Reborn As Papa Silva

Chapter 61: Their Story (11)

The cause of this pall was an open secret: the eldest princess and heiress, Acier, had locked herself away in her room. She refused to come out, refused to eat, refused to entertain visitors, refused even to bathe or clean herself. She lay on her bed, withdrawn and unresponsive.

Meals were delivered to her room, though she managed only a bite or two before turning her face away. Her caretakers had to carry her to the showers, as if she were a fragile doll, and dress her afterward—though normally, this was reserved for special occasions. Now, it was a twice-daily necessity.

She offered no resistance, no reaction, no spark of life, as they worked. Her vacant stare and limp posture unsettled even the most seasoned servants. Moving her from the bed for daily cleanings felt like handling a lifeless puppet. They carried her to the garden or the living room, hoping the fresh air or her family\'s presence might bring some change. It didn\'t.

Her mother and sister wore expressions of sorrow that deepened whenever they saw her. The Old Duke\'s guilt was faint but unmistakable. As for the Patriarch, his fury was a cold, palpable thing. Yet no one dared to question what had brought Acier to this state. Servants whispered no rumors and voiced no speculations; their livelihoods, even their lives, depended on their silence.

Some harbored a suspicion—unspoken, but shared—that it had something to do with the sudden disappearance of the mysterious friend Acier had once been so close to in her life. She no longer made her daily trips to Kikka. But if so, no one dared breathe a word.

Fortunately for House Silva, the kingdom\'s turmoil ensured no one outside the estate paid much attention. The Capital, embroiled in both internal strife and external threats, had little interest in the household affairs of a royal house. Even the royal family remained confined to Clover Castle since the civil war. That Acier was now seldom seen outside the Silva estate struck most as prudent rather than peculiar.

To the courtiers and aristocrats, it seemed that House Silva had finally exercised caution, keeping the princess safe within their walls and cutting ties with the lowborn friend many had disapproved of. That her confinement came so late was their only grievance.

Had they known the truth of Acier\'s condition, their sentiments would have shifted dramatically. But any hint of her plight was ruthlessly suppressed within the Silva estate. Even the rest of Clover Castle was unaware.

Lux, for his part, assumed Acier was obeying his instructions. She knows better than to cross me now, he thought smugly. He hadn\'t visited the Silva estate since that day. Too many trips in quick succession might draw attention, and he couldn\'t afford that. For now, he remained at the Kira estate, playing the part of a dutiful younger brother to Prince Augustus.

And no one suspected a thing.

September 24, 1600:

Acier lay on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, ignoring her mother and sister, who sat by her bedside, trying to draw her out of her silence.

"Acier, honey," Amara said softly, reaching out to caress her eldest daughter\'s pale, gaunt cheeks. Her hand trembled as it brushed skin that had grown thin and cold, the healthy muscle Acier had gained through years of rigorous training having melted away in just days.

Amara\'s heart ached at the lifeless void in her daughter\'s once-brilliant eyes. She forced a smile, though it faltered at the corners. "It\'s better this way," she murmured, her voice fragile but coaxing. "You and that boy... you come from different worlds. He can\'t do anything for you, can\'t provide for you. I know it hurts, but you\'re strong, Acier. You can move on, can\'t you?"

Silence.

Amara bit her lip, her gaze flickering with desperation. Then, she forced a bright cheer into her tone, as if sheer enthusiasm could break through. "I know! You love training, don\'t you? You\'ve always dreamed of becoming a Magic Knight, maybe even the Wizard King! I won\'t stop you anymore—you can train as much as you like, follow your dream, show the world that Acier Silva is the strongest of them all!"

Nothing. Not even a glance.

Amara\'s throat tightened as her vision blurred with unshed tears.

Sitting beside her mother, Aurelia cast a glance at her sister, sorrow shadowing her pink eyes. She then turned her gaze to the side table. In the vase where Acier once kept humble blue hyacinths, there were now pristine white Madonna lilies.

Aurelia\'s lips pressed into a thin line. The lilies, she knew, were more appropriate for someone of Acier\'s status—noble, elegant, proper. But she remembered peeking into her sister\'s room, watching Acier care for the hyacinths with tender devotion. The lilies felt wrong, unbearably so.

Her eyes shifted back to Acier, then to her mother. A flicker of frustration broke through her grief. Her gaze returned to her sister, a flicker of hesitation in her expression as thoughts churned behind her eyes.

September 25, 1600:

Acier remained on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, unresponsive to the series of knocks on her door.

"My dear, it\'s me," came Nicklaus\' voice from the other side.

She didn\'t move, but for the first time in days, a shadow of something stirred in her gaze—something dark.

Nicklaus paused, then continued. "I know you can hear me, and I know you probably don\'t want to see me. I won\'t come in. Just... listen."

Still nothing.

"I couldn\'t save my wife," he said quietly. "Your grandmother. I could do nothing for her. So when you were born, I thought the heavens had given me a second chance, a way to atone. I vowed to dedicate everything I am and will ever be to you—to give you the world."

Acier\'s eyes remained on the ceiling. Why doesn\'t this world include Sebastian?

Nicklaus waited, hoping for a response, but when none came, he pressed on, his jaw tight. "I know what I\'ve done to you is wrong. What I\'m doing to you is wrong. But I won\'t apologize. I feel guilt, yes—but not regret."

Her lips didn\'t move. Is that supposed to make me feel better?

"I know!" His voice brightened with sudden inspiration. "You wanted a friend, didn\'t you? Your maid—Hilda—you can have her back. Just like before. She\'s yours."

You can\'t force friendship, Acier thought, her gaze unchanging. Hilda and I can never go back to how we were before. That line had already been crossed.

Nicklaus\' stomach churned. Placing a hand on the door, he whispered, "Don\'t worry about Lux. He won\'t do anything to you. He won\'t get the chance."

What does that mean?

Her lips finally parted, her voice emerging flat and monotone. "He already has. Slapped me across the face."

Nicklaus stiffened on the other side of the door. After a moment, he whispered, "That\'ll never happen again." His voice dropped further. "Lunch will be served shortly, my dear. Please eat it all."

He turned and walked away, his expression unreadable.

Just wait until you become Queen, my dear. If you still fancy that boy, then... Nicklaus shook his head, cutting off the thought. For now, you must stay away from him.

September 26, 1600

"Nathaniel, please, do something!" Amara shouted, her voice trembling with desperation as she stood across from her husband\'s expansive desk in his vast, imposing office.

Nathaniel glanced up from his work, his silver gaze cold and unreadable, as Amara threw her arms out in frustration.

"Talk to that girl! Explain it to her! This was always the only way things could go! Wouldever go! She listens to you! Explain to her that she and that lowborn could never—"

"Amara." Nathaniel\'s voice cut through her tirade, sharp and indifferent, silencing her mid-sentence. His tone was so icy it startled her. "You\'re also a branch child, and of low birth. Yet here you are, married to me, part of this family."

Amara froze, her face flushing crimson. She quickly retorted, her voice rising. "That\'s not the same thing, and you know it—"

"And why isn\'t it?" Nathaniel interrupted again, his question laced with quiet intensity. "Is it because your family is the highest-ranked branch? Well, that can\'t be right. Before you married me, your branch was middling at best."

He rapped his knuckles against the edge of his desk in an almost rhythmic fashion, his gaze unwavering as he studied her stiff posture.

"Or is it because you\'re a woman?"

That was a possibility, in the current society it wasn\'t unheard of for even the lowliest of female peasants to become a noble lady and matriarch as long as they had a pretty face.

As for men? No such luck, handsome boys of low birth could at most become secret boy toys or lovers of noble ladies and heiresses until they were caught and executed for bewitching or misleading those "innocent women".

Amara\'s arms tightened across her chest, her voice faltering as she frowned. "At least I\'ve always borne the Silva name, and yes, I am a woman! It\'s entirely different!"

Nathaniel inclined his head slightly. "That\'s correct. So tell me, then—why would I settle for you?"

Amara stiffened, her composure cracking as Nathaniel\'s tone grew colder, the chill in his voice biting.

"With my status, I could have married the official heiress of any noble house," he said, his words measured and deliberate. "There were many courting me at the time, many who were conventionally more attractive than you. So, why did I choose you? Why did I insist on marrying you, a no-name, low-ranking branch child who barely had the courage to approach me?"

Amara\'s breath hitched as she stood rooted in place, her lips parting in a silent quiver. "...Why?" she finally whispered.

Nathaniel\'s piercing gaze softened just slightly, though his tone remained firm as he answered. "Because I already had all the wealth and power I could ever need. I had no use for a conniving, ambitious wife whose loyalty would waver with her ambitions. I wanted someone who would see me—Nathaniel—not the Silva name."

He leaned back, his voice gaining a quiet intensity as he continued. "The Amara Silva I fell in love with was a meek yet quietly strong girl. A girl who, despite her little wealth, supported charities unassumingly, without expecting recognition or reward."

"A girl who showed no disdain for the lowliest of peasants or street children, who handed out food and blankets to help them survive harsh winters. Who aided others in secret, simply for the sake of kindness. Who refused to approach me like her parents wanted, choosing instead to avoid me, even when she knew the punishment for disobedience would follow."

"I loved that Amara."

Amara\'s face turned a deep red at his words, but the warmth that rose in her cheeks quickly faded as Nathaniel\'s icy expression returned.

Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed somewhere far away as his voice carried a quiet bitterness. "Over the years, I\'ve asked myself, where has the Amara I loved gone?"

His silver eyes shifted, hardening as they settled on her. "How could she have turned into the same entitled noblewoman I\'ve always despised? How could she become this hypocritical thing standing before me now?"

Amara\'s heart cracked at his words, and she clenched her fists tightly. She tried to fight back, her voice trembling. "W-what\'s wrong with wanting the best for my child—"

"Is it really the best?" Nathaniel cut her off, his tone cool and measured. He regarded her with disappointment, his lip curling into a faint, derisive snort. "Does Acier need more wealth or status? Does she lack power or influence? Sure, it would be nice to have, but do you know what I want most for my daughter if she desires a partner? The one thing I absolutely need that person to have?"

Amara shook her head, unable to respond.

Nathaniel sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as if under the weight of his disappointment. "I want someone who sees Acier—not Acier Silva, not her wealth, her name, or her station—just her."

He leaned forward, his tone sharpening. "That boy only ever saw Acier. In fact, he disdains the Silva in her name. If anything, he would likely prefer her without it. So tell me, Amara—where else will we ever find a better man for our daughter?"

Amara\'s body trembled as she hissed, her voice venomous. "A man who can\'t stand beside a woman, a man who has nothing to offer her, is no man at all—"

"Amara."

Nathaniel\'s voice stopped her cold, but it wasn\'t the cutting tone that struck her—it was the glimmer of water in his silver eyes.

Amara\'s breath caught. She had never seen Nathaniel cry.

"Y-yes?" she stammered, her defiance slipping away.

Nathaniel shook his head and looked down at the papers scattered across his desk. His voice softened, but the words carried an unmistakable edge. "You are so overwhelmingly hideous right now, I can\'t even bear to look at you."

The words shattered her. Amara stood frozen, unmoving, as though turned to stone.

Nathaniel didn\'t glance up. Instead, he raised his voice, calling out toward the door. "Pennyworth!"

The door swung open, and Alfred entered with a bow. "Yes, sir."

"Please escort the lady to her room," Nathaniel instructed plainly, his tone devoid of emotion.

"Of course, sir." Alfred stepped forward, gently taking Amara by the arm. She followed him without resistance, moving like a lifeless puppet as he guided her out of the room.

The door closed softly behind them, leaving Nathaniel alone in the heavy silence.

He trembled for a moment, rubbing his temples and running his hands through his short silver hair in frustration. Minutes passed like this, his breathing unsteady, before he yanked open a drawer in his desk.

From within, he retrieved a blank piece of paper and an envelope.

Nathaniel stared at them, hesitating. Then, with a sharp breath, he dipped his quill into the ink and began writing. His hand moved swiftly across the page, the scratching of the pen the only sound in the room.

When he finished, he folded the paper and slid it into the envelope, sealing it with his floral fitchy stamp.

He held the envelope for a long moment, his expression conflicted. His fingers tightened around it before he bit his lip, shaking his head. With a frustrated sigh, he shoved it back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

Nathaniel leaned back, exhaling slowly. His tired sigh echoed in the empty room.

September 27, 1600:

Lux slammed into the wall, blood spilling from his lips as he let out a hoarse gasp. Pain radiated through his body, but he forced himself to move, stumbling to his feet. His head jerked to the side, his terrified gaze locking onto Nicklaus Silva, who was approaching with slow, deliberate steps.

They were in the Old Duke\'s private study, the room darkened by the looming presence of the former Silva patriarch. Nicklaus\'s silver eyes gleamed coldly as he hovered over the trembling Kira prince.

Crouching down to meet Lux\'s gaze, Nicklaus hissed through clenched teeth, his voice laced with venom. "I\'d even dare to kill your brother. So tell me, where did trash like you find the courage to lay a hand on my granddaughter?"

"I-I\'m sorry," Lux stammered, raising a trembling arm in a pitiful gesture of defense. "It won\'t happen again. P-please forgive me."

Nicklaus stared at him in silence for a long moment before letting out a derisive snort. "Learn your place." His voice dropped to a growl as he turned away. "Now get out of my sight, boy, before I lose what little patience I have left."

Lux didn\'t hesitate. He scrambled out of the study as fast as his legs could carry him, vowing never to set foot in Castle Silva alone again.

September 28, 1600:

Acier lay motionless on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, ignoring the figures by her bedside who were trying desperately to reach her.

"Acier, honey, talk to me," Amber Vermillion pleaded softly, cradling baby Mereoleona in her lap.

The Vermillion matriarch had taken a risk leaving Castle Vermillion amidst the ongoing civil strife. But with the Silva estate just next door and tensions easing slightly that morning, Amber seized the chance to visit Acier.

The moment she\'d heard the news, Amber knew something was terribly wrong. She had wanted to come sooner, but circumstances made it impossible. Now, sitting by Acier\'s bedside, she hoped her presence—and Mereoleona\'s cheerful antics—might lift the Silva princess\'s spirits.

Amber had noticed a flicker of light in Acier\'s eyes when the baby poked her cheek, but the moment passed quickly.

"What happened between you and Sebastian?" Amber asked gently.

At the mention of his name, tears welled in Acier\'s eyes. Amber felt a glimmer of hope—any reaction was better than silence.

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Whenever you feel ready to talk, call me. And if you need anything—anything—don\'t hesitate to ask. My husband spoils me rotten; asking him to protect one boy is hardly beyond his reach."

For a brief moment, Acier\'s eyes brightened, but the flicker faded almost instantly. Amber could see the hesitation and fear etched in her face.

Sighing, Amber rose, adjusting Mereoleona in her arms. She glanced back at Acier one last time before leaving the room. "There are plenty of people willing to help you, Acier. People who don\'t care what your grandfather thinks or how he might react."

Acier\'s tears flowed silently as the door clicked shut behind Amber. She knew Amber was right—there were people willing to help. But she also knew, with bone-deep certainty, the kind of man Nicklaus Silva was. The kind of insane uncaring maniac he was.

And because of that, she couldn\'t risk dragging Amber or her family into his wrath.

—

Amber returned to Castle Vermillion, but instead of heading to her or Mereoleona\'s room, she veered in the opposite direction, making her way to her brother-in-law\'s quarters.

She didn\'t bother knocking. Instead, she swung the door open and stepped inside casually.

The sight that greeted her made her pause.

Aurelia and Florian were seated close together on Florian\'s bed—far closer than Amber had expected.

Bringing a hand to her mouth, she spoke with mock incredulity, her tone teasing and sly. "Oh my, am I interrupting something?"

Baby Mereoleona, held snugly in her mother\'s arms, grinned approvingly at the duo.

Aurelia and Florian flushed instantly, their expressions a mix of embarrassment and surprise.

"It\'s not like that!" Aurelia burst out, her voice defensive.

Amber chuckled, shaking her head. "I know, I know. I\'m just kidding."

She stepped forward, her gaze shifting between the two before settling on Florian. Turning back to Aurelia, she raised an eyebrow. "Well, it seems someone beat me to my idea."

Aurelia stiffened at the comment, her playful embarrassment replaced by a somber, determined look.

September 29, 1600:

Aurelia and Florian stood cloaked in shadows, hidden in an alleyway in Kikka. Their gazes were fixed on Sebastian, who moved like a ghost among the living.

His body was hunched, his movements mechanical as he tended to patients with lifeless precision. His dull, colorless eyes mirrored an empty shell of a man.

The Sebastian they had seen once before—at Acier\'s ceremony—had been quiet and reserved, yes, but he had still been vibrant, radiant in his own way. Now, this figure before them seemed like a completely different person.

Aurelia bit her lip, unable to stop herself from seeing Sebastian\'s broken form overlap with her sister\'s.

Florian studied Sebastian for a moment longer before turning to Aurelia, his voice low and deliberate. "Alright. I\'ll go talk to him now and invite him to House Vermillion—"

"Wait." Aurelia\'s voice cut through the air, her hand grabbing his arm. She shook her head urgently. "No. Don\'t do it."

Florian froze, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Aurelia, isn\'t this what you and Acier asked of me? To bring him under our protection?"

She nodded. "I did... but..."

"But what?" Florian pressed gently, his patience unwavering.

Aurelia hesitated, her voice soft when she finally spoke. "Until now, I\'ve only thought about my sister—her pain, her perspective. I never stopped to consider that he could be hurting just as much. Maybe even more."

She clenched her fists. "Both my sister and Sebastian are suffering because of my grandfather, because of my family. And because of that, I want my family—our House—to try and fix this mess first. Our mess. Before shamelessly leaning on yours."

Florian paused, then offered her a warm smile. "We care for Acier too, Aurelia. We want to help. You don\'t have to hold back with us."

Aurelia returned his smile, soft but resolute. "And that\'s exactly why I can\'t take advantage of your kindness." She exhaled deeply. "Please, give my family a chance to handle this ourselves."

Florian studied her for a moment before nodding. "Of course."

Aurelia\'s smile brightened, but a faint blush crept onto her cheeks. She fidgeted nervously before murmuring, "N-now that we\'re here, do you... maybe... want to get something to eat?"

Florian\'s face flushed as well, and he nodded quickly with an audible gulp. "S-sure. No problem."

The Silva princess and Vermillion prince walked off together, their first "date" unfolding in the streets of Kikka. Of course, if anyone were to ask, they\'d adamantly deny it, insisting it was just an outing between friends.

Friends. Yes, that\'s all they were.

—

Later That Evening

Rap. Rap. Rap.

Nathaniel Silva glanced up from his paperwork, his sharp eyes narrowing at the rhythmic knock on his office door. Recognizing the familiar mana on the other side, he resumed his stoic demeanor and spoke calmly.

"Come in, Aurelia."

The younger Silva princess stepped in quietly, closing the door behind her. Her movements were hesitant as she approached her father\'s desk, her hands clutching the hem of her dress.

Nathaniel raised an imperceptible brow as Aurelia curtsied deeply, bowing her head like a servant.

"My lord," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "please help my sister."

The air grew cold as Nathaniel\'s icy stare bore into her. Aurelia fidgeted under the weight of his gaze, gritting her teeth.

If this doesn\'t work, I\'ll just have to lean on Florian.

After what felt like an eternity, Nathaniel\'s voice broke the silence. "Rise."

Aurelia straightened, her heart pounding as she tried to read her father\'s expression. He gave her a curt nod.

"Very well."

Aurelia blinked in surprise, a smile breaking across her face as she moved to curtsy again. "Thank you, my—"

"Aurelia." Nathaniel\'s tone was sharp, stopping her in her tracks. His disapproving gaze softened slightly. "Never act so formally with me again unless the situation demands it."

"You are my daughter, not my servant. I am your father, not your master. If you need something, ask. Never beg me for anything."

His voice grew quieter, tinged with something almost nostalgic.

Aurelia froze, her cheeks flushing faintly. She nodded softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mmm-hmm... Father."

Nathaniel nodded. "Good. Now, unless there\'s anything else..."

Aurelia shook her head quickly, her demeanor relaxing as she waved him off. "See you at dinner, Father." She turned and darted out of the room.

As the door closed behind her, Nathaniel sat back in his chair. For the briefest moment, a fond smile flickered across his face before disappearing into the shadows of his usual stoicism.

—

After Dinner

"You wished to see me, sir?" Alfred bowed respectfully, his posture crisp and practiced as he stood before Nathaniel. The Silva patriarch regarded his head servant from across his desk, his expression unreadable.

A long moment passed before Nathaniel nodded and reached to the side, pulling open a drawer. From within, he retrieved an envelope sealed with the pristine floral fitchy crest, its elegance understated but unmistakable.

He handed it to Alfred, the letter he penned days ago but hesitated to send, who accepted it with a deferential bow. "I trust you know what to do with this."

The head butler bowed deeply, his tone steady. "Of course, sir. It will be done."

—

Alfred now stood in front of a small, brown-haired boy dressed in a neatly tailored butler\'s suit, his youthful face solemn beyond his years.

Handing the envelope to the boy, Alfred spoke softly, though his tone carried respectable authority. "Jeeves, I need you to run an errand for me."

The boy bowed with precision, echoing his mentor\'s grace. "Of course, sir."

September 30, 1600

In the pale light of dawn, Sebastian trudged toward his makeshift clinical stall, its poorly rebuilt wooden frame a testament to his struggles. His feet dragged against the dirt, his back hunched like a man carrying an unbearable weight, and who had nothing left in his tank.

Each step was mechanical, lifeless. When he finally reached the stall, he prepared to begin his routine: taking off his bag, setting out his tools, and existing as the shell of the man he once was.

But he stopped.

At the hidden edge of his stall lay an envelope.

His breath caught in his throat as his gaze fell upon the seal—a pristine floral fitchy stamp. He would recognize it anywhere.

His hands trembled slightly as he picked it up, the faintest flicker of light igniting in his hollow eyes. He glanced around, ensuring no one was watching, before crouching beneath his stall.

From his pocket, he pulled out the knife he had earned and carried since his first day in business—a memento of better days. With careful precision, he used it to cut open the envelope.

Inside was a sheet of expensive paper, folded neatly in two. He unfolded it slowly, almost reverently, and began to read.

And then he read it again.

And again.

Each time, the light in his eyes grew brighter, the void in his chest receding ever so slightly.

The words on the page were simple, yet they carried a symbolism that made his chest tighten. They were not explicit, not overly sentimental, in fact they were nothing of the sort, more like an invitation or order to make an appearance. They held not an ounce of emotion or sentimentality but they seemed to contain everything he had longed to hear.

Begrudging acceptance, a blessing, a permission, assurance, and even perhaps a guarantee. n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Sebastian bit his lip, his disbelief mingling with an overwhelming sense of relief. He exhaled shakily, suppressing the urge to cry.

Tears could wait.

By the time he folded the letter carefully and returned it to its envelope, his ocean-blue eyes were once again vivid and alive. He tucked the envelope away, out of sight, treating it like the lifeline it had become.

For the rest of the day, his regular patients were greeted with something they hadn\'t seen in over ten days—a warm, genuine smile.

The cold, lifeless automaton had vanished, replaced by the man they once knew. Their doctor was back.

Sebastian had something to look forward to.

Tonight.

Sebastian unconsciously reached his hand into his satchel, clutching the black box inside, the present he couldn\'t bear to throw away.

And he was so happy he didn\'t.

Nighttime

Acier lay curled on her bed, staring listlessly out the windowsill. The starry night sky, which once left her breathless with wonder, now felt like nothing more than an indifferent backdrop.

Her mind was a storm of despair, dark thoughts looping endlessly:

I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. But I can\'t die—if I do, he will too. I can\'t die or he will too. I can\'t die or he will too.

She was trapped in a cage of her own survival, held there by the shadow of someone else\'s suffering.

Her bleak spiral was interrupted by the sound of something hooking onto her windowsill. She blinked slowly as a grappling rope latched onto the edge, the taut cord creaking softly. Then came the faint scrape of boots against stone.

Her sluggish mind took a moment to register what was happening.

Someone was climbing into her room.

Her first thought wasn\'t of fear or even alarm. Her lips curled into a bitter, mocking smile.

Has someone come to kill me? Kidnap me? Or... use me?

The thought almost made her laugh. That\'s fine. Lux said I couldn\'t kill myself or run away. But if I\'m murdered or kidnapped... Her shoulders shook in a manic, silent laugh....he can\'t hold that against me, right?

Her thoughts spiraled further.

If this intruder uses me... then I doubt Lux would find any value in used goods. Maybe this is my way out...

But just as her mind started to embrace the idea, a cruel clarity struck her. If I die, Lux might still take out his pettiness on Sebastian.

Her breath hitched as the thought crystallized. Sebastian was only alive because of her. To Lux and Nicklaus, Sebastian was nothing more than leverage—a hostage to keep her in line. If she were gone, they\'d have no reason to spare him.

That realization jolted Acier upright, her joints groaning from days of malnutrition. The bed creaked heavily under her sudden movement.

She tried to scream, but her dry throat betrayed her. No sound came out. Her head jerked toward the bedside table, her trembling hands reaching for the glass of water. It was empty.

With shaking fingers, she grabbed the pitcher and, instead of pouring a glass, drank straight from it. Water spilled down her chin and throat, soaking her nightgown.

The pitcher slipped from her weak grip, shattering loudly on the floor. Water splattered everywhere, glinting faintly in the moonlight.

Her eyes darted toward the door, half-expecting her guards to burst in. But there was no response.

Of course not.

She didn\'t need them anyway. With her throat clear, she opened her mouth to scream and scare off the intruder. "Ah—"

Her voice caught in her throat as her body stiffened.

The figure climbed through the window and into her room. She froze, her heart hammering in her chest as the intruder straightened.

She knew who it was.

The face that haunted her every waking thought and sleepless dream.

Her eyes welled up, tears threatening to spill from a well that should have run dry. Her lips trembled as her voice escaped in a weak whimper.

"W-why are you here...?"

That simple question carried the weight of all her despair.

Why are you doing this? Don\'t you know you\'ll die if you\'re caught? Why won\'t you leave me alone? Why do you keep acting so recklessly? Don\'t you know who I\'m enduring all this for?

"P-please... go away," she pleaded, her voice cracking like a beggar asking for mercy.

Sebastian didn\'t flinch. His expression was cold, indifferent as he stepped toward her. His gaze swept over her frail frame, noting the way her once elegant figure had wasted away to something pitiable.

His eyes darkened.

"It\'s my turn to speak," he said, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the tension like a blade. "You just shut up and listen."

Acier froze, her body trembling under his unyielding stare.

Author\'s Notes:

[1] During Medieval Times (15th/16th) century the Madonna Lily (Lilium candidum), amongst other lilies was one of the most expensive flowers, prized for their beauty and rarity.

The Madonna Lily is closely associated with the Virgin Mary in Christian symbolism, representing purity, innocence, and motherhood. Its association with the divine made it a significant flower in religious art and iconography during the medieval period.

Perhaps that could clue you in on why Lux sent these flowers to her.

[2] As always feel free to join the discord at: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar