The halls of the mansion lay draped in silence, the air thick with tension. Perfect.
Celyne moved through the dark corridors without sound, each step measured, her silk nightdress brushing faintly against her bare legs. Behind her, Daisy followed, small and uncertain, her breaths quick and uneven. The girl understood enough to be afraid, though not yet enough to know why.
Good. Fear would keep her quiet.
Tonight was the culmination of too many years spent waiting, watching, enduring. Every chain she had worn until now would be broken by morning.
Finally, Celyne thought, her gaze sharp as it slid across the empty halls. After all this time, freedom is within reach.
They passed deeper into the private wing. Fewer servants ventured here, especially after dark. Only those closest to her father, or foolish enough to think themselves so,would dare.
And tonight, one of those was otherwise occupied.
A soft, rhythmic moan slipped through the still air as they neared a lesser hall. Celyne slowed her pace, tilting her head slightly, listening.
Yes. The sound came from a closet tucked out of sight, the noises unmistakable. Flesh against flesh, rising in tempo.
Her lips curved in a faint smile.
So, the boy does his part after all. Better than I expected.
Behind her, Daisy's steps faltered. The girl flushed deeply, her gaze flickering toward Celyne in silent question.
Celyne did not answer, nor did she slow for long. There was no need to explain what both of them could clearly hear. Instead, she resumed her stride, voice still and composed.
One more corner. One more door.
They reached it soon enough: the grand entrance to Lord Pracius's private chambers. Normally, two guards would stand here, sharp-eyed and stone-faced. Tonight, there were none. Mariel was absent, exactly as planned.
Celyne's smile deepened, though only for a breath.
She stopped before the heavy doors, fingers tracing the ornate wood with deliberate grace. Behind her, Daisy hesitated, visibly shaken.
Finally, the girl found her voice. Barely a whisper. "Lady Celyne… what are we about to do?"
Celyne turned, violet eyes gleaming in the light. "Finish something long overdue," she said, calm as glass. Her tone allowed no further question.
Daisy swallowed hard but followed as the doors swung open.
The stench of wine and sweat greeted them first. Opulence turned sour.
Pracius lay sprawled across his great bed, one bloated arm hanging over the edge, snores echoing through the vast chamber. Silk sheets tangled beneath his bulk, stained with spilled wine. Empty bottles littered the floor around him.
Celyne stepped forward, her movements unhurried, controlled. Each pace brought her closer to the bed, and to freedom.
Behind her, Daisy lingered near the door, pale as a ghost.
The sight of Pracius stirred no pity. No hesitation. Only a cold, quiet certainty.
This man was never my father. Only my jailer.
Years spent watching him rot from the inside out had prepared her for this. If there had ever been a seed of doubt, it had withered long ago.
A soft gasp broke the silence. Daisy had edged forward, face white with horror. "You… you are going to kill him?"
Celyne turned her gaze toward the girl, drawing a slender dagger from beneath her nightdress. The blade gleamed silver in the candlelight, its curved edge honed to perfection.
"He is not even my real father," she said quietly, voice steady as she weighed the dagger in her hand. "I owe him nothing but this."
Daisy clapped a trembling hand over her mouth, eyes wide with disbelief.
"But-"
Celyne's voice sharpened, cutting through the air. "Do not fear. You will be rewarded well for your loyalty."
Satisfied by Daisy's frantic nod, Celyne turned back to the bed.
Pracius shifted in his sleep, a gurgling snore rattling through his throat. Sweat gleamed on his brow, the stench of cheap wine clinging to his skin.
Celyne moved closer, one smooth step at a time, until she stood over him. Her grip on the dagger tightened, precise and calm.
She raised it without hesitation, placing the tip beneath his ribs.
A single thrust. Clean. Silent.
The blade slid through flesh and muscle as though through water.
Pracius jerked once, eyes flying open in shock, mouth opening to gasp, but no sound came.
Celyne met his gaze as the life drained from it. There was no hatred there. No triumph. Only cold certainty.
He twitched once more, a soft gurgle rising from his throat.
Then nothing.
She withdrew the blade with practiced grace, wiping it on the soiled sheets before slipping it back beneath her gown.
For a moment, the chamber seemed to breathe around her, as though the very walls acknowledged the shift.
One chain broken.
She turned toward Daisy, who stood frozen, trembling against the doorframe.
"Tell no one," Celyne said softly, voice now like velvet over steel. "Not yet."
Daisy's lips parted. She swallowed hard. "I… I understand."
Celyne's eyes gleamed faintly. "Good. Be patient. The house will soon be mine."
With that, she crossed the room in fluid strides, never once looking back at the corpse in the bed.
There was no need.
What remained of Lord Pracius was no longer her concern.