The air changed. It wasn't just pressure—it was suffocating. The garden itself seemed to wince, petals shivering as if touched by frost.
Edric's words faltered mid-sentence. His mouth moved, no words came out, but screams, splitting the silence that had descended with Caeila's arrival.
His limbs hit the gravel, scattering across the ground, blood spilling in grotesque arcs that speckled the path red. The air itself seemed to recoil.
For a moment even the wind stilled, as if the world itself didn't dare to intrude
Caelia's eyes met his. Cold. Absolute. Inescapable.
She did not blink. Did not falter. Her blade lifted again with the same grace as if she were brushing a lock of hair from her face.
"How dare you lay your filthy hands on what's mine."
Steel sang again.
This time his head toppled, rolling across the gravel until it stopped at Nyx's feet.
Nyx stared at the body as it crumpled into the gravel, head rolling lifelessly aside, blood seeping into the dirt.
He should have felt disgust. Maybe even fear. That was how normal people reacted to death—especially to something this sudden, this brutal.
But all he felt was rage.
Not the fleeting spark of temper that burned out quick. No, this was deeper—something that coiled in his gut like molten iron, poisoning every breath, hollowing him out from within.
He wanted to feel Edric's life end beneath his own hands, to feel his bones crack and watch the light drain from his eyes.
Because it hadn't been enough.
The wrong hands had struck the blow. The wrong blade had ended it. The satisfaction he should have felt was ripped from him, leaving only bitterness curdling on his tongue.
That kill should have been his. His right. His alone.
He wanted to be the one carving through flesh. He wanted to hear Edric's screams drown in their own blood. To watch his eyes dim, knowing it was Nyx who had stripped the life from them.
Instead, all he got was the aftertaste. Cold. Empty. Stolen.
His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging deep enough to draw blood, but even that wasn't enough to calm the wrath boiling in him.
His gaze rose slowly, locking on Caelia. His eyes were shadowed, unreadable, but the darkness in them was undeniable.
Caelia noticed his gaze but only shook her head, as if brushing aside the intent he had hidden in his eyes.
"Well, sorry, I suppose. I got angry and couldn't help myself."
Her lips curved into a grin far too mischievous for the blood still dripping from her blade.
"I'll just pin his execution on you. Consider it a little gift."
She smiled at him like a child proud of a prank.
"So have fun dealing with House Beaufort and Duchess Avelyne."
Nyx was speechless. Was this really the same Caelia who had sat across from him at breakfast, calm and elegant, less than two hours ago? The same woman who had bought him from the auction?
His confusion knotted tighter with every heartbeat. Was this truly Caelia—or something wearing her skin?
Footsteps echoed to his right. Calm. Unhurried.
He tilted his head, curiosity outweighing caution.
From between the hedges stepped a woman, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties. Silver-blue hair flowed like liquid moonlight over her shoulders, each strand catching the light. Her eyes, deep violet, glowed faintly as though cut from gemstones.
A gown of shimmering silver and violet wrapped around her with effortless grace, embroidered with subtle constellations that glimmered as she moved. Jewels sparkled against her skin, but it was her presence—soft, alluring, yet carrying quiet menace—that stilled the garden.
She was nobility made flesh. Untouchable, intoxicating, and impossible to predict.
Nyx found himself staring. Her beauty carried the mature charm of someone who didn't need to flaunt it. It simply was.
Her eyes drifted over the corpse of Edric without a flicker of grief. Then they moved across to Caelia, who stood off to the side, spotless, sword gone, as if she had never touched the boy. For a heartbeat, she looked like an innocent bystander. But Nyx caught it—the faintest smirk curling her lips.
The woman did not linger on her. Instead, her gaze landed on Nyx's wounded shoulder.
She crossed the space between them swiftly, kneeling beside him with a grace that seemed almost maternal.
Nyx braced himself for sharp words or sly games. Instead, her hand hovered lightly over his injury. A rush of warmth spread through him, energy flooding his veins. The pain dulled, then vanished altogether, as the wound closed before his eyes.
By the time she withdrew, only faint traces of blood remained.
"This should do for now,"
she said softly, her tone neither cold nor overbearing but warm, almost soothing.
She rose and extended a gloved hand. Nyx hesitated, unsure whether to accept, but refusing her seemed needlessly rude. He clasped her hand, letting her pull him smoothly back to his feet.
Her eyes swept over him again, careful, searching, as though ensuring nothing else had been overlooked. Only then did she sigh, a faint sound that carried both weariness and grace.
"I am sorry, dear. My nephew caused you so much trouble."
Another sigh followed, deeper this time.
"I didn't even want him to accompany me. But my brother insisted—claimed it would be good for the family if Edric could build ties with Caelia."
Her gaze shifted briefly to the lifeless body sprawled on the gravel, then flicked toward Caelia.
"It seems instead he earned her wrath."
But Caelia only tilted her head, her tone almost playful.
"I just arrived a little earlier than you. This was all his work."
Nyx nearly groaned aloud. Her words rang with false innocence, so obvious it was insulting. She was throwing him under the cart again—shamelessly, almost gleefully. And judging by the sparkle in her eyes, she was enjoying every second of it.
The retainers, who had been so quick to leap at Nyx before, now stood frozen. One clutched his dislocated shoulder where Selene had slammed him into the hedge, the other still reeled from Serra's deceptively casual strike with her tray. Neither dared move. Not with Edric's blood soaking into the gravel. Not with Caelia's killing intent still lingering in the air.
Selene edged closer to Nyx, her face pale but steady, while Serra kept her eyes locked on the two retainers, calm and cold as ever.
Then, woman's voice broke the silence, silken yet commanding.
"Take your his body and leave."
The retainers exchanged frantic glances but didn't argue. They dragged what remained of Edric away with trembling hands, vanishing down the path as fast as dignity would allow.
Only then did Avelyne's gaze return to Nyx. She studied him one last time, her expression equal parts amused and unreadable.
"There are things I do not like to oppose,"
she murmured, her violet eyes gleaming.
"The first is luck. The second is unpredictability. And you, boy, seem to carry both. Add Caelia's protection to that…"
She smiled faintly.
"No, I would much rather not count you among my enemies."
Her hand brushed her skirts as she turned, her presence filling the garden like a velvet curtain.
"The garden is beautiful… but not suited for the matters we must discuss."
Her tone flowed like silk as she turned to Caelia, dipping her head just enough to acknowledge her authority.
"May we continue inside?"
Nyx exhaled slowly, his jaw tight, blood still drying on his shoulder. He wasn't sure what awaited him behind closed doors, but one thing was certain—
the game had just shifted.