CHAPTER 124: BROKEN SHACKLES

Behind the mask of Lazira, Lorraine smirked. To see her father, the great Hadrian Arvand, patriarch of the Great House of Arvand, kneeling in chains before her, filth clinging to his robes, soothed something raw in her heart. Only a little, but enough.

If she had the skill, she would immortalize this moment in paint: the mighty minister, humbled in the muck of commoners. How delicious. Perhaps that was why he never fostered her love for art. Perhaps, deep down, he foresaw this day, and feared she might one day capture him like this—broken, diminished, brought low by the very daughter he discarded. Perhaps, he was the true oracle among them both.

Her hand drifted unconsciously to her belly. The torches sputtered, and their light struck her eyes so they shimmered like shards of glass. He couldn’t see her, not truly. The mask hid her face, the shadows cloaked the rest. Even without it, he would not recognize her. Not now.

Back in the carriage, she had nearly surrendered. Nearly given herself to despair, hollow with the thought that no one wanted her, no one loved her. That she was nothing.

But then—she remembered. A faint flutter, so slight she could almost dismiss it, had reminded her of the truth. She wasn’t even sure she was with child yet, not truly. And yet, that ghost of movement whispered louder than all her doubts, reminding her of what truly mattered.

She was not alone.

Even if no one wanted her, even if no one loved her, there was still one fragile life depending on her. One being whose survival clung entirely to her strength, her care, and her will to endure.

An elephant in chains may tremble, may hesitate, scarred by the wounds of its youth. But one truth unshackles even the most broken: there is no force in the world greater than a mother’s love.

It was her mother’s love that had once saved her, on that fateful day in the carriage, when Hadrian sought to end her life. And now, as if the circle had closed, it was her own turn. She would save her child, even if it meant blood, fire, and ruin.

Her mother died to protect her, unfortunately, but in her case, she had to survive to protect her baby. And that was what she did.

Her palm pressed more firmly over her belly, her breath steadying. For that little life clinging to her, she would become merciless.

And just like that, the elephant broke its chains, this time, not to escape, but to protect its calf.

She slid the carriage window open. For a moment, she had almost forgotten the others—the shadows that were not her shinobi. Another cadre of silent watchers, always trailing her, always distant. So unobtrusive she could almost convince herself they weren’t there at all.

But they were. They always were.

She gave the signal.

[Topple the carriage. Don’t let me get hurt.]

She didn’t know how they would do it, whether they watched her in this very moment, or whether they would strike at Hadrian himself. But she trusted the unseen. And so, she waited.

A soft thud pressed into the roof above her. Barely audible, yet it made her pulse quicken. Her plan was in motion.

Her gaze flicked to her father across from her, his lips curling as though he’d secured a victory by keeping her hostage. He looked so sure, so self-satisfied. The smirk rose to her own lips, cruel and deliberate, as she imagined how she’d make him pay.

The carriage jolted. Wood splintered. Horses shrieked. In that instant, a gloved hand snatched her through the window, swift and sure, whisking her into the embrace of shadows. The world spun, wheels cracking, glass shattering, then the carriage rolled, breaking apart in a thunderous ruin.

From the safety of her bodyguards’ grasp, she watched it tumble away, her lips curving into a razor-edged smile.

Now, at last, her father would know what her mother had known in her final moments: terror, helplessness, the betrayal of the man she once trusted.

Hadrian survived, broken but not beyond use. And she brought him here, dragged him into the filth-ridden oubliette, the dungeon beneath dungeons, the place even rumor had forgotten.

"Tell me, Lazira... Whose bidding are you undertaking?" Hadrian demanded. His voice was steady, but his eyes searched her face for cracks. Perhaps he had been wrong about Lazira. Perhaps she wasn’t the chaos she pretended to be. Maybe she was just a blade-for-hire, dancing for whoever offered the highest coin. That would explain her chaotic nature.

And he was certain now that she wanted him alive. He should have died in that carriage. Instead, he woke with salve on his wounds, the bitter tang of medicine still clinging to his skin. No pain, no broken bones. She had seen to it. That meant he was valuable. Whoever had bought her loyalty, he could outbid them. He always could.

Lorraine studied her father who was proud even here, even chained, his eyes gleaming with calculation as if he still had a way out. The sight made her lips curl. She would play with him a little longer. Killing him outright was never her plan. That would be too merciful.

He had never known what she knew. He had never grown up with silence pressed against her lips, because even a murmur could invite agony. He had never felt the lash strip skin from his back, teaching him that pain was normal, expected.

He had never learned the art of burying every flicker of emotion just to survive another day. He had never cried for his mother in his sleep. Never sought love from people who turned away, and still clung to the scraps they gave.

He lived in perfection. And yet, he destroyed her. He broke her.

Now, he would pay.

Her voice was soft, almost tender. "Do you think I have nothing against you personally, Hadrian?"

The urge to strike him surged hot in her veins; to whip him until his back peeled raw, until his arrogance bled out onto the stones. Her hands clenched into fists.

Hadrian only chuckled.

The sound ripped through her, sharp as glass.