A sharp, derisive scoff escaped Isabella's lips.
"What did he ask of you? To end him?" She leaned in, her voice dripping with incredulity. "For heaven's sake, Olivia, do you never tire of these fabrications?"
Olivia did not flinch.
She sat draped in the shadows, lazily swirling the crimson liquid in her crystal glass.
"Do you truly believe," she began, her tone laced with a bitter edge of irony, "that I would strike down the only soul who ever offered me a shred of kindness?"
"I may be a wretch, Isabella, but I am not the monster you've painted in your mind."
She paused, watching the wine cling to the glass. "It was he who begged for the end. It was a mercy."
"Lies," Isabella spat, the word trembling with suppressed rage.
Olivia tilted her head, a cold, predatory curiosity flickering in her eyes.
"Your naivety is a marvel, my lady. Did you truly imagine him reclining in luxury behind those cold stone ramparts? Did you honestly believe they treated him as an honored guest?"
