Chapter 73: ​A Legacy of Ashes

“Who is this ’old friend’ you speak of?” Isabella pressed, her voice echoing with an insatiable curiosity.

Olivia sighed, a sharp, jagged sound of irritation. “Do your questions never cease? It matters not; you wouldn’t know him even if I carved his name into the floor. You will meet him soon enough. For now, focus on this mess.”

As Isabella retreated, Kira moved with the silent, terrifying efficiency of a shadow, erasing every trace of the carnage until the room looked as pristine as a sanctuary. Olivia sat alone, her gaze fixed on the crystal orb, her mind spiraling into a dark vortex of thought. What poison did I consume that failed to claim my life? she mused. If Elvira truly wanted me dead, I would be cold in the earth by now. What game is she playing with me?

“My Lady…” Kira’s voice splintered the silence.

Olivia didn’t look up. “What is it?”

“There is a woman at the gates, shrouded in a heavy veil. She calls herself Mayla. She demands an audience with you.”

“Mayla?” Olivia’s eyes snapped toward the door, a flicker of recognition passing through them. “Bring her here. And Kira—ensure the servants are blind to her passage.”

A few moments later, Kira led the veiled figure into the chambers. Olivia stood, her movements fluid and commanding. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she dismissed the remaining attendants. She moved toward the tea service, lifting the heavy silver tray herself—a rare act of personal service that signaled the gravity of the moment.

“I shall attend to her myself,” Olivia commanded, her voice like iron. “Leave us. And see to it that no soul dares to disturb the sanctity of this room.”

As the heavy oak doors clicked shut, a profound, heavy silence settled over them. Olivia set the tray down and turned to the shrouded figure, her voice dropping to a velvety whisper.

“You may remove the veil now.”

The woman’s hands rose, her movements slow and elegant. As the dark fabric fell away, it revealed a face that seemed to breathe both warmth and a haunting sorrow. Deep blue eyes, radiant yet weary, met Olivia’s gaze, while tresses of midnight-black hair spilled over her shoulders like a silken shroud.

Standing before her was Celine Tharon. The Duchess.

“My dearest… how have you been?” Celine asked, her voice a soft caress that felt out of place in Olivia’s cold world.

Olivia hesitated, her usual composure faltering for a fleeting second. “I… I am well.”

Celine smiled, reaching out to clasp Olivia’s hand in hers. Her touch was warm, almost maternal. “It gladdens my heart to see you in good health. At the very least, your porcelain skin remains unblemished now—no bruises, no jagged scars to tell of hidden miseries.”

Olivia remained silent, pulling her hand away slowly.

“You are happy in your marriage, are you not?” Celine pressed.

“I am fine,” Olivia replied, her tone sharpening into a defensive blade. “There is no need for your concern. Though I doubt I could say the same for you. You look pale, Celine—haunted, like a ghost lingering in a world that no longer wants it.”

Celine lowered her head, a heavy, sorrowful silence settling between them. “Perhaps. But my state is not why I have ventured here.”

“Then why?” Olivia asked, crossing her arms.

Celine’s eyes searched Olivia’s face, tracing the hardened lines of her features. “I have heard troubling whispers. Stories about you… and Her Majesty, the Empress. Tell me—is it true? Did you truly clash with her during your brother’s wedding?”

Olivia’s head snapped up, her gaze lethal. “Who told you that?”

“The Emperor himself,” Celine answered simply.

A bitter, jagged laugh escaped Olivia’s throat. “Oh, of course he did. Strange, isn’t it? Sometimes I forget that the two of you share the same blood. You and he—you are so fundamentally different it defies belief.”

The warmth vanished from Celine’s face, replaced by a suffocating stillness. “Do not try to divert the path of this conversation, Olivia. You know exactly why I am asking.”

“Please, Your Highness… I have no desire to discuss such matters.”

A flicker of profound grief crossed Celine’s features. “Your Highness… yes. That is all I am to you in the end.” She paused, her voice trembling slightly. “You truly are your mother’s daughter.”

“I am like no one,” Olivia snapped, her voice rising. “Not my mother, not my father. I resemble only myself.”

“Olivia, she is your mother,” Celine countered, her voice pleading. “You cannot speak of her with such venom. You do not know the truth.”

“The truth?” Olivia scoffed. “Is there any truth more absolute than the hatred she harbors for me?”

Celine took a steadying breath, her eyes locking onto Olivia’s. “Then I shall tell you why the two of you are as you are. Perhaps then… perhaps then you will find it in you to forgive her.”

Olivia exhaled a sharp, mocking breath. “Forgive her? Good luck with that endeavor.”

“Listen to me,” Celine said, her voice dropping to a low, haunting register. “Your mother and I were once the closest of friends. Long ago—long before I was wed to your father. Or rather… before I was forced into that cage.”

Celine’s voice faltered, the words catching in her throat like jagged glass. “When Alisha married Roland… I was shattered. She loved my brother with a devotion that seemed untouchable; they were inseparable, two souls woven into one. I was the witness to that love. And then, without warning, she severed the engagement and bound herself to Roland. I couldn’t comprehend it—why would she chain herself to the Duke? To that Beast, as they called him? It was madness, a betrayal of everything they had built.”

She stared into the distance, her eyes clouded by the ghosts of old memories. “I held onto a sliver of hope that she would change her mind. But months later, you were born. That was the moment the truth settled in my mind like stone: Alisha had chosen to build a life with Roland. It was over. All of this unfolded while my brother was still fighting on the front lines, unaware of the wreckage he was coming home to.”

Celine let out a shaky breath. “But she defied logic once more. Barely a month after your birth, your parents divorced. Your mother chose to walk away, leaving you behind—a fragile, helpless infant in the hands of a man she claimed to despise.”

“When my brother finally returned from the war, I expected fire,” Celine continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I expected him to curse her name, to shun the woman who had betrayed him. Instead, he threw himself into her arms like a madman. He didn’t care that she had married his enemy or borne a child to another man. He claimed her as his wife despite the scandals, the vitriol of the court, and my own fierce opposition. Every time I tried to reason with him, he silenced me, warning me to watch my tongue—for she was to be his Queen.”

Olivia’s lips curled into a bitter, razor-sharp smile. “What a touching chronicle,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom. “You’ve done nothing but prove to me that she was a whore.”

Celine’s jaw tightened, a spasm of pain crossing her face, but she pressed on. “You were always too impatient with me, Olivia. Do not speak of your mother with such filth.”

She sighed, the weight of the years pressing down on her shoulders. “Later, the previous Emperor issued a decree—a political union between myself and Duke Tharon. I fought it with every fiber of my being, but a royal command is a death sentence to one’s will. I loathed him then, and I loathe him still… but I was forced into that cage. I became the wife of the man who had once possessed your mother.”

“That was when I first saw you,” Celine whispered, her voice a fragile bridge between the past and present. “You were so small, barely four months old. Fragile. You refused every wet nurse we brought, wasting away. The Duke… he didn’t care if you lived or died. But I—I, who had never known motherhood—found my heart ensnared by you. You became the child I never bore.”

Her voice trembled, and for a fleeting moment, the Duchess’s mask shattered, revealing a woman heavy with tenderness and profound regret. “I was terrified of losing you. You were my only light in that desolate castle. In a moment of desperation, I couldn’t bear to let you starve without ever knowing true warmth. I went to your mother. I begged her to see you, to hold you, to nurse you herself, since you rejected all others. I thought—perhaps—if she saw your face, her heart might soften.”

Olivia’s laugh was a sharp, broken thing, like a shard of ice. “Let me guess. Did she shove you aside? Tell you she had no need for ’trash’?”

The light in Celine’s eyes dimmed, extinguished by the memory. “Ah… if only her cruelty had stopped there.” Her voice dropped, weighted by the agony of recall. “I remember it as if it were yesterday. I screamed at her, accused her—called her heartless and unworthy of motherhood. But she… she just looked at me, a cold fire burning in her eyes, and spat the words back: ’Celine, are you abandoning that child now? You chose to bring her into this world—bear the responsibility. Look at how frail she is. I don’t want her. I don’t want the daughter of that monster.’”

Olivia’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, but her face remained a mask of impenetrable stone.

Celine’s voice rasped, raw with the pain of the confrontation. “I told her: ’She is your daughter too, you madwoman! What now? You carried her before your marriage, and suddenly she is no longer yours? You may fool everyone else, but I am Duchess Tharon, and I know the truth. You were pregnant before you married. You betrayed my brother the moment he left for war, then married the man he despises more than anyone. He forgave you… so why can you not forgive this girl, who is as much your daughter as she is Roland’s?’”

Celine paused, her eyes welling with fresh tears. “I never expected her reply. She simply told me…”

“’Because I did not betray him, you fool!’”

“She lifted her eyes to mine then, and I saw the truth—raw and shattering—in their depths. A single tear tracked down her ravaged cheek as she whispered, her voice barely audible:

’He forced me… Duke Tharon… he raped me.’”

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