Chapter 43: Tears of the Night

The heavy door groaned shut, leaving Olivia shrouded in the lingering silence of his departure.

A moment later, Kira slipped into the chamber like a shadow.

“My Lady,” the maid began, her voice a soft murmur of concern, “I trust you find yourself in better spirits? Shall I prepare your ensemble for the day?”

Olivia pushed back the silk duvet, the movement sharp and decisive.

“Yes, dress me. And tell me, what transpired last night, after the darkness claimed my senses?”

Kira stole a furtive glance toward the hallway, ensuring the Duke’s footsteps had long faded before leaning in close. Her eyes danced with a spark of suppressed excitement.

“You shall hardly credit it, My Lady! His Grace personally banished Miss Isabella from your chambers.”

She leaned closer. “He remained by your bedside until now. Is it not the very picture of romance?”

“Romantic indeed,” Olivia replied, her voice clipping the words with icy indifference.

She fixed her maid with a piercing stare. “It seems you have forgotten your place, Kira. I pay you to be my eyes and ears in this house, not to weave fairy tales from the mundane. Cease these flights of fancy at once.”

Kira’s shoulders slumped as she curtsied low. “Forgive me, My Lady. I grew overzealous. Yet, truly… the Duke’s anxiety for your welfare was plain for all to see.”

At those words, a strange, unbidden warmth flickered in Olivia’s chest. Care was a foreign tongue to her, one she had never learned to speak.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips.

I should not have sent him away, she thought bitterly. I am a wretched failure at this game of being a ’good wife.’ Perhaps a word of gratitude is owed later.

“Well?” Olivia snapped, masking her inner turmoil. “Do not stand there gawking. Dress me.”

The final touches of her toilette were interrupted by a rhythmic thumping at the door.

At Olivia’s command, the door swung open to reveal Kyle. He stood there with practiced elegance, a small child cradled effortlessly in his arms.

Kira dropped into a swift, deep curtsy, but Olivia remained seated, her reflection in the vanity mirror cool and composed.

“Leave us,” Olivia commanded, her eyes meeting the maid’s through the glass as she fastened a pearl onto her earlobe.

When the door clicked shut, she turned her gaze to Kyle. “To what do I owe this intrusion? You knew well enough I was to meet you and the Empress shortly.”

Kyle offered a smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Since when does a brother require a formal summons to visit his sister?”

“Oh, hush,” she retorted with a dry wit. “Your sentimentality is so moving I might just succumb to tears.”

Kyle chuckled, stepping forward to deposit the infant into her lap. Before she could protest, he reached out and snatched the second earring from her hand.

“Here, let a man of talent assist. You can’t even manage a simple clasp.”

“Show me your ’skill’ then, if you must.”

He leaned in, but as he secured the jewelry, he gave a sharp, deliberate pinch to her ear.

“Ow! You rogue! You did that on purpose!”

“Fragile creature,” Kyle teased, his grin widening.

Their bickering was cut short by the baby’s sudden wail. Olivia’s expression softened instantly as she began to rock the child with a gentle, rhythmic grace.

“Hush now, little one. Do not weep simply because your father is an insufferable fool.”

“Is this your revenge, then?” Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I am merely stating the facts,” she replied, her voice honeyed with feigned innocence.

Suddenly, the playfulness vanished from Kyle’s face, replaced by a somber gravity.

“The Emperor has given his blessing. He has consented to my union with Leila.”

“Then congratulations are in order,” Olivia said softly.

“Thank you. But Mother… she remains a fortress of opposition.”

Olivia shrugged. “What does her disapproval matter? You have the Emperor’s word. That should suffice.”

“I thought so too,” Kyle sighed, “but the Empress has set a condition.

Condition?

Yes…..A dowry.

She insists upon a price befitting the station of a Crown Princess.”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “A dowry? So, she intends to be a villain until the bitter end. She will undoubtedly demand the impossible.”

Kyle remained silent, the grim truth of her words hanging between them like a shroud.

“The Duchy of Lucron is far from destitute,” Olivia continued, reaching for a small, velvet-lined box on her table.

“And if she wants a spectacle, I know exactly what will force her hand.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You shall see when we arrive.”

The atmosphere in the drawing room was thick enough to stifle a breath.

As they entered, the Empress and Duke Mathias turned their collective gaze toward them. Olivia offered the Empress a curt nod, pointedly refusing to curtsy.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but as I am currently occupied with the child, I trust you will excuse the lack of a formal greeting.”

Without waiting for a response, she swept past and took her seat beside Mathias, while Kyle took his place near his mother.

“Hand the little Princess to me,” the Empress commanded, her voice thin and sharp. “I wish to see my granddaughter, the little princess, despite my feelings on her mother.”

“She is no Princess,” Olivia countered coolly.

The Empress’s brow arched. “I beg your pardon?”

“She is not a Princess… yet,” Olivia clarified, her voice echoing in the silent room.

“Until the vows are exchanged, she remains a ward of the Lucron Duchy, not a member of the Imperial line.”

The Empress let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Quite so. The legality of the matter is precisely why I am here.”

She leaned forward, her eyes darting to Olivia with venomous intent.

“She may be Crown Princess soon, but Duchess… parading the children of others as your own does not make them yours. Perhaps you would be better served bearing a son of your own rather than clinging to another woman’s offspring.”

“Mother! That is enough!” Kyle’s voice thundered.

Mathias felt the sudden tension in Olivia’s hand as she gripped his, her knuckles white with suppressed rage.

He looked at her, expecting a storm, but found only a mask of chilling indifference. She was baiting the Empress, playing a deeper game.

“Peace, Kyle,” the Empress waved him off dismissively. “I am merely offering maternal counsel.”

“Now, let us speak of the dowry.”

The room fell into a heavy silence.

Mathias broke it by sliding a parchment across the polished table. “I anticipated this. Here is the deed to the Southern Gold Mine. It shall serve as Leila’s dowry.”

Kyle’s eyes widened in shock.

“Mines may yield gold, Duke, but they eventually run dry,” the Empress said, her voice dripping with a calculated disdain. “Your offer is good but, I require something of timeless value. A legacy befitting a Crown Princess.”

Olivia felt the room tighten, the silence stretching like a bowstring about to snap.

She didn’t look at Kyle’s desperate face, nor at Mathias’s tense jaw. Instead, she reached into the small, velvet-lined box she had brought.

With a deliberate, slow motion, she placed a necklace of black diamonds on the polished mahogany table.

The stones seemed to absorb the light of the room, cold and haunting.

It was the ’Tears of the Night.’

The Empress froze. Her breath hitched in her throat, her eyes widening as if she were seeing a ghost.

“Olivia… how dare you?” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of greed and outrage.

“That was my mother’s. It was the pride of the Imperial line!”

“And now, it is mine,” Olivia countered, her voice calm, possessing a terrifying stillness.

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze locking onto the Empress’s.

“It was my dowry—the price paid for my hand. Since you demand a legacy, I am giving you one. I am choosing to clothe my brother’s bride in the very jewels you once cherished.”

It wasn’t just a gift; it was a reclamation of power. Olivia was using the Empress’s own history to silence her.

The Empress’s fingers hovered over the diamonds, her fury warring with her desire for the heirloom. Finally, her hand closed over the cold stones.

“Very well,” she hissed, her eyes narrowed in a promise of future resentment. “Then the necklace shall be the price. The matter is settled.”

Silence reclaimed the room, heavy and suffocating.

Olivia was the first to break it, her voice carrying the weariness of a long-fought battle.

“Our business here is concluded, then. If you will excuse me, exhaustion claims my strength.”

She rose with a ghost of her usual grace and placed the sleeping child into Kyle’s waiting arms. As she did, he leaned in, his voice a mere breath against her ear.

“Thank you, Olivia.”

Mathias was on his feet in an instant, his chair scraping against the floor.

“Forgive us,” he addressed the room, his gaze fixed on his wife’s retreating figure. “My wife is unwell. I must see to her.”

He caught up to her in the dimly lit corridor, his hand reaching out to catch her wrist.

“Olivia… wait.”

She turned, and for a moment, the mask slipped. The fire that usually burned in her eyes had dimmed to a dull blue of fatigue.

“What is it now, Mathias?”

The sharpness he expected was gone, replaced by a hollow vulnerability that struck him harder than any insult.

“I… I am sorry,” he stammered, the words feeling clumsy on his tongue. “That you had to endure such indignity because of my family… because of me and Layla. I am truly sorry.”

Olivia looked at him, a faint, sad smile touching her lips.

“You needn’t apologize for sins that are not your own. I am fine.”

She paused, as if remembering a distant thought. “And… thank you. For tending to me while I was indisposed. I appreciate the gesture.”

Mathias stood frozen, his eyes widening in genuine shock. A simple ’thank you’ felt like a tidal wave.

“Oh… well. You are welcome, I suppose.”

“See you later then,” she murmured, turning back toward her chamber.

But as she walked away, Mathias felt a bitter sting of remorse.

The Empress’s cruel words about heir and motherhood lingered in the air like poison, and the image of Olivia casting away her most precious heirloom—her own dowry—haunted him.

Back in the drawing room, the Empress approached the child Kyle held.

A rare, melancholy smile softened her hard features as she brushed a finger against the infant’s cheek.

“She has the look of Olivia,” she whispered to herself, a flicker of forgotten ghost in her eyes.

The evening that followed was draped in a shroud of tension.

The grand dining table felt cavernously empty without Olivia’s presence, and Mathias found he had no appetite for the fine meats or vintage wines.

He spent the night pacing, driven by a restlessness he couldn’t name.

Hours later, Olivia stirred from a fitful sleep.

Through the haze of dreams, she felt the prickle of eyes watching her. She blinked, her vision blurred by the moonlight filtering through the heavy drapes.

Finally, she discerned a silhouette slumped on the chaise lounge.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up slowly, a long yawn escaping her.

“Mathias?” she whispered, her voice thick with slumber. “What are you doing here?”ك

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