Chapter 61: A Crown of Thorns

“Why are you following me?” Olivia threw the words over her shoulder without breaking her stride.

“I wish to speak with you. Stop for a moment, Olivia.” His voice carried a weight she hadn’t heard before.

She halted abruptly, spinning toward him with a gaze as sharp as a blade. “Speak? Have we not exhausted every futile argument already?”

“Olivia…” He uttered her name with a plea that made her go still.

She let out a sharp exhale, studying his face. “Are you truly serious? Fine. Follow me.”

The tension preceded them into her chambers. Olivia stepped aside, folding her arms over her chest with cold fortification, and fixed him with a glacial stare. “Well? What has brought you here? I am in no mood for another verbal skirmish.”

A brief silence followed before he broke it with two words she never expected to hear from him. “I’m sorry.”

Olivia froze. She turned slowly, as if re-evaluating the very air in the room. “You’re sorry? Truly?”

He averted his gaze for a moment before speaking. “I have been harsh with you these past days, and… in short, I am regretful.”

She arched an eyebrow with biting sarcasm. “Is this an apology or a funeral oration? You look as though you’re being marched to your own execution as you say it.”

Matthias let out a heavy sigh and stepped forward until the space between them vanished. “I am truly sorry for raising my voice at you, and I am sorry for what I did to our son’s things. I am genuinely repentant. Will you forgive me?”

Their gazes locked in a silent struggle. Olivia searched his eyes for a few seconds before answering coolly, “Fine.”

He knitted his brows in confusion. “What do you mean by ’fine’? Does it mean I am forgiven or not?”

She met his look with a defiant, cunning tilt of her head. “You have offered your apology. Whether I accept it or not is a matter that belongs to me alone.” Then, she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a low but dangerous whisper. “There is a question that has not left my mind for some time now…”

She paused for a heartbeat before dropping the bomb. “Did you kill your father?”

In that instant, a smile spread across his lips—it wasn’t a warm curve of gratitude or relief, but a smile as sharp and cruel as a knife blade drawn in the dark.

“Yes,” he said with terrifying tranquility. “To be precise, it was I who put an end to his life.”

Olivia felt the world tilt beneath her feet. She could hardly believe the words falling from his lips. In her mind, Matthias had always been the man haunted by principles—harshly disciplined, severely dignified. Yet here he was, speaking of patricide with a disturbing comfort, savoring the memory as if it were a crowning victory.

In that moment, she felt as if she were staring into a mirror, but it was a distorted glass showing a darker version of herself. He was a reflection of her own shadow in its bleakest form, yet more brutal and less merciful. He had done what she had only dared to dream of; he had extinguished a soul that was once close to him without a single blink or a knock of regret. And for a fleeting, dangerous second, a treacherous feeling crept into her heart: she envied him for that absolute, merciless power.

Her thoughts spiraled in a chaotic vortex until he snapped his fingers sharply in front of her face. “Hey,” he said, his voice cutting through her stupor, “where did you go?”

She blinked, returning to reality with a startle. “Nowhere… I was only thinking.” Her words stumbled as she found her voice again. “But why? Why did you do it? Did you not love him? You even agreed to marry me for his sake, didn’t you?”

His expression darkened, his features hardening into a mask of stone despite his outward calm. “I agreed to the marriage because the Emperor commanded it. As for my father—love?” He mocked the word as if pitying her for even uttering it. “He was a wretch. A ruin dragging the Dukedom toward decay. His death was a necessity for me to claim the title and reclaim all that he was squandering. Besides, he sealed his own fate the moment he laid a hand on my sisters. His end was… required. The world believes it was natural causes. The case is closed.”

A strange, sharp relief seeped into her chest, so piercing it forced a laugh from her—softly at first, then rising uncontrollably. She shook her head, murmuring, “What a story.”

Her smile, fleeting as it was, seemed to catch him off guard. For a moment, he simply stared, captivated by that rare flicker of warmth in her expression.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked. “Am I truly that enchanting?”

“Yes, you are,” the words escaped him before he could catch them.

“Mmm, well, that is new,” she replied. “Thank you for the flattery. In any case, would you excuse me? I find myself in need of rest.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. I’ll leave you now.”

The moment the door closed behind him, Isabella emerged from behind the heavy curtains, eyeing Olivia with a mocking grin. “Truly? That was your response when he called you beautiful? You didn’t even accept his apology.”

“That is none of your concern,” Olivia countered. “And why were you lurking in the shadows anyway?”

“Ha! Look who’s talking. Are you not the Queen of Drama yourself?” Isabella walked over and draped herself across the sofa. “In any case, what I really came for was to find out what happened with Thalia. Did your plan succeed?”

Olivia sat beside her, a weary sigh escaping her. “In a manner of speaking.”

“What do you mean, ’in a manner of speaking’?”

“I do not trust that woman,” Olivia replied darkly. “This wedding is draining my very soul. Every villain we know will be gathered under one roof.”

The days blurred into a fleeting passage of time until, at last, the long-awaited day arrived—the Royal Wedding.

The Great Hall was bathed in a celestial glow, its vast ceiling shimmering with the light of crystal chandeliers. Cascades of white roses spilled across the marble floors like a fresh snowfall sprouting from the earth. The venue was teeming with guests, their voices rising in a restless hum that wavered between reluctant approval and stifled resentment. Olivia entered with a regal poise, cradling little Anne in her arms.

Isabella, seated nearby, watched her for a long moment before whispering, “You are smiling today. Are you… actually happy?”

“Ha,” Olivia replied softly. “Did you imagine me a demon incapable of feeling? I am human, Isabella. I know joy and sorrow as well as anyone else. No one is a villain all of the time.”

They both glanced toward Matthias and Leon. Neither looked well. To bury a mother one week and attend a sister’s wedding the next was a burden far beyond their strength; they sat motionless, like statues carved from cold stone.

Olivia’s voice suddenly hardened, her words stained with a lethal bitterness. “Strike what I just said—about no one being entirely evil.”

Isabella knitted her brows in confusion. “Whom do you mean?”

“The rule does not apply to those two,” Olivia said glacially, her eyes narrowing as she looked toward a specific corner of the room. “They are demons merely wearing the skin of men.”

Isabella did not dare look. Since the beginning, she had avoided their gaze; every time she caught a glimpse of them, the image of her father rose before her, dragging up all the agony she had tried to bury. Olivia noticed the tremor in the girl’s hand and gripped it firmly. “Steady yourself.”

“She is a beautiful child,” a voice interjected. Olivia turned to see who had spoken.

“How are you, little one?” the woman asked, reaching out to gently cup Olivia’s cheek.

“I am well,” Olivia replied, a calm, playful smile spreading across her face. For a fleeting moment, she looked like a young girl reuniting with her mother, a transformation that drew the eyes of everyone in the room. “And you, Duchess Tharon? Are you well?”

Olivia appeared remarkably at ease with her. The Duchess leaned in to kiss little Anne on the cheek, but before pulling away, she whispered into Olivia’s ear:

“Be careful today. Your father and sister are plotting something.”

Then, raising her voice back to a social tone, she said, “I shall see you later, my daughter.”

Olivia swallowed hard, her playful expression replaced by a hollow, artificial smile. “Yes… until then.”

Suddenly, the massive doors of the hall groaned open with a majestic creak, and the room plummeted into a profound silence. Every head turned in unison.

There was Layla—draped in ivory silk, her veil trailing behind her like a lingering cloud. She looked like a waking dream, her steps measured and graceful. She held the hand of Kyle, who gazed at her as if she were the entire world. He was utterly captivated, yet he managed to steal a glance toward Olivia, his eyes flashing a silent, triumphant message: “I did it.”

They reached the altar, and as the Priest stepped forward to begin the sacred marriage rites, the heavy air of opposition in the room became palpable. Despite the holy atmosphere, Olivia—watching with the precision of a hawk—could not tear her gaze away from the unsettling smile on Elvira’s face, nor the venomous way her father stared at Kyle. The union of the Duchy of Lucron with the Royal Family was a political earthquake that many believed should never have been allowed to pass.

As the prayers concluded, the King and Queen rose to bestow their blessing.

The King held the crown, his face an unreadable mask of stone. Beside him, the Queen lifted a second crown—delicate yet regal. But the Queen’s eyes betrayed her soul; as she lowered the gold onto Layla’s head, her lips curled slightly. It was not a gesture of joy, but one of profound disdain. Had the choice been hers, she would have sooner burned the crown than see it rest on Layla’s brow.

“Hail the Crown Prince and his Princess!”

The guests rose in a crashing wave of applause, yet it lacked the warmth of true consensus. Whispers curled like toxic smoke between the tables—some praising the alliance, others condemning it in stifled, fearful breaths.

Suddenly, a sharp, deliberate sound cut through the noise. Elvira stood, her palms striking together with a rhythmic intensity that commanded the room’s attention. A cunning smirk stretched across her lips, and when she spoke, her voice dripped with poisoned honey.

“I dare say the Duchess Eloise would have been bursting with pride to see her daughter crowned today,” Elvira remarked, her tone feigning sweetness. “She is but an adopted child, of course… but still. Should she not offer her blessing from the Great Beyond? Or has she abandoned her poor little girl entirely—our dear, new Crown Princess?”

The Duke of Tharon stepped in immediately, though his tone was anything but defensive. “Now, now, do not speak so boldly. Pray, forgive my daughter’s outburst. I am certain the Great Duchess did not intend to be absent.”

He turned his gaze toward Matthias, his eyes glinting with a hidden edge. “The Duchess is well, is she not? Despite my daughter’s words… surely appearing for a mere few minutes would not… kill her… would it?”

He lingered on the word “kill,” letting it hang in the air like a death sentence, challenging Matthias to speak the truth in a room full of vipers.

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