CHAPTER 216: ELIZABETH VEYL [1]

The room drowned in darkness. It was heavy, breathless and pressing close.

Not the quiet dusk that crept in through windows. But the kind that sealed itself around you, like stone over a grave.

A beautiful girl sat on the edge of her bed, spine straight, the tips of her fingers tightening around a folded sheet of parchment.

A lone candle burned on the desk. Its light trembled against the walls, unsteady, as though it feared to touch the paper in her hands.

Her hair spilled down her back in smooth black waves, deep as midnight with no stars.

The sort of beauty other women tried to buy, but hers had never been bought. It was simply hers.

Her eyes, dark and still, followed the ink across the page. Beneath that calm was a quiet fury, sharp and certain.

’It was from him.’

Marquess Rylan Veyl.

The man who called himself her father.

The serpent-shaped seal lay broken, the wax split clean through. She hadn’t bothered with care.

She never did. His letters were never good.

This one was worse.

——My Dearest Elizabeth.

The script curled across the page in elegant loops. Each stroke too deliberate and practiced.

She knew this hand as well as the false smile he wore in court, polished charm masking rot beneath.

—— I trust this letter finds you in good health. Your progress at Solvayne continues to impress me. As expected of a daughter of House Veyl.

Her grip tightened.

Daughter of House Veyl.

The title tasted bitter in her mouth.

She was no Veyl.

She never had been.

She was Elizabeth Duvain.

The last spark of a dying fire.

The final heir to a name once spoken with reverence, and fear.

House Duvain had made kings pause and armies falter... before the knives came in the night.

She alone had survived.

Forcing herself onward. She read the next lines, though the words blurred until she blinked the dampness from her eyes.

—— As you know, alliances are the lifeblood of nobility. To that end. I have arranged for you to meet with Kyle Valemont, younger brother of the esteemed Aurelia Valemont. The Valemont name carries weight, and this union would be... beneficial.

Beneficial.

One word. Enough to tell her everything.

Not love. Not even true politics. Just another transaction where she was the coin passed across the table.

Her mouth pulled into something too bitter to be a smile.

Rylan’s game.

It had always been his game. Move after move. Every piece on the board placed with care, and cruelty.

And once again. She was the pawn being slid forward for the slaughter.

The chair creaked as she leaned back, closing her eyes.

The memory struck before she could stop it. Sharp as glass, fresh as a wound still bleeding.

She had been seven.

Hiding in the wine cellar’s darkest corner, knees pressed to her chest, clutching the porcelain doll her mother had given her that morning.

Its blue satin dress was damp with her tears.

Above her. The world was ending.

Screams ripped through the manor. Steel clashed, then fell silent with wet, choking sounds.

The smoke thickened, curling under the cellar door like a creature hunting her.

She’d buried her face in the doll’s hair, pretending the thuds she heard weren’t bodies falling. Pretending worked, until it didn’t.

When dawn came, and the last screams were gone, she’d pushed the door open.

And crawled out into the ashes like something that had died but kept moving anyway.

The only one left.

The last Duvain.

Rylan found her three days later.

She’d been half-dead, curled in the ashes of what used to be her nursery. Too weak to cry. Too tired to fight when his men pulled her out.

She remembered the way he looked at her.

Not with pity, but calculation.

"Elizabeth Duvain," he’d said, tasting the name like wine. "The last of your line."

Then he smiled. "How fortunate for us both."

He crouched down, voice smooth as honey.

"I will give you justice. I’ll help you find the ones who did this. But first... you must be strong. You must be mine."

Even at eight, she’d known it was a lie.

But what choice did she have?

Her name was already a death sentence. No family. No allies. Nothing left but the hand he offered.

So she took it.

And let him bury Elizabeth Duvain.

The candle beside her flickered, bringing her back to the present.

Back to the letter in her hands. Another betrayal, just one more in a life built on them.

She breathed out slowly. The flame trembled, shadows sliding across the parchment like they had teeth.

Justice. That promise had dangled before her for years, but always out of reach. Rylan had never meant to give it. She saw that now.

He had shaped her.

Turned her into something sharp. Long days of training, the rare praise, the constant corrections. All of it to build his perfect weapon. Cold. Precise. Disposable.

This marriage proved it.

Kyle Valemont. The name was bitter. Brother of the Gale Witch. Solvayne’s first year rising star. This wasn’t about her happiness. It was about power.

Rylan wanted the Valemont name in his grasp.

She was just the ribbon on the box.

The letter crackled as she set it down. Her hands stayed steady,years of discipline saw to that. The rage stayed locked behind ice, hidden where no one could see it burn.

But it was there.

Part of her wanted to rip the letter apart and throw the pieces in his face. But she knew better. He would only smile and remind her who she was.

What she owed. How easily he could take it all away.

The worst part?

He was right. Without him, she was just another orphan with a cursed name.

The last Duvain.

"I will give you justice."

Those words had kept her breathing through nights she wished had ended.

She’d held onto them like a child clutching a blanket. As if they could keep the dark away. But she wasn’t a child anymore.

The truth was blunt, stripped of comfort. If justice was coming, she’d be the one to drag it here.

The candle before her wavered. Its flame shrinking until shadows began to creep along the walls. Elizabeth sat still, eyes fixed on the dying light.

She had made her choice.

She would meet Kyle Valemont. She would smile and curtsy like the perfect noble daughter.

She would give Rylan what he thought he wanted.

But it wouldn’t be for him.

It would be for her. For the frightened girl who once hid in a cellar with a doll clutched to her chest.

For the family whose names she whispered like prayers. For the justice that would not be begged for, but taken.

The candle gave one last flicker, then died. Smoke curled upward, fading into the dark.

Elizabeth didn’t move. She’d lived in the shadows long enough. She could stay there a little longer.

Until the day came to set the world on fire.

——————

Click.

The faint sound of the latch turning echoed through the quiet apartment as Eleanora stepped inside.

Her boots scuffed against the entryway mat before she kicked them off with a weary sigh, leaving them in a careless heap by the shoe rack.

Every muscle in her body ached from hours of training. Sweat clung to her blonde hair, plastering strands to her forehead, and her black combat uniform was heavy against her skin.

The cool air inside was a welcome relief.

"I’m home," she called, more out of habit than expectation.

"Welcome back."

Anastasia’s voice drifted from the living room.

Eleanora glanced over.

Her sister sat curled into the corner of the couch. A neat stack of papers spread across the coffee table.

The Crown Princess of the Argent Empire, looking more like a university professor than royalty.

Pretending she was here for work when Eleanora knew she was really here to keep an eye on her.

Eleanora padded across the polished wooden floor, sinking onto the couch beside her with a muffled groan.

She reached for the remote, tapping the cooling runes until the apartment’s air dropped another few degrees.

The soft hum filled the space.

"You’ve been working hard lately," Anastasia remarked, not looking up. Her pen moving in quick, precise strokes.

"Yeah," Eleanora muttered, head tilting back against the cushions. "Gotta keep up."

"What do you want for dinner? I’ll order."

"Anything’s fine."

For a while. The only sounds were the quiet scratch of Anastasia’s pen and the hum of the runes.

"Pfft."

Then, unexpectedly, Anastasia let out a short laugh under her breath.

Eleanora’s brow furrowed. "What?"

"Nothing," Anastasia said, though the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her.

"Just... heard some amusing gossip."

"Since when do you care about gossip?"

"Since it involves your friends."

Eleanora narrowed her eyes. "...Who?"

"Cedric... and Kyle."

Anastasia finally set her pen down, crimson eyes glinting with mischief.

"Apparently. Kyle’s been dodging marriage proposals by sending Cedric in his place."

Eleanora stared. "...He what?"

A melodic laugh spilled from Anastasia’s lips.

"It’s genius. Eleven noble families sent their daughters, and every single time. Cedric shows up instead, looking like he’d rather be in a duel than sipping tea with them."

Eleanora’s mouth twitched despite herself. That did sound like Kyle.

Then the words caught up to her.

"...Wait, marriage proposals?" Her tone sharpened.

Anastasia’s smirk deepened.

"Oh? Didn’t know?"

"Of course I didn’t."

"Well, now you do. Ever since he hit grade 2 Silver rank with Cedric in his first semester. The nobles are convinced he’s some prodigy. They’re practically lining up at his door."

Eleanora’s fingers curled slightly. "And he hasn’t... met any of them?"

"Not once," Anastasia said, clearly amused. "Cedric’s been taking the brunt of it."

Eleanora exhaled. The tension in her shoulders easing. "...Good."

Anastasia’s brow arched ever so slightly. "Good?"

Eleanora froze. The word had slipped out before she could stop it.

She cleared her throat, trying to recover.

"I mean, it’s stupid. Just noble politics. Kyle wouldn’t care about that."

Anastasia’s grin spread slowly, turning smug. "Mhm."

Eleanora ignored her.

But then Anastasia spoke again. This time, with the kind of casual tone that meant trouble.

"Though... he does still have one meeting left."

Eleanora’s head snapped toward her. "What?"

Anastasia tapped her chin, pretending to think.

"Who was it again...? Ah, right." Her smile turned evil.

"Elizabeth Veyl."

The name hit like a splash of ice water.

Eleanora’s fingers curled into the couch cushions.

Anastasia kept talking, unaware, or perhaps unconcerned. About the shift in her sister’s expression.

"Second-year ace. Top of her class. Honestly? They’d make a terrifyingly strong pair." She let out a small laugh.

"Though knowing Kyle. He’ll probably just send Cedric again."

Eleanora barely heard the rest.

Elizabeth.

"Ellie?" Anastasia waved a hand in front of her.

"Hellooo? Still with me?"

Eleanora blinked herself back to the room. "Huh? Yeah. I’m here."

Anastasia studied her for a long moment, then sighed. "You’re hopeless."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Sure you don’t."

Anastasia reached for her phone, scrolling through a food menu.

"Anyway, I’m ordering. You care what we get?"

Eleanora didn’t answer. Her mind was still stuck on that name.

Elizabeth.

——————