Episode 9
~The Banquet of Debt~
A maid gently wrapped a warm towel around Lillian as she stepped out of the bathtub, carefully drying her damp curls with another soft towel. Close by, another maid attended to Vivian, who emerged wrapped in a fresh towel as well.
Lillian turned toward Vivian, her violet eyes serious. “Nyx,” she began softly, causing Vivian to glance sideways, her gaze curious though she was still being gently dried.
“Hey… can you promise me you’ll never tell this to anyone?” Lillian’s eyes dropped shyly. “You know… I’ve never really told anyone this… maybe because I don’t trust anyone. So… will you please keep it a secret from everyone?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
The maid fastening Vivian’s towel stepped back as Vivian moved closer, raising her delicate pinky finger. With a small nod, she intertwined her pinky with Lillian’s.
Lillian’s face brightened with relief and happiness as the unspoken promise settled between them.
The two maids finished dressing the girls, stepping respectfully toward the door. Bowing, they said, “We will check with Lady Maria and return shortly to guide you to the dining hall.”
“Alright, take your time,” Lillian replied kindly.
After the maids left, Lillian turned and found Vivian still staring at the closed door.
Why…did they leave us? Vivian wondered silently, suspicion flickering in her icy blue eyes. Miss Maria asked them to stay with us until dinner—why would they leave before it even started? Is something wrong?
Trying to ease the awkwardness of being alone after such an intimate moment, Lillian asked quietly, “Do you like the door, Nyx?”
Vivian was pulled from her reverie, mouthing “Huh?” silently.
“What's wrong, Nyx?” Lillian asked, gently cupping her sister’s pale face in tender concern.
Vivian turned her gaze back to the door and mouthed “Layla.”
Lillian paused. Vivian pointed toward the door, lipsing “Layla” once more.
“What about Layla?” Lillian asked, brow furrowed. “Is Layla behind the door?”
Vivian shook her head slowly, a clear sign of disapproval.
The door to Regina’s chamber swung open abruptly, revealing Maria’s radiant presence as she entered, eyes closed in a warm smile before fluttering open. “My darling sweetie~ Dinner’s all set!” she exclaimed, voice bright with maternal cheer.
The smile warmed her face, eyes briefly closed in contentment, but when they opened, they took in the scene before her with a flicker of surprise and curiosity.
Before her, Regina stood statuesque before her gilded dressing table. Her slim fingers deftly adjusted the delicate choker around her neck as a handful of maids busied themselves—some crouching to fuss over the hem of her gown, others smoothing her blonde curls, while another held out trays heavy with glimmering jewels and awaited the next stroke of the artist’s brush on her makeup. A subtle tremor coursed through them all, as if one misstep might see their hopes dashed and positions lost.
“Oh, dear,” Maria commented with a chuckle, half-worried but secretly pleased, “dressing so heavily for what’s only a modest dinner? Surely this is for the little girls, is it not?”
But Maria’s question was met with a glance so sharp and cold from Regina that a shiver rippled down the older woman’s spine, goosebumps rising along her arms.
“Oh-oh-oh… dear,” Maria stammered, retreating ever so slightly as Regina slowly advanced, claustrophobically close—her breath a whisper against Maria’s cheek.
“Dinner?” Regina exhaled, voice low but charged, inches from her mother’s face.
“Yes,” Maria replied, stepping back, eyes wide. “The girls await you. But... where are the others? Jett promised to—”
“PROMISED TO WHAT?” Regina’s voice suddenly roared, silencing the room in a heartbeat. The maids flinched, their skin crawling as the sharpness sliced through the air.
Maria’s breath hitched; sweat beaded at her temple, heart pounding beneath finely embroidered bodice. Why is she so furious? the question burned behind her wide eyes.
“Because of your reckless gambling,” Regina hissed, voice trembling with barely contained fury, “I am forced to attend the banquet at Drosnik Mansion with the CROWN PRINCE!”
The storm in Regina’s stormy gray eyes faltered, giving way to the vulnerable sorrow of a child. Her shoulders sagged, voice softening to a fragile whisper, “Mother… mother… why? Why did you gamble away everything with the Empress? Why?” The words trembled on the verge of tears, the stoic shield cracking.
Maria froze mid-step, the weight of memory folding over her like a dark wave. The scent of tobacco smoke and polished mahogany flooded her mind; the harsh clang of the noble’s gambling den echoed faintly under the flicker of candle flames. Faces turned sharply, whispered threats mounted — debts rising like insidious shadows. A single lost wager, and the fragile threads of favor and fortune threatened to unravel.
Her fingers curled tightly on the smooth doorframe, breath catching painfully in her throat as she confronted the growing chasm between them—a daughter’s desperate plea against a mother’s guarded silence.
The chamber, heavy with velvet drapes and the faint perfume of crushed roses, seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the next fragile words, the softest bridge to mend the fractured night.
The smoke-laden air of the clandestine gambling house swirled thick with whispered wagers and the clink of heavy coins on polished tables. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light upon faces flushed with anticipation and greed. The scent of rich red wine and fading perfume mingled with the sharp tang of tobacco, wrapping the room in a haze of decadence and danger.
An elegantly disguised noblewoman, the Empress veiled under layers of finery and secrecy, lifted her glass and sipped her deep crimson wine. Her gaze settled coolly on Maria, who returned the look with measured poise.
“So, Ms. Rose,” the Empress purred, snapping her fingers with practiced grace. Instantly, a male servant placed a heavy bag bulging with a million gold coins on the table, atop a parchment inscribed with names—grim predictions of those doomed to die by the year’s end.
“My bet,” Maria declared, her voice steady despite the charged tension.
A familiar, disdainful voice cut across the room—the Crown Prince, cloaked in evening finery and masked as a nobleman himself, sauntered with a sardonic smile. “My, my,” he hissed, voice dripping with condescension, “such a large wager on such trivial lives.”
“Trivial lives?” Maria’s eyes flashed fire. “You are woefully ignorant if you think that.”
The Prince smirked, revealing a folded list—names carefully compiled by himself and the Empress—those whom fate had also marked.
Maria’s mind reeled. The Empress has used her son again. A bitter distaste curled in her heart as she watched the Empress confidently lay another stack of coins—two million gold—upon the wager.
The Crown Prince narrowed his eyes. “I trust that amount will suffice for the stakes of this game?”
Maria’s lips curled in challenge. “Oh? And what terms do you propose, my lord?”
His smile twisted into something dark. “If you lose… you will grant me any wish I desire. Fair terms, no?”
Maria’s witty defenses faltered, her breath slackening as the implications sank in. “And if your wish lies beyond my reach?” she dared.
He answered simply, “It will not. Trust me.”
The Empress’s smirk deepened. “Very well. I accept. Consider it fate.” Maria thought herself lucky to place such a wager and seemingly avoid greater peril—yet the weight of the promise pressed cold and relentless.
Earlier that day...
Regina strode purposefully through the marbled corridors of the Imperial Palace, her mind racing to plot a way to evade the dreaded banquet. Suddenly, the Empress and her retinue appeared like specters at a feast, fans flicking in measured menace.
The Empress’s eyes locked on Regina, who stood frozen for a beat—damned. No turning back.
“Ah...” Regina began, forcing a smile as the Empress’s entourage opened their fans in a calculated display of disdain.
“You,” the Empress spat, voice laced with venom, “reek of sweat.”
The women behind giggled cruelly.
“My Majesty, I have just returned from a duel,” Regina answered evenly, brushing past the insult.
“Oh? Meaning you’ve lost it?” More cruel giggles.
A lady whispered bitterly, “Wasn’t having an illegitimate daughter enough to deter those knights? Yet they race to her side all the faster.”
The Empress’s gaze flicked to her advancing son, radiant and smiling with false sweetness. “What is it?” she asked.
The Crown Prince stopped beside Regina, hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “Mother, we’ve won the bet fair and square. It is time you send a letter to Ms. Rose about Lady Regina and my arrangements for tonight,” he said smoothly.
The Empress nodded and stepped closer to Regina, voice a cold whisper: “If you dare embarrass me, my son, or the Royal Family, your entire household will suffer the consequences. Remember that.”
With a final glance at her son, she swept away, fans fluttering behind her like dark wings.
-Back to Present-
Regina’s voice cracked with anger as she gathered her dress, striding toward the door. “All because of you and your reckless gambling!” she shouted, slamming the heavy door closed behind her.
Maria stood frozen, suddenly recalling the unattended letter on the dining table—earlier, too busy preparing for dinner to ponder its weight. So this is what it was about... she mused, the heavy shadow of impending conflict settling around her like a winter cloak.
Regina swept down the polished marble staircase, the soft glint of chandelier light dancing upon the jewels nestled at her throat and corseted gown. Every detail of her evening ensemble—silk gown cascading in silver and midnight blue, icy blue eyes blazing beneath coiffed hair—declared her readiness for the performance required of a noblewoman at court, even if her spirit burned with defiance.
At the foot of the stairs, Crown Prince Evander waited, immaculate in his tailored eveningcoat, his coral hair slicked back and his green eyes gleaming behind the sheen of candlelight. His gloved hand rose in elegant invitation, the gesture perfectly rehearsed for palace halls echoing with centuries of pageantry.
“Ah... Regina. At last, you grace me with your presence,” he intoned smoothly, his tone formal yet betrayed by the spark of amusement flickering at the corner of his lips.
Regina paused at the final stair, eyes cold and proud, refusing the proffered hand. She closed the distance between them, mere inches in the hush of the entrance hall. Leaning in, she whispered with venomous grace, “Evander... do try to possess a hint of shame, for once.”
Her words floated between them, ice to his fire. With a lift of her chin, Regina swept past him toward the heavy doors leading to the waiting carriage, her dress whispering across granite as thunder rolled faintly outside—the approaching storm promising drama for the night ahead.
Evander’s smirk deepened, eyes reflecting a pleased glint. She never fails to amuse. His fingers flexed within the kid leather, the stinging whip of Regina’s tongue leaving him both stung and delighted.
He turned, following in her wake. Their silhouettes—one fierce and regal, the other smooth and untouchable—cast long shadows across the candlelit hall, signaling to all watching that tonight, in the Imperial courts of Granzholm, the true game had only just begun.
Vivian pressed her lips together, struggling to convey her growing unease. She pointed again at the tall, ornate door, icy blue eyes wide with worry. Ah... Lillian isn’t understanding me at all, she fretted, trying once more to mouth silent words in hopes her sister might catch their meaning.
Lillian fidgeted with the ribbons on her dressing gown, brows wrinkling in concern. “Nyx, what are you trying to say? I’m not understanding,” she said, voice pitched between worry and confusion.
Vivian, shorter by a hand’s span, tried to reach the brass handle, stretching onto tiptoes with no success. She gestured urgently to Lillian, hoping her intention would be clear.
“You want me to open the door? But I’m too short too—I can’t reach it, Nyx,” Lillian replied, the tremor in her violet eyes betraying her unease.
Suddenly, from somewhere beyond the chamber, an ominous sound—a low, moaning whistle—chilled the air. In an instant, the balcony doors banged open, battered by a resentful gust that swept through the room like an ancient wraith.
The world went dark. Every flame—candles, oil lamps, chandeliers, wall sconces, the roaring fireplace—was snuffed out with a single breath of wind, plunging the opulent chamber into midnight shadow. Gossamer curtains billowed wildly, cold air swirling, carrying the distant scent of rain and something far older—a tang of fear and forbidden secrets.
Lillian shrank back, trembling as goosebumps prickled her arms, clutching Vivian’s hand desperately. The silence was broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the dull pounding of the girls’ hearts.
Vivian’s eyes darted around, her breath quick and shallow. The stately room, once glowing with warmth and gold, now seemed immense and haunted, every piece of furniture transformed into a jagged silhouette. This isn’t right... something is terribly off, she thought, her worry rising in icy waves.
Lillian’s voice was a whispered quaver in the gloom. “Vivian... is someone here?”
The storm rattled the glass, and shadows stretched longer across the gleaming parquet floor as a feeling of dread settled into all the corners of the late European chamber, thick enough to taste—sharp, cold, and heavy with uncertainty.
The great doors of the Banquet Hall at House Drosnik swung open with an echoing grandeur, the gilded panels gleaming under countless crystal chandeliers. The Master of Ceremonies, clad in rich navy and gold, lifted his embossed staff and bellowed with resonant clarity that rolled through the crowd like a drumbeat:
“Presenting His Serene Highness, Crown Prince Evander Ernst Otto Von Granzholm, accompanied by Her Grace, Archduchess Regina De Olvestri Vendreich!”
A chorus of musicians struck up a stately tune, strings swelling as the guests rose to their feet. Nobles decked in silks, velvets, and glinting tiaras bowed in sequence, the sweep of their movements like a choreographed tide. Goblets froze mid-air, conversations hushed instantly as all eyes fixed upon the pair.
To be Continued...
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