The next morning arrived dull and gray.
No fanfare. No knock.
Just an aide opening the door, eyes lowered.

“The Duke will see you.”

She rose.
No questions. No expression. No hesitation.

The study was colder by daylight.
Less shadow, more steel.

He stood at the head of the war table, fingers resting against the edge like they were part of the map.

She entered.
Didn’t bow. Didn’t blink.

He didn’t look up right away. Just spoke.

“There’s a Count in my Northern territory. Name’s Eveiren Lirian.”

He finally raised his gaze to meet hers. Still calm. Still watching.

“He’s been rerouting military pay. The trail was too thin before- not enough to tie him without it vanishing in smoke.
But lately, the cracks have widened. Shipments are disappearing faster. The missing pay is harder to hide."

A pause.

“Three years is a long leash. Long enough for him to hang himself with.”

He circled the table once- slow, deliberate.

“The soldiers at Halebrook outpost haven't seen their pay in weeks.
Not months, yet.. but long enough for them to start asking questions."

He stopped in front of her. Eyes cold.

“And when soldiers ask questions, they start looking for someone to blame.”

Another beat of silence passed. Then-

“I want the truth.”

She tilted her head. Just slightly.

He watched her carefully. Still no reaction.

So he continued.

“But not from him.”

A beat.

“If I go after the Count directly, drag him to court and force his confession-
He’ll claim it was forced. And the nobles will pick it apart until it's worthless.”

His jaw flexed once.

“No. I want his wife.”

The words landed like stone.

“Lethia Lirian. Soft-spoken. Loyal. The kind who smiles in ballrooms and looks down at her hands when men talk.”

He stepped closer.

“But wives know things. Especially the quiet ones.”

Then, lower-

“She won’t confess in court. She won’t scream secrets in public. But in the right room, with the right pressure-”

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t need to.

She still said nothing.

No shift in posture. No flicker of thought.

So he added-

“She’s not to be harmed.”

Not a suggestion.
A command.

Then-

“Retrieve the truth. From her lips. I want names. Routes. Numbers.”

A pause.

Then he looked at her again- like he wasn’t just giving orders anymore.
Like he was watching something click into place.

She didn’t ask questions.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t nod.

She turned. 
Without sound, without pause.
Just gone.

---

Hours later.

The Count’s wife had been found.

Dragged through frost and mud, breath stammering behind pale lips.

Lethia Lirian.
Still in pearls. Still in silk.
Pregnant. Six months, maybe seven.

The guards at the Duke’s palace had hesitated when they saw her- sobbing, stumbling behind the blood-spattered girl who didn’t say a word.

But no one stopped her.
No one dared.

They had heard the silence of what she did the day before.

Now, she brought a nobleman’s wife through the front gates.

And threw her into the cell below.

--

Thirty minutes later.

The Duke stood outside the cell door. Staring.

The metal hadn’t cooled from the slam of it yet.

“She was with child,” he said flatly.

His eyes met Anastia’s. Hard. Unreadable.

“I said pressure. Not trauma.”

She didn’t speak.

Just stood. Still. Blank.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then-

“You do not drag a noblewoman into a dungeon. Not in this court. Not in that state.”

Still no reply.

He didn’t expect one.

He exhaled once- sharp and clipped.

Then gestured to the guards.

“Move her to the south guest wing. Keep her quiet. Keep her fed.”

The order was to treat her decently.

Not because he cared.

But because he couldn’t afford the nobles screeching again.
He’d silenced them once. He wouldn’t tolerate needing to do it twice.

Anastia stood by, still unmoving.

Not confused. Not afraid.

But when she turned to walk away-just one thought cut across the void.

He was angry. At me?

The thought felt strange. Then it was gone.

The woman sat stiff on the edge of the cot, her dress wrinkled, her hands shaking.

Anastia stood at the bars. Silent. Still.

The Count’s wife had been moved from the dungeons to a chamber with less rot, fewer chains.
But the stone still whispered fear. And the guards still waited just outside.

A physician had visited earlier. Checked her pulse. Whispered something to the guard. Left.
Now, she sat alone. Hands curled over her stomach. Pale. Silent.

Anastia entered the room.
Her voice, when it came, was soft. Flat.

"Will you answer now?"

That woman didn't meet her eyes. She swallowed.

"My husband is a good man."

Silence.

She stepped closer.

“You said your husband is a good man.”

The woman flinched, arms curling around her stomach.

Anastia tilted her head slightly.

“He launders money from the Duke’s army.
Sleeps with women in every province.
And has started buying children like cattle.”

A pause.

“Is that… what a good man is?”

No mockery.
No contempt.
Just the question.

The woman’s breath hitched. “Y-you’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” Anastia replied, simply. “I don’t know how.”

Another pause.

She watched the woman’s fingers tighten over her belly.

“I don’t understand good or bad,” Anastia added. “I was told to ask. So I asked.”

The Countess blinked. Once. Twice.

And then- the wall broke.

Her voice cracked. “He said it was just trade. Said it was… politics.”

Anastia didn’t answer.

The woman’s words started spilling.

She spoke of locked doors. Of hush-money. Of women sent away. Of children in crates.

Anastia stood quiet, watching her crumble.

And then- her eyes rolled back.
Her body tipped sideways.

She hit the stone with a soft thud.

Anastia blinked. Once.

She stared at the woman’s still form. Chest unmoving. Limbs slack.

…Fainted?

She remembered when she used to fall like that.
Hard. Quiet.
No one came.

She didn’t know what to do now.

So she stood still.

A minute passed. Then two.

Until- footsteps outside. A gasp.

“The Count’s wife-!” a maid’s voice screeched in terror.

And then the hall exploded with noise.

Physician. Panic. Orders.

Anastia remained still.

Her mind echoed with something unfamiliar.
It wasn’t fear.
It wasn’t pity.
It was just… there.

And all she thought was-

What exactly happened?..