“Is this your new trick? Crying now?” Marek’s voice was sharp, laced with contempt. “You failed to use Lunara against me, so now you resort to false tears?”
My chest burned.
Anger surged so fast it almost stole my breath.
“How dare you—” I wrenched my wrist free from his grip. “Don’t you ever mention her name again!”
His brows drew together. “Where is she? I haven’t seen Lunara since yesterday.”
Only then did it seem to register in his mind that something was wrong.
I let out a cold laugh. “So you finally noticed.”
“You insane woman!” His voice rose. “Where is she?”
Panic flickered in his eyes as he looked toward Lunara’s chamber.
“I told you,” I said slowly, every word like ice, “she’s gone.”
That single word snapped something in him.
Marek seized a nearby maid by the arm. “Bring the child downstairs!”
The maid froze. She did not move. She could not even meet his eyes.
His grip tightened.
“Answer me!”
The maid trembled, silent.
Before I could speak again, Marek released her and stormed up the stairs himself, his boots striking the wood like thunder.
Moments later, I heard it.
Silence.
Then—
His voice, cracked.
“No… where is she?”
He came back down slower this time.
His face had lost color.
“Where is Lunara?” he demanded, grabbing another maid. “Where did you hide her?”
The girl shook in his grasp, terrified and speechless.
“Let her go,” I said sharply. “She will not answer you.”
Marek turned on me, fury returning like fire. “What have you done?”
Before I could answer, Araminta stepped forward, her voice soft and dripping with false concern.
“Lyanna… you are going too far. Do not separate a child from her father.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
“You?” I looked at her coldly. “Concerned now?”
Marek’s jaw tightened. “Stop this nonsense. Tell me where she is.”
I met his eyes without blinking. “If you are so desperate, then go and find her yourself.”
His hand moved faster than I expected.
A summoning crystal was crushed in his palm, sending a sharp pulse through the bond network of the manor.
“My daughter is missing,” he barked into it. “Find her. Now.”
The hall filled with tense silence.
I sat down slowly, as if my bones had finally given up on carrying me.
Minutes passed.
Too quiet.
Too heavy.
Then his crystal flared again.
Marek answered immediately.
At first, I could not hear the words clearly—only the shift in his expression.
Confusion.
Then disbelief.
Then something like terror.
“No…” he whispered. “That cannot be right.”
His hand trembled.
“What did you say?”
A voice came again through the crystal, firm and final.
“The child is dead. On her naming day. Poisoned by a nut-based curse.”
The world seemed to tilt.
Marek’s eyes snapped to me.
But he was not looking at me anymore.
He was looking through me.
“This is a mistake,” he said hoarsely. “This is impossible.”
Then the voice continued, colder this time.
“It was no accident. Someone guided the child to it. Evidence has been delivered to your chamber.”
Marek lowered the crystal slowly.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then he opened it.
A glow of runes flickered into the air.
An image formed.
Araminta.
And a recorded echo—her voice, unmistakable, giving the command.
The hall went silent.
Even the wolves outside seemed to stop howling.
