The mansion had never felt louder.
News traveled fast—faster than blood, faster than coin. Word of Calista's abduction had already slithered through every corridor. Donors whispered, staff carried gossip like trays, and by the time Thorn surrendered her back in one piece, the house was already fractured.
Elma knew it from the looks. Not fear. Not respect. Curiosity. The kind of hungry stares people gave ruins, wondering if they'd collapse soon enough to bury the bodies inside.
The system hummed at the edge of her skull, feeding her the truth.
[Rumor Meter: 37%]
Narrative: The Master's House is cracking.
Consequence Pending.
Her ribs still ached. Her jaw pulsed with every word. Bruises striped her body like jewelry chosen by enemies. Nitron had allowed no time to heal. Tonight, she was to stand. Tonight, she was to be paraded.
The banquet hall was packed. Rivals, donors, politicians—some who had run screaming from the beach now returned, greedy for spectacle. Nitron presided at the head, untouched by ash or rumor, robes darker than the marble he sat upon. Calista at his right, flawless again in crimson, no sign of chains on her wrists.
And Elma?
She stood at his left, wrapped in white silk that clung too tight to bruises. A soldier displayed after war. A warning, or an invitation. She couldn't tell.
The donors feasted on silence until one dared to break it. A Frostspawn senator, silver hair like snow, leaned across the table with a smile sharp as a glacier.
"So the leash-witch still breathes," he said. His voice carried. "I heard she lost the Master's jewel to Thorn's gutter thugs. Perhaps she's not so dangerous after all."
Laughter, thin and mean.
Elma's jaw flexed. Every nerve screamed to rip his throat out on the tablecloth. Instead, she smiled, blood still copper on her tongue.
"You're right," she said sweetly. "I'm not dangerous. I'm lethal. The difference is whether I want you to die screaming or quiet."
The senator's smile flickered. The table murmured. Nitron said nothing.
Calista's glass clinked softly against the table. "Ignore her. Dogs growl when they're beaten."
The words sliced sharper than the senator's taunt.
Elma turned her head, slow, disbelieving. Calista's face was ice, perfect, unreadable. No tremor of the woman who had promised blood in her chamber days ago.
The system purred.
[Shared Risk Detected]
New Rule: The Wife's rebellion counts toward leash stability.
Loyalty threshold: volatile.
Elma nearly choked. It was binding them. Punishing them together.
Nitron's gaze brushed over her bruises, over Calista's flawless mask, over the table's hungry stares. Then he rose, a single motion that quieted the hall.
"My rivals mistake bruises for weakness," he said, voice calm enough to cut through iron. "Understand this: she bleeds because I permit it. She stands because I command it. And she wins because I order it."
He gestured to Elma with a hand heavy as a chain. "My weapon. My leash. My proof."
The guests applauded, shallow as a puddle. Elma bowed, every movement a fire in her ribs.
Across the table, the Frostspawn senator raised his glass, mocking. "Then we look forward to the next performance."
Later, after the guests had dissolved into corridors and salons, Elma leaned against a marble column, the air thick with perfume and poison. She pressed her palm to her ribs, feeling every break Nitron had left in her.
A hand brushed hers. She flinched—then stilled.
Calista stood beside her, mask still in place. From a distance, she was the perfect wife, untouched, loyal. Up close, Elma saw the crack in her lip where she'd bitten down too hard.
"You think I hate you," Calista whispered, words hidden behind a smile for anyone watching.
Elma's throat tightened. "Don't you?"
Calista's nails dug into her hand, invisible to the room. "No. I hate him."
Her eyes burned sideways at Nitron, who was deep in discussion with a cluster of donors. "He thinks bruises keep us apart. He doesn't know bruises bind us tighter."
Elma swallowed. "The leash knows. It's tying me to you now. Your rebellion counts as mine. If you push too far, it'll punish me."
For one heartbeat, Calista's mask shattered. Fury, raw and molten, bled through. "Then let it. Let him watch me break you if it means I can destroy him."
She stepped away before Elma could answer, gliding across the hall like a queen unbothered. But Elma's palm still stung where Calista had held it, and her chest ached with more than bruises.
The evening wasn't finished.
As the last guests filtered out, the Frostspawn envoy stepped forward uninvited, his cloak heavy with frost. Guards shifted, but Nitron gestured them still.
"House Frostspawn offers congratulations," the envoy said, bowing too deep to be sincere. "Not many could endure both Thorn's insult and their wife's… adventures." His eyes flicked deliberately to Calista, then Elma. "But perhaps the leash-witch is more distraction than defense."
The room went deathly quiet.
Nitron didn't move. Didn't speak. He wanted Elma to answer.
Her body screamed no. Her pride said yes.
She smiled, bloody teeth flashing. "Careful, ice-boy. You're already melting under my eyes."
Gasps rippled. The envoy stiffened. Nitron's mouth twitched, almost a smile.
The system flared.
[Quest Seed: Frostspawn Challenge]
Outcome: Pending.
New Risk: Multi-House conflict imminent.
That night, when the halls had gone quiet, Elma limped back to her chambers. She found Calista already waiting inside, still in crimson, mask finally discarded.
She rose when Elma entered, eyes dark with fury.
"You stood there," Calista said, voice shaking, "covered in bruises he gave you. And they cheered him for it."
Elma smirked weakly. "That's how his game works."
"No." Calista's hands trembled, then clenched into fists. "Not anymore. He plays at thrones and leashes, but I am not porcelain. And you are not a dog. If he thinks he can parade us both until we break—" Her voice cracked. "—then he doesn't know what we are when we choose each other."
The system hissed.
[Warning: Shared Defiance Escalating]
Threshold breach in progress.
Elma stared at her, bruised lips curling into a smile that hurt. "Then maybe it's time he learned."