Morning arrived with a bittersweet chill.
Outside Ravenshade, the mist rolled low, hugging the forest floor like it mourned the departure about to take place. Inside the manor, the atmosphere was hushed but heavy.
Caveen stood near the gates, holding Lysandra gently by the waist. Her face was pale, a mix of reluctance and guilt weighing on her like shackles.
"I hate leaving you here," she murmured, eyes flicking toward the high towers of the manor. "But I know… we don't have a choice."
Caveen cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over the hollow beneath her eye. "You and our child come first. Always. I'll protect you until the end."
Lysandra looked down, guilt striking her heart. "Even after everything I did… you still—"
He silenced her with a soft kiss on her forehead. "The past is done, Lysandra. But this—" he gently placed his hand over her small bump, "—this is our future."
Carlos stood nearby, arms folded, quiet as ever, but watchful. He would stay behind to ensure Seraphine's safety within the rising storm.
Before entering the car, Caveen turned to Alaric. "Carlos stays here. He'll protect her. He's more than capable. And… you'll need someone you trust when the time comes."
Alaric nodded. "He's one of the few I'd entrust her with."
Then, Caveen's eyes darkened. "There's something else. The Council… they'll act soon. They'll send Celestine here. Just like they used her against me. They'll push her to seduce you, manipulate you, report your every move."
A muscle in Alaric's jaw tensed. "Let them try."
"She'll come under the guise of your bride of choice." Caveen's voice dropped. "They'll claim it's for appearances. But it's a trap. Just like Lady Jane's games at the Landon estate. Only this time… they'll strike deeper."
Alaric gave a solemn nod. "Then we'll strike back harder."
The moment stretched as they shared a final glance. Brotherhood forged in chaos. Loyalty bound in blood.
And with that, Caveen entered the car, Lysandra in his arms, and vanished into the mists.
---
Later That Day…
Thunder cracked—not from the sky, but from the doors of Ravenshade being thrown open.
Two women strode in, heels echoing with the confidence of vultures circling prey. Celestine, draped in powder blue lace, held her chin high as if the air was too thick for commoners. Lady Jane walked beside her, eyes scanning the manor like it was a battlefield.
They stopped before the grand hall, holding a sealed letter bearing the sigil of the Council.
The servants paused. The guards stiffened. Tension snapped in the air like a drawn arrow.
Alaric descended the stairs slowly, eyes unreadable. Carlos appeared behind him like a shadow. And from one of the corridors, Seraphine emerged—then stopped in her tracks.
Her breath caught.
No.
It couldn't be.
Celestine's smile twisted. "Well, well… I see some things never change." Her gaze pierced into Seraphine like a dagger. "Still clinging to men above your status, are you?"
Seraphine's fingers trembled at her sides, the memories flooding in—of backhanded compliments, cruel whispers, of being treated like she was less than dirt.
Lady Jane stepped forward and presented the letter. "As decreed by the Council, Lady Celestine Delacroix is now permitted to reside in Ravenshade as the Duke's chosen bride."
The words rang like a death bell.
Seraphine's face drained of color.
"Given your lack of approval, Lady Seraphine," Lady Jane continued coldly, "you will pack your belongings and vacate the premises. The Council frowns upon your presence here."
Carlos's voice cracked like lightning. "She will not go anywhere."
The room fell silent.
Lady Jane turned, sneering. "Carlos?"
Carlos stepped forward, eyes blazing. "I'm Alaric's trusted confidant and ally now not the stable boy in your manor. I am Seraphine's fiancé now." He let that word hang, daring anyone to challenge it. "And unless you intend to defy the Duke's inner circle, I suggest you step down from your delusions of authority."
Celestine's face turned red. "Fiancé? Him? You let a servant—!"
"She was never a servant," Carlos growled. "And neither was I. You only saw what you wanted to see back then."
Alaric, standing above them on the staircase, felt jealousy bite into him like poison—but he forced it down. He had to.
This was the plan.
This was how they survived.
He stepped forward, expression neutral, voice cold. "The Council's orders have been noted. Celestine may stay." His eyes flicked to Seraphine, unreadable. "As for Seraphine—she is my personal guest. And no one in this estate holds the authority to remove her. Not even the Council."
Lady Jane's lips curled. "We'll report this."
"Do that," Alaric said smoothly. "I look forward to speaking with them—personally."
The venom behind his words made even the guards shift uneasily.
Celestine huffed and marched past them all toward her prepared chambers. Lady Jane followed with a smirk, but the weight of their presence lingered like rot.
As the doors closed behind them, Seraphine turned to Alaric, eyes wide and filled with fear.
He didn't say a word.
But his hand reached out—just once—and brushed against hers.
It was brief. A silent promise.
We'll endure.
We'll fight.
And when the time is right—we'll burn them to ash.