The world went in and out of reality for Adelia Ginellot, creating images she could no longer trust. The person she saw standing next to her could be a figment of her imagination, or the person running at her with a knife could be real, she knew not the difference.

It was a game of charades with her consciousness, and she was losing quite terribly.

What she knew was real, however, were the eyes staring down at her from a few feet away in the Great Hall of the Ginellot Duchy's main building, the Nightshade Palace. They were gold, like the color of the sun at high noon, yet despite the warm color, they held a frigidity to them that made one shudder. They were narrowed at her, gleaming with malice and disappointment as her father sat in his grand, iron chair at the head of the large mahogany dining table. His legs were crossed and his chin rested on his hand, propped up on the armrest as if he were simply inspecting an insect crawling their way across the floor at his feet.

Really, Adelia might as well have been an insect at his feet. Her appearance was in shambles; her normally well-kept, shiny, wine-red hair was twisted into knots forming a bird's nest on top of her head. Bruises had formed along her right cheek, swelling one of her peach-pink eyes shut, and dried blood formed a patch down the corner of her chapped lips.

She was on her knees on the ground, her wrists tied before her with rough rope to prevent her escape. Her dress, once luxurious and beautiful, had rips and tears all across the bodice and skirts until it was practically dripping from her body, revealing places she normally kept hidden, and for good reason.

Her skin was covered in what seemed to be tendrils of deep black mist. If one looked closer, one would notice that it was engraved into her, writhing and moving like a living entity. Each movement sent pulses of red coloring across the tendrils, like synapses receiving a charge, and her body ever so slightly pulsed with it, making her squirm. It was agony, like white-hot fire carving its way across her very bones.

What was more disturbing, however, was that she hardly reacted to the pain anymore.

What would have sent any other reasonable man or woman screaming into the abyss elicited no response from her other than the gentle, squirming movement that was more an instinctual response than anything.

This was not some new pain to her. It was pain that had become like a close friend. She woke up to it every day and went to sleep with it each night, cocooning her in its prickly embrace.

A sigh fell from the Duke's lips as he rubbed a hand across his eyes, the faint wrinkles the only things that belied his age crinkling at the corners. They weren't laugh lines. Herod Ginellot rarely laughed, but he did grin, and the only time he grinned was when he was doing something horribly cruel.

"What am I to make of this situation, child? Your incompetence has brought shame to our family's legacy, and in such a public manner. The scandal of your betrayal toward the Levell successor has spread throughout every corner of the Nerene Empire," he remarked, making a disapproving tsk sound.

"Father, you're being far too lenient. She disgraced our name, disgraced your reputation. There's no question what consequence she deserves," interjected Adelia's half-sister, Callista.

Her tone was high-pitched and scratchy, grating against Adelia's ears and sending sharp, black hallucinations dancing across her vision. Callista's flat, red-tipped nose was upturned in a sneer as her eyes, the same color as their father's, glared daggers down at her.

A commotion of yelling exploded beyond the massive oak entrance to the Grand Chamber. In the next instant, sporting a ripped garment, split lip, and panting chest, Nikolaus, her half-brother, stormed through the doorway. The palace staff and sentries, who had been stationed along the corridor, now sprawled across the costly carpet lining the timber flooring. Her stepmother, Portia, and half-sister, Liana, followed close behind, shielded by the crimson-stained blade he wielded. Adelia's younger sibling, Benoni, sagged against Liana's frame, his complexion ashen and weak, yet his expression remained fixed with resolve.

“Father, you can't do this! Adelia did nothing wrong,” Nikolaus roared. “She was sabotaged by Callista!”

The daughter in question laughed in mock disbelief, “What proof do you have?”

"I possess a missive, penned by Callista to Thierri Estes. It outlines your scheme with Adelia to murder the Levell successor and pin the blame on Duke Roges, sparking a conflict between the neighboring duchies."

The guards and servants sucked in a breath and a new weight settled into the room, but Nikolaus stood firm.

"Their scheme was to ruin Del and deliver evidence of your conspiracy to the Emperor, revealing your treasonous acts so His Imperial Majesty would execute you. Then they could negotiate terms for Thierri to claim the Ginellot Dukedom with Callista as his bride!" Nikolaus snarled, his emerald eyes flashing with venom as he brandished an unsealed missive containing a letter.

Herod's attention turned sharply to his eldest daughter, then to the letter. “Bring it here, boy.”

Nikolaus strode forward, thrusting the letter into their father's open, waiting palm. The Duke's eyes scanned through its contents, his face growing redder by the minute. His ire turned toward his eldest daughter. “What the fuck is this?”

“Father, I can ex-”

“Explain? Explain? Do you think I can't read, you ingrate? Do you think I can't see what's right before my eyes?” His fist rained down on the table, the heavy thud echoing through the Great Hall causing servants and family members alike to flinch.

“I didn't say that,” Callista said, her voice a level of calm that made Nikolaus still. He focused on her, raking over her form as if he could pick her apart and see what was making her so unnervingly serene in a situation so dire.

“Then what are you saying?” The Duke demanded.

“I thought this might happen, so I summoned the other accused party beforehand. His lordship, Sir Estes, is waiting outside to speak to his innocence.”

With a wave of her hand, the doors to the Great Hall once again swung open, pushed by an unseen force beckoned by the woman, and behind them stood the youngest Estes son. Thierri was slim and academic, his hair the color of hay and tied into a sleek, low ponytail. His eyes, however, seemed like that of a warrior, their dark blue depths shining with confidence behind the thin frame of his glasses.

"My lord," Thierri said with a respectful nod.

"Cut the damned formalities," spat the Ginellot Duke, sliding the envelope across the polished surface. "Did you do what he claims?"

"My lord, you cannot possibly think I would turn against you."

The change was immediate and unsettling. Like a puppet whose strings had suddenly gone slack, the Duke Ginellot's rigid posture melted away. Along the walls, servants who had served the family for decades exchanged alarmed glances, their faces paling at the unnatural shift in their lord's demeanor. The fierce creases marking his expression smoothed, his sharp features softening into something almost placid. He reclined in his chair with an uncharacteristic ease, his golden eyes becoming... distant. Unfocused.

A senior chambermaid, who had served the family since Herod was a boy, pressed trembling fingers to her lips. It was as if some invisible hand had reached in and brushed away all traces of his earlier fury, leaving behind only a hollow shell of his usual commanding presence.

The crimson diamond set in his golden band caught the light with an eerie glint. Perhaps it was merely the flickering candlelight playing tricks... or something far more ominous.

“Betray me? Preposterous,” Herod replied, waving his hand as if swatting away a pesky fly.

“Precisely. You and Father have been friends since you were boys. He’s saved your life more times than either of you can count. How could I ever dream of betraying you? You’re like a father to me yourself,” Thierri added.

“Of course, like a father,” the Duke nodded, his long fingers tapping in ascent on the chair.

“Then where the hell did I get that letter? Why is it in Callista’s handwriting?” Nikolaus interjected.

"Why, that's perfectly clear, wouldn't you say? You're attempting to set up both Sir Estes and myself! It's common knowledge that you covet the Duke's position, but my beloved brother Helias simply outshines you in every way. You haven't the slightest chance of claiming the title."

A scoff puffed through her lips, punctuating her claim.

"So you targeted our dearest friends instead. When this betrayal was exposed, naturally, Father would execute Sir Estes and myself, and chances are the Emperor wouldn't interfere. You planned to blame us for the very scheme you're carrying out!" Callista snarled, malice glinting in her gaze.

“What she says makes sense,” Thierri said as he moved closer to Herod, his hand resting on his shoulder.

Herod nodded along mechanically. “Yes, it makes perfect sense.”

“Ignoring the fact that everything out of your mouth is horse shit,” Nikolaus snapped, his teeth bared, “how would that benefit me? None of that implicates Helias, and father would still be alive, unlike in your plan. Not to mention, the letter is still in your handwriting. Not mine.”

“A letter without an official seal is easily enough forged,” Callista shot back.

It was true. Any official document was typically reinforced with a seal, specific to the sender and enchanted to only be opened by the intended receiver, or anyone whom the receiver relinquished possession to.

These protections meant it was nigh impossible to forge documents without them being traced back to you, as well as near impossible for important documents to be tampered with. The letter in Duke Ginellot’s hand, upon inspection, lacked the rose seal, pretty but thorny, that was associated with Callista. This in itself left the letter more damning than helpful.

A glance was exchanged between Thierri and Callista, so quick it was almost unnoticeable to anyone who wasn’t watching. But Nikolaus was watching, along with Benoni, who took in a sharp breath in understanding.

They’d fallen right into their trap.