Chapter 408: He’s dead

Third-person POV

Irina’s voice came out low and strained, almost like she didn’t mean to say it out loud, but the words still slipped past her lips before she could stop them. “Oh shit.”

The moment Electra heard the words that came out of Irina, she turned her head toward her immediately, her sharp gaze locking on her face as if trying to pull an answer out of her without needing to say much. There was something in Irina’s expression that wasn’t there before, something heavy and uneasy, and it made the tension in Electra’s chest tighten even more.

“Do you know who that is?” Electra asked, her voice calm on the surface, but there was an edge to it that made it clear she needed an answer as quickly as possible.

She didn’t look back at the body right away. Instead, she kept her eyes on Irina, watching her carefully, like she was bracing herself for whatever was about to come next.

Irina hesitated, just for a second, but it was enough to say everything. When she finally spoke, her voice had softened in a way that carried something close to pity, something that made the moment feel a lot more heavy than it already was. “It’s your father,” she said quietly, her eyes not leaving Electra’s face. “King Vale.”

For a brief moment, the world around Electra seemed to pause, like everything had slowed down just enough for those words to sink in deeper than they should have. She didn’t remember him, she didn’t know him, she didn’t have a single memory tied to that name or that face, and yet, the moment Irina said it, something inside her reacted in a way she couldn’t control or explain. The pain in her chest came back stronger, sharper, like something had been forced open inside her without warning, and her hand moved instinctively to press against it again as if she could hold it together.

Her breathing shifted slightly, uneven for a moment as she tried to steady herself, but the feeling didn’t go away. It stayed there, heavy and unfamiliar, making her feel like something was wrong even though she couldn’t fully understand why.

Irina noticed immediately. “Electra?” she asked, her voice filled with concern now as she stepped slightly closer. “Are you okay?”

Electra shook her head without thinking, her brows pulling together slightly as she tried to understand what was happening to her. “I don’t… think so,” she admitted, her voice quieter than before, like she wasn’t fully present anymore.

She didn’t wait for Irina to respond again. Instead, she started to move, her steps slow at first, almost hesitant, but then more certain as she walked toward the body that was being carried out. Her eyes locked on the stretcher, and from that moment on, nothing else seemed to exist. The guards around her shifted slightly to make space, their movements careful, almost cautious, but Electra didn’t notice them. Her focus stayed on the man lying there, still and unmoving, as if the rest of the world had faded into the background.

When she finally reached them, the guards hesitated again, clearly unsure of what to do, but no one dared to stop her. Slowly, they lowered the stretcher just enough for her to see him properly, and for the first time, Electra looked directly at the face of the man who was supposed to be her father. He looked calm in a way that didn’t feel right, his features still, his skin pale, and there was something about the sight that made the pain in her chest twist even tighter.

She didn’t recognize him, not in the way someone should recognize their parent, but there was still something there, something faint and hard to explain. It felt like looking at something that should matter more than it did, like there was a missing piece she couldn’t reach. She stood there for a long moment, just staring at him, her expression blank, but her eyes holding something deeper, something that didn’t match the calm on her face.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a thought formed slowly, uninvited but clear. If she had her memories, this would hurt more. A lot more. Even if things between them hadn’t been perfect, even if there had been distance or conflict, this would not feel this empty. The pain in her chest was proof of that, even if it didn’t make sense to her.

After a while, she lifted her gaze, her eyes moving to the men who were carrying him. They looked tense and uncomfortable under her stare, and when she spoke, her voice was low and controlled, but there was something sharp beneath it that made both of them stiffen.

“Who did this?” she asked.

The two guards exchanged a quick glance, their confusion clear, but so was their fear. One of them shifted slightly, his mouth opening like he wanted to answer, but no words came out. It was obvious that they didn’t know how to respond, or maybe they were too afraid to say the wrong thing.

Before either of them could try again, another voice spoke from behind.

“It was a servant.”

Electra didn’t need to turn to know who it was, but she did anyway, slowly, her gaze settling on Jella as she stood there, composed and controlled in a way that felt almost unnatural given the situation. Her posture was perfect, her expression carefully arranged, and even though she looked like she was addressing a tragedy, there was something about her that didn’t quite match the moment.

“A young servant girl,” Jella continued, her tone steady and measured, as if she had already gone over this explanation in her head more than once. “We don’t know what drove her to do something like this, and unfortunately, we never will.”

She paused slightly, her eyes flickering toward the body before returning to Electra, and for a second, something unreadable passed through her expression before it was gone again.

“She took her own life right after,” Jella added, her voice carrying just enough weight to sound appropriate. “So whatever her reasons were, they died with her.”

There was a brief silence after that, but Jella didn’t stop there. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her gaze steady as she spoke again. “If you want to see for yourself, you can,” she said. “Her body is still inside the room.”

Electra didn’t move. She didn’t even acknowledge the offer.

Her eyes dropped back to her father’s face, lingering there as if she were trying to find something she couldn’t name. The stillness of his features, the finality of it all, it didn’t feel real, and yet it was right there in front of her.

After a moment, she turned back to Jella, and this time, there was no calm in her eyes. Her gaze was colder now, sharper, and when she spoke, her voice didn’t try to soften what she was feeling.

“Did you know,” Electra said slowly, “that the dead can talk?”

The question hung in the air, and for the first time since she started speaking, Jella looked genuinely confused. Her brows pulled together slightly, her expression shifting as if she didn’t quite understand what Electra meant.

“I understand that you’re in shock,” Jella replied after a moment, her tone calm again, almost too calm, like she was trying to guide the conversation back into something safe. “This is not something anyone can accept easily, especially not when it involves someone close to them.”

She took a small step forward, her posture still composed, her voice even. “But I hope you don’t let grief cloud your judgment,” she continued. “The dead do not speak, Electra.”

Electra didn’t respond. She just stared at her, her expression unreadable, but her silence carried more intensity than any words could have.

Jella let out a quiet breath, her gaze shifting briefly before returning to Electra, and when she spoke again, her tone changed slightly, becoming more formal, more controlled in a different way.

“This is a tragedy,” she said. “And because of it, certain things must take priority.”

She paused just long enough for her words to settle before continuing. “The council of elders has already been informed,” she added. “The entire kingdom will now begin preparations for the king’s funeral.”

Her eyes stayed locked on Electra’s, watching her carefully as she spoke the next part. “So the meeting you requested with the council… will have to wait,” Jella said, her voice steady, but there was something deliberate in the way she phrased it.

Another pause followed. “Unless, of course,” she added slowly, “you believe your plans are more important than showing respect to your father.”

The words stayed between them, and for a moment, the entire space seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Electra to respond, but she didn’t.

She just stood there, her gaze fixed on Jella, her silence saying more than anything else could.

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