Ivy sat up and stretched slightly, surprised to feel no soreness, no weakness—nothing at all to indicate that she had collapsed from blood loss just hours ago. In fact, she felt completely fine, even energized. Was this one of the perks that came with the contract? She wondered.
Ivy glanced down at her hand, where the mark of the contract rested. A contract mark was only visible to the master and familiar, unless willed to be seen by others. Most mages proudly displayed theirs, as having a familiar was a status symbol. But in Ivy's case, she would rather keep it hidden—especially since she had somehow contracted a powerful fox spirit.
"Veyra?" she called out hesitantly, unsure if the creature would actually respond.
With a shimmer of light, the tiny fox spirit appeared, stretching lazily. "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, and you're already calling for me?" Veyra yawned, curling her fluffy tail around herself.
Ivy raised an eyebrow. "Were you asleep?"
"Of course, I was. What else would I be doing while my human was sleeping?" Veyra replied, her tone filled with nonchalance. "What do you want?" she asked, punctuating her words with another yawn.
"For a creature that's been asleep for centuries, you sure do get tired easily," Ivy chuckled. "Anyway, I wanted to ask why I feel so… healthy right now. Is this your doing?"
"No," Veyra said, looking mildly intrigued. "This is all you. Don't you know your own power?"
Ivy frowned. "What?"
Veyra let out a small huff. "Wait… for real? You actually don't know your own power? When you threatened to kill me, I thought you knew what you were talking about. Was that just an empty threat?"
Ivy furrowed her brows. What was she going on about? She thought back to the armory, to when Veyra had muttered, 'That much blood loss is too much, even for you.' The way she had said it… like Ivy was supposed to be able to handle it.
"The conviction in your voice was real," Veyra mused. "You really believed you could kill me." She hummed thoughtfully. "Interesting… you truly have no idea, huh?"
Ivy stared at her, feeling like she was missing a crucial piece of herself. "What are you saying?"
Veyra floated closer, pressing her tiny forehead against Ivy's. The connection sent a strange, tingling sensation through her body.
After a moment, Veyra pulled away. "Mmh, so that's how it is. Someone sealed your powers. But something happened recently that broke the seal."
A shiver ran down Ivy's spine. "Sealed…?"
Veyra tilted her head. "Tell me, what are your feelings toward blood?"
Ivy hesitated. Should she answer as herself or as the original Lady Ivy? "It's… intriguing," she admitted.
Veyra's eyes gleamed. "And before?"
"I couldn't stand the sight of it," Ivy replied, recalling the original Ivy's revulsion.
"Fascinating…" Veyra smirked. "Well then, I'll let you figure out the rest on your own." She giggled mischievously before vanishing back into the contract mark.
"You little—" Ivy started, but before she could finish, her bedroom door swung open.
Crown Prince Lucius strode in, his sharp gaze raking over her. "You look rather well for someone who supposedly collapsed from blood loss."
Ivy narrowed her eyes.
"Your father wrote to me, claiming you were unfit to marry tomorrow. I had to come see for myself, and I'm glad I did. You look perfectly fine. Enough with the games, Ivy. You should be thrilled—we're finally getting married. Isn't that what you wanted?"
His voice held no kindness, only cold arrogance.
Ivy studied him. No matter how she looked at him, she couldn't understand what the original Ivy saw in him. Sure, he was handsome, but his personality was so ugly it overshadowed any appeal.
And why was he making it seem like she was the desperate one when he was the one rushing the wedding?
"What games, Your Highness?" she asked coolly.
Lucius scoffed. "Don't play dumb. First, you throw yourself off a balcony, and now you wander into the armory—a place you've never stepped foot in—to touch a cursed object known to kill its wielders. All for what? My attention?"
Ivy stared at him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Was this man delusional? She hadn't jumped; she'd been pushed. And she hadn't intentionally touched the katana. But she had no desire to correct him, so she remained silent.
"That's what I thought." Lucius sneered before storming out.
Ivy let out a breath, shaking her head. "Seriously, is that man okay in the head? And he's supposed to be the future king? Gods help this kingdom."
Before she could fully process his stupidity, another visitor entered—this one even less welcome.
Irene.
Ivy sighed internally. Did these two coordinate their visits?
Irene wore a mask of concern as she walked in. "Oh my God! I heard about what happened to you. Are you okay, sister?" She made sure to speak loudly enough for those outside to hear, ensuring they all bore witness to her 'kind and loving' nature.
Then, as she closed the door, her expression darkened.
Now this was the real Irene.
"Why aren't you dead yet?" Irene sneered.
Ivy smirked. "I don't know. Maybe heaven decided I'm still needed on earth."
Irene blinked in shock. This was not the Ivy she knew.
"What did you just say to me?" she snapped.
Ivy tilted her head. "Did you not hear me?"
Irene recovered quickly, sneering. "Did your little fall make you forget what I'm capable of? Allow me to remind you."
Before Ivy could react, the sound of shattering glass echoed through the room. A sharp sting bloomed on her hand as Irene pressed a shard into her palm, simultaneously cutting her own cheek just enough to draw a thin line of blood. She then placed the bloody shard in Ivy's hand, curling Ivy's fingers around it.
A bloodcurdling scream rang out. "Ahh! Sister, why?!" Irene wailed.
Servants rushed in. "Lady Irene! Are you alright?!"
Tears welled in Irene's eyes as she clutched her cheek. "I was just checking on my dear sister, but she… she got upset. I'm so sorry that the prince loves me and not you, Ivy. If cutting my face makes you happy, then I don't mind. You deserve to be happy."
Ivy nearly laughed. Irene was a master manipulator. Not only had she framed Ivy, but she had also provided a reason why Ivy would attack her—while making herself look like a saint.
"Oh my God, Lady Irene, you're bleeding!" a servant exclaimed.
"Someone call the physician!" another cried.
No one even glanced at Ivy's wounded hand. If they saw it, they ignored it entirely. Within minutes, Irene was whisked away, leaving Ivy alone in the now silent room.
"What the hell just happened?" Ivy muttered.
She made her way to the bathroom, running water over her bleeding hand. As she reached for a bandage, she paused, staring at the blood.
Stop bleeding, she thought.
The wound sealed instantly.
Her breath hitched. What…?
Start bleeding again, she willed.
A thin line of blood trickled from the cut. She focused harder, imagining the blood flowing out in a thin stream, then hardening.
It did.
A slow grin crept onto her lips.
"Well, I'll be damned."