Chapter 3
The hour was close to midnight when Elira slipped out of the luxurious room. The corridors of Dravencourt Manor were cloaked in silence, but not peace. Each flickering lantern along the wall cast long, haunting shadows that stretched like ghostly fingers.
She walked carefully, following the route a silent maid had whispered to her hours ago. Her thoughts buzzed with questions, but there was no time for hesitation. She had accepted the ring. Now she had to accept the consequences.
At the end of the hall stood a pair of blackened iron doors, carved with symbols she didn't recognize. As she approached, they opened on their own—groaning like the breath of something ancient.
Inside, the chamber was vast, circular, and lined with arcane relics. Bookshelves rose to the ceiling. Weapons hung on the walls like trophies. An ominous red glow pulsed from the center, where a raised platform was surrounded by cloaked figures.
Kael stood in the center, his presence dominating even among masked advisors. He did not smile. He didn't even acknowledge her arrival.
"You're late," he said, without turning.
Elira stepped forward, chin raised. "I had to consider whether walking into a trap was worth it."
That earned a sharp chuckle from one of the cloaked figures. Another muttered, "She has more spine than the last one."
Kael finally turned. His crimson gaze locked with hers, but he said nothing of approval or disdain.
"This chamber," he said, "is where all oaths are tested. Every ally. Every advisor. Every bride."
He stepped aside, revealing a man kneeling at the center of the platform. His head was bowed, hands bound, and blood trickled from his temple.
"A spy," one of the masked figures said. "He tried to sell our defensive records to the eastern lords."
Elira's stomach turned. She didn't know this man. But she knew what was coming.
Kael looked at her. "You say you are loyal. That you are ready to wear the title of Duchess. Then prove it."
He nodded to a masked woman, who stepped forward and placed a dagger in Elira's hand.
The blade was simple. Sharp. Real.
"Kill the traitor," Kael said.
Elira's grip tightened around the hilt. Her breath came slower, shallower. This wasn't an act. This wasn't politics. This was blood.
And every eye in the room was watching her.
She stepped toward the kneeling man. He raised his head slightly, and their eyes met. There was no pleading in his expression. Only despair.
She didn't want to do it.
But she knew too well what mercy cost.
Elira raised the dagger.
Just as her hand came down, a flash of movement shot across the chamber. Steel clashed. Sparks flew. The man twisted violently, breaking free of his restraints.
Gasps echoed.
In a blink, he had a blade of his own—snatched from a guard—and was lunging straight for her throat.
Elira didn't think. Her body moved on instinct, twisting to the side. The dagger in her hand plunged deep—not into his chest, but his side. Blood sprayed across her arm.
He collapsed.
She stared, stunned, breathless.
Kael stepped forward and pulled her back. "You passed," he said flatly, signaling the guards.
"But I didn't kill him," she whispered.
Kael's eyes glittered. "You survived. That's worth more than blind obedience."
Behind them, the cloaked figures murmured in approval. One leaned to another. "She might actually be useful."
As the guards dragged the dying man away, Elira stood still in the pool of blood, fingers clenched around the now-stained blade.
Her new life had just begun.
And already, it demanded blood.
🔮 Next Chapter Preview – Chapter 4: Dinner with the Devil
After surviving the test, Elira is summoned not to rest… but to dine. A formal dinner with Kael and the heads of his house turns into a political battlefield. But amidst the masked smiles and veiled threats, a name from her past is mentioned.
One she never expected to hear again.
As Kael pours her a glass of wine, his words freeze the blood in her veins.
"You knew Thorne Drestin, didn't you?"