Returning with two glasses of wine, Zabel's gown flows behind her with the kind of grace that feels effortless, like her confidence has a mind of its own. She hands me one of the glasses, her fingers just barely brushing mine, and keeps the other for herself. "Here."
She takes a delicate sip. Her piercing gray eyes watch me over the rim of her glass, sharp but calm, always reading more than I want her to. Then, with a small chuckle, she says, "Figured you could use this more than I could." Her tone is light, almost playful, yet I can tell she's serious by the tenderness in her eyes.
I slightly tilt the glass, observing the wine move and slip to one side. It's deep red color is gleaming in the light like blood. I squeeze the stem with my fingers more tightly than I should.
There is a lot of discussion going on around me, and despite my best efforts to ignore it, Duke Raven's name keeps coming up. Debate, gossip, and constant murmurs about him.
His glory, his standing, his existence.
The arrogant tones of elites who believe their secrets are safe in a crowded room make them hard to ignore.
"Didn't you hear what he did to the rebels in the North? left no one alive. Not even the kids." The man who is speaking grins, as if the cruelty were admirable. "The king might hate him, but even he can't argue with results like that."
A chubby noblewoman in a pearl-encrusted gown laughs as she looks about the entire space. "I've heard that he has a large show planned. Maybe we could align ourselves with him if we play our cards correctly." Her eyes are as keen as a predator's as she takes a sip of her wine. "He might be a monster, but monsters make powerful allies."
"Right. Imagine having that kind of power on your side. If I could just get him to notice my son, maybe even mentor him…"
A man who is taller and has a scar on his cheek snorts. "He is even feared by the king. And with good reason. You can't go to the top like that without treading on some people's throats." After pausing to look at the others, he says in a hushed tone, "I wouldn't mind including a business deal or two, though. Just think of the deals I could get if he protected me. With him as an ally, no one would dare cross me."
As I pass by, the talks get more awful, their words pouring with poison, but their motives are just as clear as glass. For this, aren't they such snakes? Always ready to swap one skin for another.
But then again, I shouldn't be surprised.
These people have always been like this—opportunistic and spineless, bending whichever way the wind of power blows.
The moment they sensed the slightest crack in the king's authority, they turned their gaze to the Duke, the very man they once conspired against at the king's command.
The same elites who whispered schemes to undermine the Duke now whisper plans to align with him. The same ones who painted him as a villain, who clinked glasses to every royal decree against him, now hover like moths drawn to his fire.
They've always been that way, which is pretty terrible.
There is no such thing as loyalty here.
Not to the king, not to the Duke. Only to their own greed.
However, none of these are important to me. Neither the Duke nor the King. I wouldn't care about either of their falls.
If anything, I might actually enjoy watching it all burn. Watching everyone's greed and ambition turn on them, dragging them down into the same grave they dumped others into.
Specially the king.
Since he is entitled to that. To break and fall under the same burden of their egoism and selfishness that he used to destroy the only person I ever called my mother.
He tore her apart, with his lies, his politics, his hunger for power. He made her pay the price for his sins. And now, I want to see him burn for it. I want to see the same pain and fear in his eyes, the same desperation that bled from hers.
I hope that day comes soon.
I hope I get to stand in the wreckage and see the same pain and fear in his eyes that he so casually inflicted on others.
I'll be watching, and I'll be smiling.
Yet, I am certain that I cannot take my revenge in any way. Not with my own father at the core of it all, who denied that I was even his blood, as though I were a terrible burden.
He never called me his daughter, never looked at me with anything other than disgust.
Why?
Because I'm not the perfect reflection of himself he so desperately craves. I didn't share his values or fit into his never-ending power struggle.
I wanted to show others that blindly obeying him wasn't right, that there was another way.
But nothing changed. All that happened was I became the villain in everyone's eyes.
In the king's eyes, because I refused to bow down and obey him.
In everyone else's eyes, because I dared to stop them from doing what they thought was "right", what they believed was necessary to survive without trouble.
No one cared why I did it.
All they saw was someone standing in their way.
I've been living like this for the last ten years of my life—with nothing but hatred, disgust, and bitterness for that man.
I'd like him to experience the consequences of all he has done, including his lies and the suffering he has caused.
More than anything, though, I want him to experience the same feeling of helplessness, loneliness, and terror that I have.
I want him to realize how much what he did to me, to her, to everything, has cost.
Like a gentle wave in a silent lake, a soft laugh hits the fog of my mind. I know that laugh. I know that voice.
Madeline.
Madeline.
Madeline.
She's here. The girl. No—my sister.
She's my sister by adoption. She is just that.
But it's hard to separate the reality of who she is from what she represents. A link, a recollection of the tenderness I desired in my life before everything... before the lies, the games, the hatred.
I'm not sure why, but hearing her laugh makes me feel sick to my stomach. Perhaps because it makes me think of all she is to them, and all I am not.
They love this daughter, who never threatens their small kingdom.