, composed, untouchable. But the letter lingered in her mind, its words echoing beneath every breath.
Later, as expected, the Count returned to the manor only long enough to fetch documents before departing again for the east wing—where his second wife resided.
The second wife was beautiful, with a tongue dipped in honey and venom. She greeted the Count with warmth, then let her laughter spill like wine as she whispered poison about the Countess. When their son entered the hall, her smile sharpened further. She leaned down, brushing his hair aside as though admiring him. "See, husband? Our boy is healthy, strong. Unlike that pitiful child your first wife birthed. What future can a son without magic have? He is nothing but shame."
The Count did not correct her. He only set his hand on her shoulder, lips tugging into a tired smile. And the Countess, passing through the corridor on her way back to her chambers, caught every word.
The cruelty pierced her, but she showed no reaction. Her steps were steady, her head held high. Only when she reached the sanctuary of her chamber did she allow the mask to fall. Her hands trembled as she closed the door behind her.
She sat before her mirror, staring at her reflection. Her son's face flickered in her mind—innocent, earnest, desperate for approval he never received. She would not let him be broken. Not by his father, not by that poisonous woman.
Her gaze shifted to where the letter still lay discarded on her desk. Slowly, carefully, she picked it up again. She read the words once more, this time not with dismissive eyes, but with measured calculation.
Finally, she set the parchment down and called softly, "Bring my lady in waiting."
The quiet woman entered within moments, bowing as before.
The Countess's voice was low, deliberate. "We will accept her offer. But nothing can leave this room. Not the Count, not the second wife, not the servants. Do you understand? This must remain sealed tighter than the grave."
The lady in waiting bowed deeply, eyes unreadable. "As you command, my lady."
When she was gone, the Countess exhaled slowly, as though releasing years of buried weight. Her eyes lingered on her reflection once more. She had been scorned, belittled, made to bow her head for too long. But perhaps… with this letter, a path had opened.
A path that might yet secure her son's future.
And though she did not know it yet, it was also the path that would entangle her fate with the youngest legacy sister.