Mathias stared at her for a few, suffocating seconds—his gaze a mixture of horror and absolute loathing—before he turned on his heel and walked out, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him with a finality that echoed through the hollow chambers of the palace.

​The moment the latch clicked, the stone mask Talia had worn for decades finally crumbled.

​A choked, jagged sob tore from her throat as tears began to fall—not like a lady’s quiet weeping, but like a dam breaking, a silent waterfall of grief and madness. She lifted her frail, trembling hands, staring at her palms as if the blood of the servants and her father were still wet upon them.

​"I killed them all..." she whispered, her voice cracking into a raw, pathetic sound. "I slaughtered everyone I knew for the man I loved... and in the end, he left me. He left me in this tomb."

​She clutched her chest, her fingers clawing at the silk of her nightgown.

​"Damn it all," she hissed, her grief suddenly curdling into something darker. "I can’t even love my own children. No matter how hard I try, all I feel is this... this bone-deep hatred I can’t justify."

​For a moment, she looked small, a victim of her own choices. But then, her eyes snapped open, glowing with a renewed, sickly light as the bitterness took hold once more. She began to argue with herself, her voice shifting into a venomous snarl.

​"No. They deserve the hate. Why should I love the children of a man like him? Let Mathias drown in his legacy. Let him choke on the curse until he snaps."

​A slow, twisted smile spread across her tear-stained face—a look of pure malice.

​"Let him kill that wretched girl. Olivia is nothing but a common whore who deserves to rot. I will make her suffer... and I will use my own son’s hands to do it."

Mathias walked with heavy, leaden steps. He didn’t know where he was going, or perhaps he simply didn’t want to admit that his feet were carrying him directly to the one person who could either be his salvation or his victim.

​He opened Olivia’s door without knocking. He stood there for a long moment, a dark silhouette against the moonlight, watching her. She was sitting up in bed, her gaze fixed on nothing, lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts.

​He moved toward her, his presence finally cutting through her trance.

​"Mathias?" she whispered, her voice a mix of surprise and immediate concern.

​"Did you sleep well?" he asked. His voice was flat, a cold, hollow sound that didn’t match the frantic hammering of his heart.

​"Somewhat," she replied, her eyes scanning his face. His exhaustion was a physical weight, etched into the sharp lines of his jaw and the shadows under his eyes. "And you?"

​Mathias didn’t answer. He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching down to pull off his boots with slow, deliberate movements. He unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it aside, his actions mechanical, as if he were operating on autopilot.

​"What are you doing?" Olivia asked, shifting slightly.

​"Nothing."

​Without another word, he crawled into the bed. He didn’t say anything romantic, and he didn’t offer an explanation. He simply wrapped his arms around her waist and lowered his head into her lap, burying his face against her as if trying to hide from the world outside.

​"Is everything alright, Mathias?" she asked, her hand hovering hesitantly over his hair before she finally let it rest there.

​"No," he rasped, his voice muffled against her. "Just... let me stay here with you."

He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the soft fabric of her gown. In the heavy silence of the room, the only sound was the steady, rhythmic thrum of Olivia’s heart beneath his ear. To anyone else, it was the sound of life; to Mathias, it felt like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds of a peace he no longer felt he deserved.

​"I won’t hurt you," Mathias whispered suddenly, his voice so low it was almost lost in the sheets.

​Olivia froze, her hand pausing in his hair. "What?"

​"Olivia... I truly will never hurt you," he repeated, his grip on her waist tightening as if he were fighting an invisible force. "Even if I have to kill myself to stop it."

​She looked down at him, her brow furrowed with a growing, sharp anxiety. "What are you raving about, Mathias? You’re talking in riddles."

​"Nothing," he rasped, refusing to look up. "I just... I don’t want to lose you. I truly want you."

​Olivia bit her lip. The memory of the previous night flashed behind her eyes—the way he had left her so abruptly, the cold distance that had grown between them. "Why are you saying this now? Yesterday you left me in such a strange way. Is it because of what happened with Silver? Did I disgust you?"

​Mathias let out a broken, hollow breath. "It’s not what you think, Olivia. I truly love you... so much so that if you were the one holding the blade to my heart, I would open my arms and embrace you. I would consider it an honor to die by your hand. I just... I cannot be the one to hurt you."

​Olivia stared at the wall, her throat dry. She couldn’t begin to comprehend why he was talking about hurting her, but the word ’Love’ again echoed in the room, feeling heavy and out of place.

​Love? she thought, a flicker of dark irony crossing her mind. What kind of love is he talking about? I’m the one who helped him tear a man apart and cook him just yesterday. He’s insane.

​Her fingers resumed their slow, rhythmic wandering through his soft hair. She wanted to open her mouth and demand an answer—to ask what "love" could possibly mean in a world as rotten as theirs. But then, she felt the tension leave his frame.

​His breathing became steady and slow. Despite the morning light streaming through the windows, he had surrendered to exhaustion. He fell asleep in her lap like a small child seeking shelter from a storm.

​Olivia leaned her head back against the headboard, her fingers still entwined in his dark locks. She watched him sleep, a thousand questions swirling in her mind, the loudest of them all being: What does he mean by ’I love you’?

Meanwhile, in the Western Palace...

​Alisha sat in her chamber, her hands clenched so tightly her nails drew blood from her palms. Ever since she had been transferred here—exiled, in her mind—she had been burning alive with a humiliation so hot it felt like physical fire.

​"I cannot believe it," she hissed to the empty, cold room. "He threw me out. He discarded me for a common whore like her! I, who was meant to be Empress! I, who—"

​She had been cursing the world since the hour of her arrival, her rage a deafening roar in her own ears. She was so consumed by her bile that she didn’t notice the shadow stretching across the floor, or the figure leaning against the doorframe with a twisted, mocking smile.

​"You look exhausted, Your Majesty," a voice purred, dripping with false sympathy. "Or should I simply call you Lady Alisha now?"

​Alisha spun around, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes locked onto a pair of sulfur-yellow eyes staring back at her from the gloom.

​It was Elvira.

​"Elvira?" Alisha gasped, her indignant rage momentarily replaced by a cold, sharp confusion. "What... what are you doing here? How did you get past the guards?"

​Elvira stepped into the sliver of moonlight, her yellow eyes gleaming with a predatory light that made Alisha’s skin crawl. "The guards are easily distracted when one knows what they truly hunger for. But you, Alisha... you hunger for something much more interesting. You hunger for a throne that has been stolen, don’t you?"

​"What do you mean by that?" Alisha snapped, her voice trembling between fear and a sudden, sharp curiosity.

​Elvira took a slow, deliberate step forward, her yellow eyes never leaving Alisha’s face. "Why must you exhaust yourself trying to please a man just to become Empress... when you could simply seize the crown from him?"

​Alisha froze, her mind reeling. "Wait... I don’t understand."

​"Don’t you?" Elvira’s voice was a poisonous silk. "You were the Empress. You held the keys to the imperial secrets, the inner workings of the palace, the whispers of the court. You have the keys to the crown in your very hands, Alisha. You simply never bothered to open the doors of glory for yourself."

​The words hit Alisha like a physical weight. It was logical—terrifyingly so—yet the seeds of doubt remained. She was a Noble, and she knew the world didn’t change with just words.

​"Logic isn’t enough to steal a throne," Alisha countered, her voice regaining some of its steel. "To seize the crown, you need support. You need an army of shadows and a mountain of influence. I have neither here."

​Elvira’s lips curled into a malicious, knowing grin. She leaned in closer, the scent of something ancient and cold clinging to her.

​"And are my father and I not partners of yours for years?" Elvira whispered, her yellow eyes gleaming with a triumph that made the room feel smaller. "Are we not the greatest support a woman in your position could ever ask for?"

​Alisha felt a chill run down her spine. She knew the extent of old Roland’s uncanny influence—a power that reached into corners the Emperor himself couldn’t see.

​"Roland..." Alisha breathed the name like a prayer or a curse.

​"Exactly," Elvira purred. "The crown is waiting, Lady Alisha. All you have to do is stop crying over a man who doesn’t want you, and start ruling the people who have no choice but to fear you."

Alisha tried to shake the thought from her head, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "Elvira, just leave. Seizing the throne while the Emperor still breathes... it’s madness. Just leave me be."

​But Elvira didn’t move. Instead, she glided closer, moving with the silent, predatory grace of a viper. She reached out and pressed a small, cold glass vial into Alisha’s trembling palm, her fingers lingering for a second too long.

​"Odorless. Tasteless. And so rare it is virtually undetectable," Elvira whispered, her voice a poisonous thread winding into Alisha’s mind. "It is as effective as it is discreet."

​Alisha looked down at the vial, the liquid inside shimmering innocently under the moonlight.

​"Tell me," Elvira continued, her voice dropping to a chillingly practical tone. "Wouldn’t it be much easier to seize a throne if there was no Emperor left to hold it? I believe you understand exactly what I mean."

​She then leaned in, pinning Alisha with those sulfur-yellow eyes, locking her in a gaze that felt like a physical weight.

​Alisha’s heart hammered against her ribs, her voice barely a ghost of a sound as the horrifying reality set in.

​"You..." Alisha whispered, her eyes wide with terror. "You want me to kill the Emperor?"