Chapter 65: The Ghastly Supper

Isabella opened her lips to offer a retort, but Olivia interjected with practiced grace, stepping between them like a silk curtain. A thin, porcelain smile stretched across her face—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I have time enough to spare, dearest sister,” Olivia murmured, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Allow me the distinct honor of escorting you myself.”

As they moved toward the heavy oak doors, Olivia’s hand brushed Isabella’s shoulder in a gesture that appeared sisterly to any casual observer. Yet, in a flicker of movement too swift for the eye to catch, she tucked a sliver of folded parchment into the deep folds of Isabella’s gown. It was only when the echo of their footsteps faded that Isabella dared to unfurl it. Her eyes scanned the frantic scrawl:

“Beware. Do not follow me.”

“A truly magnificent palace, is it not?” Elvira’s voice rang out, bright and shimmering like a deceptive brook. She turned, her face radiant with a staged joy. “Don’t you agree, sister? Perhaps a stroll through the glass conservatory would suit the afternoon?”

Olivia merely tilted her head, her silence a cold weight between them.

Elvira led the way with the effortless stride of one who knew every secret corner of the estate. Her confidence was her undoing. Watching her, Olivia’s lips curled into a predatory smirk.

So, it is as I suspected, you cunning wretch, she thought. You navigate these corridors with far too much ease. How else could you have found your way to my private chambers on that night of shadows? It seems there is a rat within these walls, feeding you the secrets of this house.

As they crossed the threshold into the conservatory, the prying eyes of the servants finally vanished behind the glass panes. The atmosphere shifted instantly; the air grew thick and stifling, heavy with the scent of damp earth and unspoken threats.

Elvira’s expression shed its warmth like a discarded mask. The playful debutante vanished, replaced by a woman possessed of a dark, piercing sharpness.

“Well, my ’dear’ elder sister,” Elvira began, her voice dropping an octave. “I see you have grown uncommonly bold in your defiance lately.”

Olivia remained a statue of ice, her gaze locked firmly onto Elvira’s.

“I have overlooked your insolence before,” Elvira continued, closing the distance between them until they were mere inches apart. “But do not mistake my patience for weakness. I will not permit you to insult me whenever the whim takes you.”

A sharp, mocking laugh escaped Elvira’s lips—a sound like breaking glass. “Who would have thought that even curs could learn to disobey their masters? But I am not here for petty squabbles. I bear a summons from our Father. We are to meet next week at the usual rendezvous; he has commanded your presence. And should you fail to appear…”

Her smile turned venomous, gleaming with a lethal intent. “I suspect your husband would find your old correspondence—and those exquisite little secrets of yours—quite… illuminating. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I wonder,” Olivia whispered, her voice a chilling caress, “what gave you the impression that I feared his discovery?”

Before Olivia could recoil, Elvira lunged, her fingers clamping around Olivia’s wrist like a shackle. She jerked her closer until their breaths mingled in the stagnant air of the conservatory. “A little bird… a very talkative little bird told me you are entwined in a most beautiful romance. Love is a splendid thing, sister, but never forget where your true allegiance lies.”

Elvira’s gaze dropped to the wrist she held captive, her thumb tracing the skin with haunting deliberation. “Mmm… it seems you’ve tried to erase my name, to scrub away the mark of your origin. Shall I carve it back into your skin?”

The threat hung in the air, sharp as a blade, until the distant crunch of gravel broke the spell. Mathias was approaching.

The transformation was instantaneous. As soon as Mathias came into view, the venom in Elvira’s eyes evaporated, replaced by the polished, porcelain grace of a high-born lady. She stepped back with fluid elegance, releasing Olivia’s wrist as if she had merely been admiring a piece of jewelry.

“What a magnificent setting for a stroll, Your Grace,” Elvira chirped, curtsying with impeccable poise. “I merely dropped by for a fleeting visit with my sister. I wouldn’t dream of intruding upon your time any longer. Do enjoy your walk.”

The Duke offered a curt, formal nod. “Very well, Miss Tharon. A safe journey back to you.”

Elvira placed a lingering hand on Olivia’s shoulder, leaning in to press a final, poisonous whisper against her ear: “Do not forget our arrangement. Take care of yourself, dearest sister.”

With a sharp turn on her heel, she vanished into the corridors—her departure so abrupt it bordered on the suspicious.

Olivia watched the retreating figure of her sister, a cold knot of dread tightening in her chest. Why go so soon? she wondered. No final barb? No lingering scheme? The sudden absence of Elvira’s usual malice felt more calculated, and far more dangerous, than an open threat.

The Duke watched Elvira until the hem of her dress disappeared, then turned his focus to Olivia. His eyes searched her face. “Are you quite well, Olivia? You look deathly pale. Did she… disturb you?”

“No,” Olivia replied, her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart. “I am perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Very well. I shall see you later, then.”

“Later,” she echoed.

A heavy, brittle silence settled between them. Though their words were draped in the silks of politeness, the air was thick with the unspoken chill of their mutual resentment.

Olivia retreated to her chambers immediately, the walls of the palace feeling narrower than usual. She paced the floor, her mind a frantic loom weaving threads of suspicion.

It makes no sense, she muttered to herself. To arrive with such fire and leave with such haste… what was the true purpose of this visit? Something was fundamentally wrong, a missing piece of a puzzle she couldn’t yet see.

She lost herself in the labyrinth of her thoughts, the hours bleeding into twilight. The silence of the room was finally broken by the soft, rhythmic creak of the door. Keira entered, carrying a silver tray, her voice a gentle ripple in the stillness.

“My Lady, I have brought your dinner.”

Before Olivia could utter a word of dismissal, Isabella slipped into the room like a lingering ghost. “Forgive the intrusion,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “but would you mind if we shared our meal tonight?”

Olivia’s eyes remained fixed on the maid. “Leave us,” she commanded, her tone as sharp as a winter frost.

Keira bowed with practiced obedience and retreated, the heavy oak door closing with a resonant, final thud that seemed to seal the two sisters away from the rest of the world.

“We need to speak,” Isabella stated, the urgency in her voice cutting through the stillness.

Olivia hesitated for a heartbeat, her gaze flickering toward the silver tray. “I know,” she murmured, gesturing toward the chair. “Sit.”

The two women sat opposite each other, the flickering candelabra casting long, dancing shadows that distorted their features. But Isabella’s patience had reached its limit. Before Olivia could even reach for a napkin, Isabella’s words came tumbling out in a frantic torrent.

“Olivia, why the warning? Why do you fear that arrogant girl so much? She is but one person—what power could she possibly wield against us? And why have you become so cold, so distant? What has possessed you?”

Olivia raised a hand, her eyes flashing with a spark of weary irritation. “Restrain yourself,” she said coldly, lifting a silver spoon to her lips. “Can you not see that I am eating? Let us finish this meal in peace. Only then will I grant you the answers you seek.”

Isabella swallowed her frustration, forcing herself into a tense silence. She picked up her utensils, her gaze never wavering from Olivia, waiting for the moment the fortress around her sister would finally crumble.

Suddenly, the world seemed to stop.

Olivia froze mid-gesture. Her spoon slipped from her fingers, clattering against the fine porcelain with a sound like a gunshot in the silence. The blood drained from her face, leaving it a ghastly, translucent white. Her eyes dilated, flooded with a sudden, primal terror.

With a violent convulsion, she shoved herself away from the table. The chair screeched against the floor as she doubled over, choking, her body rejecting the morsel she had just tasted.

Isabella leapt to her feet, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Olivia! What is it? What’s wrong?!”

Olivia’s voice came out in a ragged, terrified rasp. “Do not eat another bite, Isabella… Do not touch it!” She clung to the edge of the table, her knuckles white, her breath hitching in her throat. “This is no animal… This is human flesh!”

The words fell like a thunderclap, shattering the reality of the room. Isabella dropped her spoon instantly, the horror of the realization washing over her in a cold wave. But then, a sickening thought emerged from the darkness. She looked at Olivia, her eyes wide with a new, burgeoning suspicion.

“Olivia…” her voice broke, barely a whisper. “How… how could you possibly know the taste of human flesh?”

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