⚠️Warning:

This chapter contains scenes of attempted murder, use of harmful substances, and violence. Reader discretion is advised.

It was raining heavily that night. Thunder struck in the sky, and Marlena, sitting on the bed, was furious about the incident that had happened in the schoolroom.

Elric entered, saw Marlena, and asked,

"Darling, did someone say something to you today?"

His tone was soft.

But Marlena snapped in anger.

"Why don't you ask your father about the reason?"

Marlena’s eyes flashed with fury as she began to speak, her voice rising in anger.

“That old man,” she spat, “Tharald, had the audacity to scold me in front of everyone in the schoolroom today. He called me unfit to even bear the title of noblewoman. He humiliated me!”

Her hands trembled with rage as she stood up, pacing the room. The rain outside pounded against the windows like a drumbeat to her fury. “If word gets out, Celene will be outcast from all of nobility, and I’ll be the one blamed. They’ll say I can’t even manage my own stepdaughter—such disgrace!”

Elric’s face tightened, but his voice remained eerily calm as he approached her. “Is that so?” His eyes glinted with something cold, a shadow of something darker.

Marlena turned toward him, eyes burning with frustration. “Yes! And it is all that old man’s fault. He’s been nothing but a thorn in my side since I married you.”

Elric didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked toward the window, his fingers grazing the cool surface of the glass as he watched the storm rage outside. He was silent for a long moment, lost in thought. Then, without a word, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, ornate whistle. He blew into it sharply, the sound high-pitched and cutting through the room like a dagger.

Marlena watched with bated breath, her anger simmering just below the surface. Within moments, a shadowy figure appeared in the doorway.

A silent assassin in dark, nondescript clothing, his face hidden beneath a hood.

Elric didn’t look at the assassin as he tossed a small pouch of gold coins toward him, the sound of the coins clinking against each other filling the room.

“Finish Tharald,” Elric commanded, his voice low and emotionless. “Make sure there’s no trace. Do not fail me.”

The assassin nodded once, silently taking the pouch and slipping it into his belt. He turned without a word, disappearing into the night, leaving Marlena to stare at Elric with a mix of disbelief and awe.

As the assassin slipped away into the rain, Marlena’s satisfaction began to twist into anxiety.

She looked sharply at Elric.

"Are you sure this will work?" she asked in a low voice.

"What if it fails? What if he survives—and finds out I ordered it?"

Elric turned to her slowly, his eyes unreadable.

"You didn't order anything," he said flatly. "I did."

"And if it fails," he added, stepping closer, "we'll deny everything. Do you think Father would believe the word of a servant, or a shadow, over his own blood?"

But Marlena didn’t look convinced. She began pacing.

"He may be old, but he’s clever. If he suspects me, he’ll drag Serelith back into favor just to spite me."

Elric exhaled through his nose.

"Then we better hope the blade is swift."

The rain had slowed to a mist, yet thunder still rumbled softly in the distance. The castle halls were silent, wrapped in the hush of deep night, save for the occasional creak of wood and echo of raindrops on stone.

Shyamu couldn’t sleep. Something in his chest felt tight—a strange unease that pulled him from his cot in the servant quarters. Dressed in only a tunic and bare feet, he wandered the halls with careful steps. The shadows twisted like watching eyes, but he knew the castle well. Or so he thought.

Then he saw it.

A dark figure moved along the far end of the hallway, quick and silent, cloaked and hooded.

Shyamu froze behind a pillar. The man—he assumed it was a man by the gait—moved toward Lord Tharald’s wing. He was careful, like a cat stalking prey. And he was armed. As the figure passed under a torch sconce, light caught the glint of a dagger at his hip.

Shyamu’s breath hitched,"No...it can’t be."

The man disappeared into the darkness ahead.

Shyamu didn’t think—he turned and ran.

Meanwhile, Serelith stirred in her chambers, sweat on her brow. The remnants of a nightmare clung to her—her mother’s lifeless eyes, her father’s cruel silence, shadows crawling up the walls. She sat upright, heart pounding, a sense of dread choking her.

“Grandpa!”

Her voice was barely a whisper.

Drawn by instinct, she left her room, wrapped a shawl over her nightgown, and padded toward Tharald’s bedchamber. As she turned the corner near the gallery, she almost collided with Shyamu.

“Seri!” he hissed, breathless.

“Shyamu?” She blinked, startled.

He gripped her wrist tightly, eyes wide. “I saw someone! A man—he had a dagger—he’s heading to your grandfather’s chamber!”

Serelith’s blood ran cold. “What?! Are you sure?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes! I saw him sneak through the west corridor.”

For a moment, her thoughts scattered like dry leaves. But then her training, young as it was, settled in. She looked toward the hallway leading to Tharald’s door.

“We have to stop him,” she whispered.

“No! You need to get help—guards or anyone!”

But Serelith shook her head. “There’s no time. If he gets to Grandfather—”

She didn't finish the sentence. Her eyes were already fixed ahead, blazing with determination.

“Come on,” she said.

Shyamu hesitated for a breath, then followed.

The two children crept down the corridor, their feet nearly silent on the stone floor. Every heartbeat seemed like a thunderclap in Serelith’s ears. As they neared Tharald’s chamber door, they heard the faintest click—the turning of a lock.

Serelith's hand shot out, grabbing Shyamu's arm. “He's inside.”

They exchanged a glance—fear, urgency, and an unspoken vow between them.

Serelith didn’t know what they would do. They were only children. But her grandfather was the only person who had ever shown her love—and she would not lose him. Not like this. Not without a fight.

Is this the last night that Tharald will be taking his last breath?