Morning sunlight spilled faintly across the marble floors, painting the grand corridor in soft gold.
It was beautiful, deceptively so — like everything in Dravenhart. Beauty crafted to hide the cracks beneath.
Zelene moved with practiced grace, her skirts whispering as she walked toward the central hall.
But every sound — every step, every hushed conversation in passing — made her skin prickle.
The manor felt watched.
When she turned the corner toward the breakfast salon, she didn't expect to see Miren already there — poised near the window, directing servants with a honeyed tone that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Her hair was pinned perfectly, her black dress immaculate, not a thread out of place.
Zelene might've mistaken her for an image of loyalty — if she hadn't read that letter last night.
"Good morning, Lady Zelene," Miren said, voice smooth as silk. She dipped in a perfectly measured curtsey. "You look well-rested. The Duke was quite clear that you were not to be disturbed."
Zelene smiled faintly, folding her hands before her. "So he does give instructions about me. How considerate."
Miren's lips curved, but the gesture didn't reach her eyes. "He gives instructions about everyone in this household, my Lady. That's his way — order and precision."
She tilted her head slightly. "Though, not everyone appreciates such… discipline."
Zelene took a slow step closer, her eyes cool but sharp. "And some," she said softly, "confuse fear for order."
A flicker — brief but unmistakable — crossed Miren's face before the mask returned.
"Fear keeps people loyal," she replied evenly. "Loyalty keeps them alive. You'd understand that soon enough, my Lady."
The way she said my Lady — as if it were a borrowed title — grated like a blade dragged across silk.
Zelene's gaze drifted toward the servants silently arranging the table. Their movements were stiff, mechanical, eyes lowered. None dared to speak.
Every one of them was terrified of Miren.
"Tell me, Miren," Zelene said lightly, circling the table as though in idle conversation, "is it loyalty that drives you? Or something else?"
Miren's smile was slow, deliberate. "I serve the Duke. Always have. Always will."
Zelene met her eyes. "And yet… you treat his people like they're disposable. Would he be proud of that, I wonder?"
For the first time, the Head Maid's voice cooled. "With respect, my Lady, you are a guest here. You may not understand how things must be done in Dravenhart."
"Maybe not," Zelene murmured. "But I do understand cruelty when I see it."
The air thickened between them. Servants froze mid-motion, uncertain whether to breathe or flee.
Even Ray — who had entered the room silently as ever — tensed near the doorway, hand ghosting the hilt of his blade.
Miren recovered her composure first. "If there's any misunderstanding, I'll see that it's corrected."
Her eyes glinted, sharp and knowing. "We wouldn't want rumors to start, after all. Words have a way of… traveling."
Zelene's lips curved slightly. "So do letters."
That landed.
Miren's smile faltered — only for a heartbeat — before she dipped her head again, voice syrupy. "Of course, my Lady. Enjoy your breakfast."
She turned sharply, issuing brisk orders as she left the hall, her heels clicking like the ticking of a clock — steady, cold, inevitable.
When the doors closed behind her, Zelene exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around her teacup.
Ray stepped closer, lowering his voice. "She knows."
"I know," Zelene whispered. "But she doesn't know that I know she knows."
Ray blinked once.
Zelene smirked faintly. "It's complicated."
He said nothing, but the faintest crease appeared between his brows — the closest thing to a sigh she'd ever get from him.
Zelene looked toward the doorway where Miren had vanished.
The woman was dangerous — that much was clear.
But what unsettled her more was the realization that Miren wasn't working alone.
And somewhere in the shadows of Dravenhart, someone was still pulling the strings.