The dark hall was wrapped in silence. Only the soft sound of wine swirling in the glass broke the monotony of the early morning. Seated in his black leather armchair, Lord Dorian Gracefall, Patriarch of House Gracefall, was mechanically organizing a pile of documents on his desk.
"Hmmm… she really left," murmured a soft, almost lazy voice.
From the ceiling, the shadows — or perhaps from somewhere between the walls — a slender figure descended, moving with such feline grace that it barely disturbed the air around him. He wore tight black clothes, his face partially hidden by a crow-shaped mask, but his eyes… large and childlike, carried a bold, intimate expression.
"Elisa left the house. With that maid… Mirna," the assassin added, kneeling beside the armchair with a teasing grin. "Would you like me to follow them?"
Dorian didn't answer right away. He simply brought the glass to his lips and slowly savored the wine, as if tasting the question.
"No," he finally replied.
The assassin narrowed his eyes, his voice now curious, almost childlike:
"Hm? Aaron's sister… and the treacherous Mirna… free? Isn't that dangerous? Tell me, my lord… why let them go?"
The patriarch raised an eyebrow, as if weighing the boldness of the question — then sighed.
"Because… Aaron loved them." His tone was low, but firm. "And Aaron… was everything this family should have been. Strong. Free. Brave. He defied the elders, defied me… did what I never had the courage to do."
The assassin moved closer, now sitting cross-legged on the carpet beside the armchair like a cat listening to its master, amused and attentive.
"Then why didn't you help Elisa when she suffered at their hands? When the Gracefall children spat hatred at her?" he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.
Dorian slowly turned his face to him. His eyes, cold as ice, seemed to freeze the room for a moment.
"Because if I had defended her openly… she would have been destroyed." His voice was deep, rough. "Showing favoritism back then would have sealed her fate. Bullying would've been the least of it. Elisa would've been poisoned and killed. I protected her the only way I could."
"Hmmm… interesting," purred the assassin, smiling. "And Mirna? Was it the same reason?"
"Why do you think I allowed Mirna…" said the Patriarch, leaning back with a bored look, "…the best maid this house ever had, to care for Elisa?"
The assassin raised his eyebrows, feigning exaggerated surprise.
"Ahh… so it was you who ordered that? What a kind man…"
"Watch your tongue," growled the Patriarch, resting his elbow on the armrest. "Or I'll have to cut it off."
The assassin grinned widely, his eyes gleaming beneath the mask.
"Ahh… cut off my tongue?" he whispered, leaning closer to the Patriarch's leg. "But it's so… talented."
With his right hand, he raised his fingers to his face and closed them around an invisible object, as if holding something imagined. His tongue slowly slipped between his lips, running across them with a lasciviousness that was almost comical — but rehearsed. He began to move his head in a slow, steady rhythm, eyes locked onto Dorian's, as if asking for approval… or provoking punishment.
The gesture lasted only a few seconds — enough to paint the intention without ever naming it.
Then he stopped, flashed a childlike smile, and murmured:
"It would be such a waste to squander my talents…"
Dorian remained still for a moment. Then, with measured calm, he swirled the wine in his glass again. His eyes, however, were fixed on the creature before him — and the tension in the air was thicker than the silence.
"I haven't decided yet," he murmured. "Perhaps I should test you first."
Dorian's eyes were cold and relentless, making it clear he wasn't joking.
The assassin shivered slightly. Not from fear, but from excitement. Then he smiled again, letting go of the teasing for now and returning to the original topic.
"Even so… if you truly care about them, why let them go now?"
Dorian narrowed his eyes.
"Are you really questioning my decisions, Nacht?"
"Me?" Nacht placed a hand on his chest, mock-offended. "I'm just a curious little kitty..."
"If you weren't my right hand… you'd be dead already," the patriarch declared, in a tone that was half threat, half reminder. The assassin's slender body shivered — not from dread, but from restrained delight.
Silence.
"The truth," the Patriarch continued, lazily scanning the documents on his desk, "is that they would be in greater danger here. Aaron is dead… and that left Elisa vulnerable. Some elders have already started making moves. They want to force her into a political marriage — after all, she carries the blood of the legendary hero."
He dropped the papers.
"And Mirna…" he added, as if whispering a secret to the fire, "…carries his child."
Nacht raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised.
"So that's what she's hiding… that's why her aura's distorted."
"She used magic to suppress the pregnancy, but it won't last forever. And once they find out… Aaron's child will become a tool."
He looked at the assassin, eyes cold and calculating.
"I let them go. Because even if Mirna is irreplaceable… the world is vast. And Elisa… is the last thing of value Aaron left in this world. Letting her be caged would be spitting on his sacrifice."
For a moment, Nacht was silent. Then, without asking permission, he climbed onto the patriarch's lap — with the same feline grace he used to cross rooftops — and settled there like an intimate, spoiled lover.
"If you care so much about repaying favors, my lord…" he whispered, fingers slipping beneath the collar of Dorian's tunic, "…you should repay mine too."
"Hm?"
"I stayed up all night watching over those two. I could be sleeping now… or doing far more interesting things." Nacht brushed his lips near the patriarch's neck. "I deserve a reward."
Dorian let out a tired sigh, closing his eyes for a moment as if pondering:
"...What should I do with you?"
Nacht smiled, his answer coming as a bold whisper:
"Anything… as long as it involves your hands."
"Nacht." Dorian's voice dropped like a stone.
The assassin was still on his lap, toying with the buttons of his tunic, as if waiting for the right moment to undo them. "Yes, my lord?"
"Some elders want to marry Elisa to Maltheor's son. A fool with a title and no talent."
Nacht froze, the smile fading for a moment. "Ah… the little eugenicist from Velarion. He still thinks pure lineage matters more than skill. How dull."
Dorian took his chin between his fingers.
"If you want to serve me, find out who those elders are. If you want to please me… eliminate the problem."
Nacht slowly licked his lower lip, and the smile returned. "If you let me sleep in your room tonight… I can do both."
With those words, Nacht slipped off his lap with an almost offensive grace, his knees touching the carpet as if about to pray — but not to any gods.
With his head bowed for a moment, he looked submissive. But then he raised his gaze — and the lascivious smile spread across his delicate face.
"You're going to leave me here, so alone, so needy…" He sighed, bringing his face close to Dorian's legs, his lips almost brushing the fabric. "Without even… testing my loyalty?"
The cold hand slid up the patriarch's thigh, stopping just a centimeter from his groin. "Do you really think I'm only good with daggers?"
A wicked gleam danced in his eyes. "Tell me, my lord… don't you miss my tongue?"
Dorian's hand rose slowly, carrying a quiet confidence — and then gripped Nacht's chin between his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze.
The assassin's eyes gleamed, somewhere between desire and anticipation.
"You talk too much when you're needy," said the Patriarch, in a tone that could have been affection or threat.
Nacht smiled, lips slightly parted. "But it's when I'm needy that I become… most obedient."
Dorian leaned in, closing the distance until their eyes were just a breath apart. Nacht bent slightly to meet him, like a dog eager for its master's crumbs.
But the kiss never came.
The Patriarch only squeezed his chin with sudden force — enough to draw a soft gasp from the assassin, more from surprise than pain.
"Do what I told you," he whispered, cold. "Find out who else wants to use my niece as a bargaining chip. Eliminate anyone who deserves to be eliminated."
Nacht gasped, his eyes sparkling like a child who's just been promised dessert.
"And if I do all that… properly?" he teased, voice a warm whisper against Dorian's lips.
The Patriarch released his chin with a slow, controlled gesture — as if sparing him out of boredom, not mercy.
"Then," he said, returning to the armchair, "maybe I'll let you sleep at the foot of my bed tonight."
Nacht stepped back with a light, almost childlike laugh. He walked to the window and, with an acrobatic spin, vanished into the shadows, leaving only a whisper behind:
"At the foot? How cruel, my lord… But I wasn't planning to sleep anyway, so it makes no difference."
With Nacht's departure, the dark hall returned to silence. Dorian continued organizing the pile of documents on his desk with the same mechanical motions as before, as if he had always been alone in that room and any other presence had merely been an illusion.
As he lost himself in the monotony of his work, Dorian's mind began to wander through his memories.
---
In the back garden, many years ago — a boy was covered in dirt, his fists bloody.
It was ten-year-old Aaron.
The noble now lying unconscious in the bushes had to be twice his age — and three times as arrogant. Dorian remembered thinking, at the time, that the boy would have to be severely punished for it. After all, he had attacked the son of a member of the Gracefall inner council. And why?
"He called my mother street trash," said the boy, his mouth still smeared with blood. "He said her son didn't deserve the Gracefall name. So I broke his teeth. It was fair."
Dorian said nothing at the time. He simply watched. The boy was trembling. Not with fear. But with restrained rage. His eyes, identical to his late brother's, burned like embers.
It was a gaze one couldn't forget.
That day, for the first time, Dorian wondered if perhaps, just perhaps… the boy could become something more than a burden.
---
Weeks later, the news came.
The woman — a commoner, widow of his brother — had died giving birth to the second child.
Elisa.
A sickly child. Fragile. Struggled to breathe.
Aaron, just ten years old, was trying to feed her with a crooked bottle and sheets stained with milk. He refused any help from the servants. He had been awake for two days.
Dorian watched from afar. And for the first time… intervened.
He ordered a maid to be sent to care for the two. But not just any maid.
He wanted someone new. Free from old loyalties. Free from preconceived opinions.
Someone moldable. Promising.
"Bring me the best among the new maids," he ordered. "I want to see what she's made of."
That was how Mirna appeared in his office for the first time. Young. Proud. Impeccable posture. A recent graduate with perfect marks, recommended by the very instructors of the Royal Service Institute.
And absolutely full of herself.
"Taking care of an orphan and a sick child? That's beneath my qualifications, my lord," she said, lifting her chin with the pride of a noble.
Dorian wasn't offended. He simply leaned back in his chair and studied the girl before him.
"Do you believe you're the best, Mirna?" he asked calmly.
"I am the best."
"Then prove it. Make two children cursed by this family survive. Thrive. And if you fail… you'll spend the next ten years scrubbing the stable toilets."
She trembled. Not with fear. But with wounded pride.
And she accepted.
---
The first year was difficult.
Mirna didn't hide her disdain for the work. She handled Elisa like cracked glass. Ignored her cries at night. Refused to sing lullabies.
But Aaron… Aaron was tireless. He corrected her mistakes. Called her out with a maturity absurd for someone so young. And little by little… Mirna began to listen.
To observe.
To change.
Dorian followed everything through silent reports. Notes left by butlers, scribbled comments from the older maids. Small gestures, but they told him everything he needed to know.
She started changing the baby's clothes more carefully. Singing when she thought no one was listening. Defending Aaron when other nobles tried to mock him.
She woke up earlier. Slept later.
Held the baby against her chest. Told stories.
And one day, years later, Dorian saw her smile. Truly smile, as Elisa laughed with her hands covered in paint. Aaron stood nearby, his silver hair dotted with green. They looked like an improvised little family.
That day, Dorian understood.
She had grown attached… And that was dangerous.
But… it was also inevitable.
---
As he emerged from his thoughts, Dorian realized there were no more documents left to organize on his desk.
The shadows in the room had deepened. It was clear the sun had already set.
"Damn..." Dorian's voice carried a trace of anger. "I worked into the night… again..."
He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to ease his frustration.
"Suddenly... I feel like killing a few elders." Dorian squeezed the crystal of his glass hard enough for a faint crack to cut through the silence.
His contempt was palpable. While he spent every day buried in mountains of paperwork, the elders did absolutely nothing.
The worst part was that even with all his work, he was just a figurehead — a symbol. The ones who truly held power over House Gracefall were the elders.
It was things like that that made Dorian admire Aaron for having the courage to defy the system.
It was things like that that fueled Dorian's rebellion.
"Calm down, Dorian. Your favorite kitty will be here soon with good news," he murmured to himself in an effort to stay composed. "The day of the revolution is near. You've prepared for this every day, sharpening your claws in the shadows. Soon it will be time to take what is rightfully yours as Patriarch."