Chapter 80: The Taste of Copper

“War? What war are you talking about?” Olivia snapped, her voice rising with an edge of frantic energy.

Matthias reached out, caught the edge of her cloak that had slipped from her shoulder, and adjusted it with a mocking half-smile.

“Firstly, it’s the middle of the night—lower your voice. Secondly,” he added, his eyes searching hers with a dry irony, “one might look at your reaction and think you’re actually worried about me.”

Olivia let out a sharp, indignant breath. “I have been in an insufferable mood since this day began, and you are treading on my last nerve!”

“This is my house, I shall shout as I please—I am the Duchess, have you forgotten? And secondly, why wouldn’t I worry? War is a monstrous thing. You could die out there. Do you want me to become a widow?”

Matthias chuckled, a dark, velvet sound. “Fine, you’re right, it’s your house. And I suppose black would suit you quite well. You’d make a very elegant widow.”

“Shut up! This isn’t a laughing matter!”

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning against a stone pillar. “Wasn’t it a laughing matter from your perspective just a while ago, when you were the one who nearly died?”

Olivia exhaled a long, weary sigh. “Stop talking in circles. It’s been an exhausting day; just tell me the story behind this war.”

“Fair enough,” he said, his expression sobering. “I was requested to join the front lines. However, I’ve declined for the time being.”

“Things in the Duchy are unstable, and leaving for war now would be unwise. I will go eventually, but not for some time.”

Olivia felt a knot of tension in her chest suddenly loosen. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I see… that’s good.”

Matthias watched her closely. “So? Did your quarrel with Her Majesty have anything to do with the Duchess of Tharon’s visit to you yesterday?”

Olivia froze. “You knew about her visit?”

“Yes,” he replied calmly. “She came to visit me as well.”

“She visited you? Why?”

“Actually, she wanted to entrust you to me. I’m not entirely sure why she felt the need to do so. Did something happen?”

Olivia averted her gaze, her eyes tracking the movement of the shadows on the grass. “No, nothing happened. But… I would be grateful if you didn’t tell anyone she came to see you.”

“Of course, I won’t speak a word of it,” he promised, though his curiosity was clearly piqued. “But let’s return to the subject at hand. Why did you fight with her?”

“I cannot tell you… not yet.”

“Did we not have an agreement?” Matthias pressed, his voice a low vibration in the midnight air.

“I don’t recall ever being one to keep my word,” Olivia countered. Her gaze remained unwavering, even as her body began to fail her. “I cannot tell you now, but I will. Soon.”

Matthias let out a heavy, defeated sigh, surrendering to her stubbornness.

But the silence that followed was shattered as Olivia was suddenly seized by a violent, racking cough.

The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth—a sharp, copper realization that made her heart skip.

With practiced desperation, she tucked her hand away, hiding her sleeve from his sight as a jagged, white-hot pain tore through her spine.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she rasped, her voice thin. “It is just the night air. I’m going back inside; I’ve begun to feel quite sleepy.”

“Of course, let us return.”

He draped his own heavy coat over her shoulders, and they walked toward the mansion in a tense, rhythmic silence.

When they reached the door to his chambers, Olivia moved to walk past him. Matthias caught her wrist, his grip gentle but questioning.

“Were you not staying in my room tonight?”

“I changed my mind,” she said, her spine rigid. “Sleeping in my own room is for the best. I have no desire for a repeat of… what happened before.”

He released her slowly, his expression unreadable. “You are right. Goodnight, Olivia.”

“Goodnight.”

She walked away with a confident, measured stride, maintaining her facade until she was safely out of his sight.

But the moment she crossed her threshold and bolted the door, the mask shattered.

Olivia collapsed, her lungs seizing as a fresh wave of coughing overcame her.

She looked down at the sleeve she had hidden from Matthias; it was stained with a vivid, terrifying crimson. With every spasm, the flow of blood increased.

She dragged herself toward the side table, her fingers fumbling with a glass of water and a vial of medicine.

As the drug took hold, the coughing subsided into a dull ache. She sank onto the nearest sofa, her breath hitching.

So, this is the ’gift’ the maid mentioned. The poison, she thought bitterly. It is a mercy Matthias noticed nothing.

With trembling hands, she reached for a quill and a scrap of parchment, beginning to scrawl a note through the haze of her pain.

She spent the remainder of the night on that sofa, drifting into fitful snatches of sleep only to be jolted awake by the agony in her bones.

She fought a long, lonely battle with the darkness, her eyes finally closing only when exhaustion proved stronger than the torment.

Olivia’s eyes fluttered open to find Isabella’s face etched with a mask of frantic concern.

Beside her, Kira stood trembling, their voices a discordant choir of panic as they shook her awake.

“What is happening?” Olivia rasped, her voice sounding like dry parchment. “Why are you screaming?”

“You’ve been asleep for a full day!” Isabella cried, her hands shaking as she gestured toward the scattering of crimson-stained handkerchiefs surrounding the sofa.

“We found you like this, drowning in your own blood. Did you honestly expect us to stay silent?”

“And then that foolish note—telling us not to inform Matthias? How could we possibly obey such madness?”

Olivia adjusted her seat with a heavy, sluggish effort, her body feeling as though it were weighted with lead.

“I am fine,” she whispered. “There is no need for such theatrics.”

“Fine?” Kira’s voice cracked. “Look at the amount of blood, Olivia! You look like a ghost. What is wrong with you? Are you ill?”

“I am fine,” Olivia repeated, her gaze turning cold and distant. “It is merely a little poison.”

“Poison!” Isabella shrieked, recoiling. “Have you lost your mind? Why would you drink it again?”

“Be quiet! You always screech so,” Olivia hissed, pressing a hand to her throbbing temple.

“I didn’t drink it by choice. It was the work of that wretched maid—her ’parting gift’ was more literal than I anticipated.”

Isabella’s breath hitched. “You mean what she warned of yesterday? What will you do? Do you have an antidote?”

“Tell us what it is so we can find a physician!”

“I know the poison,” Olivia replied, her voice flat and devoid of hope. “But I do not have the cure.”

“There is only one person who holds the antidote for this specific venom.”

“Who?”

Olivia stared into the void with eyes like frozen glass. “Elvira… that bitch.”

“This is my father’s way of speaking. It’s a message: Be on time for our appointment as agreed, or be dead.”

“It seems I am forced to go and see him.”

“What? You’re actually going to face him?”

“It’s not as if it’s my first time walking into his lair,” Olivia said, struggling to her feet.

“I will go and I will return. I hadn’t even finished scrubbing the stains of yesterday’s chaos before today’s catastrophe arrived. Where is Matthias?”

“Actually,” Isabella whispered, “after the turmoil at the palace, the Emperor summoned him and Leon again. I don’t know if they will return before nightfall.”

“Good. That is for the best.” Olivia turned to Kira. “Get my traveling clothes.”

Kira brought out a set of simple, inconspicuous garments and a heavy black cloak.

Olivia dressed with a desperate, hurried efficiency, her movements fueled by pure adrenaline while Isabella watched in terror.

“Are you certain about this? Going out in your condition is suicide.”

“Do you have a better solution?” Olivia countered, pulling the cloak tight around her fragile frame.

“The pain is becoming unbearable. Sooner or later, I was going to have to face him anyway.”

She pulled the hood low over her face and stepped into the carriage. “I will be back before dawn,” she promised through the window.

The carriage cut through the darkness toward the rendezvous point.

When it finally came to a halt, Olivia stood before a house she recognized all too well—a place that smelled of old secrets and cold cruelty.

She stepped inside; the foyer was silent, seemingly abandoned.

But as she moved further into the shadows, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around her from behind.

A warm breath brushed against her ear, accompanied by a whisper that chilled her to the bone:

“Welcome back, my love… did you miss me?”

Her heart skipped a beat, the rhythm faltering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Familiar in a way that made her skin crawl with an instinctive, visceral dread.

She forced herself to turn within the circle of those arms, her breath hitching in her throat.

She found herself staring into a pair of bottomless, obsidian eyes—eyes that held a predatory glint.

The name tumbled from her lips, barely a ghost of a sound, laced with equal parts shock and revulsion.

“C..edric?”

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