Chapter 87: The Occult Bargain

A sharp rap at the door shattered the quiet. Matthias strode in, but the greeting died on his lips. Olivia was, in every sense of the word, breathtaking.

He stood frozen, his gaze locked on her for several long minutes, words failing him entirely. Finally, he glanced at Keira; sensing the unspoken command, the maid bowed low and slipped out, leaving them in a charged solitude.

“You are ready, then?” he asked, his voice a fraction deeper than usual.

“What do you mean?” she countered, arching an eyebrow as she gestured to her reflection. “Can you not see I am finished? Or do I look hideous to you?”

He quirked an eyebrow, his eyes traveling slowly over the gown. “Well, that isn’t exactly what I meant. But…” He paused, his gaze lingering on the daring cut of the silk. “I believe your dress is torn.”

“Torn? Where?” She spun toward the mirror in a mild panic.

“The back. There is no back at all. Did you not feel the draft?”

She knit her brows in faux exasperation, huffing a breath of disbelief. “Honestly… you men have absolutely no sense of fashion. It is meant to be that way; it is a backless design.”

“You mean to tell me you intend to go out like that?”

“And how else should I go out?”

“You must wear something over it,” he insisted, his possessiveness flaring. “Your entire back is exposed.”

She sighed, though a small, secret smile played on her lips. “I shall wear my fur cloak. Are you satisfied now?”

“Good,” he grunted, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. “You should have led with that.”

She reached out, slipping her hand into his and interlacing their fingers. “Very well. Let us depart.”

They stepped into the hallway together, their presence drawing a wake of whispers that trailed behind them like fluttering ribbons. It was an arresting sight—a sudden revelation of beauty and nobility that demanded absolute reverence.

The carriage swayed gently as the horses trotted through the cobblestone streets. Inside, a silence lingered—not the jagged, heavy silence of the past week, but something softer, almost contemplative. Olivia sat with her hands folded in her lap, her gaze lost in the passing scenery through the glass pane. Yet, she could feel his eyes on her—stolen glances caught between breaths.

Matthias looked strangely at peace, the rigid mask he usually wore having softened into something far more approachable. It disoriented her, but it was a feeling she found she didn’t want to escape.

As they reached the heart of the city, the carriage slowed to a crawl. The golden glow of taverns, the rhythmic chatter of merchants, and the distant laughter of children spilled into the evening air. When the door finally opened, Matthias descended first, extending his hand with a steady, unwavering resolve.

Olivia took it and stepped down, expecting him to release her once she found her footing. He didn’t. Even as the crowd thickened around them, his grip remained firm, locking their fingers together. To her own surprise, she didn’t pull away.

“Is there somewhere specific you’d like to go?” he asked, leaning down toward her. “Dresses? Jewels? Anything new for yourself?”

She blinked at him in genuine bewilderment. “You brought me all this way without even deciding on a destination?”

A half-smile played on his lips, glinting with amusement. “Don’t start with the scowling, Olivia. Tell me instead—what is a fitting gift for a wedding like this?”

Her gaze drifted past the glittering storefronts toward the narrow, bustling alleys of the lower quarters. There, life seemed unscripted; barefoot children darted between stalls, women laughed with a boisterous freedom, and men drank without the suffocating burden of etiquette.

They weren’t dukes or duchesses there—just living, breathing people. For a fleeting second, Olivia wished she could step into their world and shed the crushing weight of her noble blood.

Matthias noticed the longing in her eyes. Without a word, he gently guided her deeper into the city center.

“What do you think of the Sun Jewelry Shop?” she asked, her breath hitching slightly as she kept pace with him. “It’s in the square, anyway.”

“Then to the square we go,” he replied.

They reached the boutique within minutes. The moment they crossed the threshold, the proprietor scurried forward, bowing low. She didn’t need to see a crest to recognize the aura of high nobility radiating from them.

Olivia moved toward a display case shimmering with diamonds and pearls. She pointed to a delicate, slender necklace.

“I think this would suit the bride perfectly; it would complement the neckline of a wedding gown. And this pin—” she picked up a silver piece fashioned into the shape of a soaring falcon “—for the groom. They’ll make a striking pair, don’t you think?”

She turned to seek his approval, but she found him staring—not at the jewels, but at her. The intensity in his eyes made her breath catch.

“Hey… I asked for your opinion,”

Matthias blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and cleared his throat. “Yes… they will do perfectly. You truly do have a passion for jewelry, don’t you?”

“Wrap these jewels for us, Miss,” Olivia commanded with an effortless air of authority. “And one more thing—do you have a mirror? I must check my reflection.”

“Of course, My Lady. Right this way, in the ladies’ private parlor,” the shopkeeper replied, bowing low.

Olivia turned to Matthias, her expression softening for a fleeting second. “I shall return in a few minutes. Wait for me.”

Inside the dimly lit parlor, a woman sat in the shadows, her features obscured by the deep folds of a black cloak. A heavy, mystical stillness clung to her.

“It has been a long time, Lady Olivia,” the woman rasped, her voice like dry parchment.

A knowing smile played on Olivia’s lips. “Indeed it has, Madam Loris.”

“So,” Loris leaned forward, the darkness shifting around her. “What brings a Duchess to a place like this?”

Olivia reached up, her fingers deft as she unpinned a section of her intricate hairstyle. From the hidden depths of her tresses, she extracted a small, pulsating black orb. It seemed to swallow the light around it.

Loris gasped, her eyes widening. “Is that…?”

“Yes, my dear,” Olivia whispered. “A Soul Orb. The remnant left behind once Black Magic has been sealed.”

Loris reached out, her fingers trembling with a frantic, scholarly greed, but Olivia pulled it back just out of reach.

“Patience,” Olivia cautioned. “You won’t lay a finger on it until we have reached an agreement.”

Loris narrowed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “Then speak. What is your price?”

“It’s simple. The person from whom this orb was taken was guarding a secret. I know you cannot extract the full memory—the seal is too strong for that—but she mentioned flowers. Specifically, a certain kind. I want you to pull the image of those flowers from the orb’s core. I need to know exactly what they look like.”

Loris erupted into a jagged, dry laugh. “Olivia, do you have any idea what you’re asking? Extracting a visual imprint from a Soul Orb is among the most grueling tasks in the craft.”

“But not impossible for someone who has spent their entire life dancing with the occult. I know your capabilities.” Olivia stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Do this, and the orb is yours. You can do whatever you wish with it—fuel those mad experiments of yours, for all I care. So… do we have a deal?”

Loris’s lips curled into a slow, sharp smile. “Oh, Olivia… still the Queen of Bargains, I see.”

“Then I shall see you soon,” Olivia replied, her eyes flashing with cold triumph.

She emerged from the private parlor, her expression smooth as glass, and rejoined Matthias. He stood where she had left him, his eyes immediately scanning her face before dropping to her shoulders.

“You let your hair down?” he noted, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. “Is that what took so long?”

“Yes,” she replied smoothly, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair that now hung loosely. “The pins were pulling too tightly. Come, let us head to the ceremony. The sun is already dipping below the horizon.”

They made their way toward the festivities, guided by the exuberant roar of celebration. As they approached, the air grew thick with the scent of roasted meats and wildflower garlands. Music—raw, rhythmic, and lively—spilled out from a brilliantly lit courtyard where laughter rolled like distant thunder.

Yet, the moment Matthias stepped into the light, the atmosphere shifted. The music didn’t stop, but the voices did. Heads turned in a synchronized wave of disbelief. Then, as the realization took hold, a thunderous cheer erupted.

The groom, flushed with wine and joy, surged forward with a band of his comrades. His face was a mask of pure shock. “My Lord! You truly came—it is an honor beyond words!” He turned to the crowd, his voice booming with pride, “Everyone! The Duke himself has graced my wedding!”

A fresh wave of jubilation swept through the courtyard. People cheered and clapped with a rhythmic, heartfelt sincerity that vibrated in the air. Olivia remained a step behind him, allowing his broad frame to act as a shield for her slender form, watching the display of raw loyalty with an observant eye.

Matthias, however, did not let her remain in the shadows. He turned, reaching back to take her hand, and gently but firmly drew her forward to stand at his side.

“I did not come alone,” he announced, his voice calm yet commanding enough to cut through the noise. “The Duchess herself decided to join the celebration of your union.”

The effect was instantaneous. The crowd froze. Smiles faltered mid-curve, and the vibrant warmth that had filled the courtyard seemed to drain away, replaced by a stunned, heavy silence. Confusion rippled through the ranks of commoners and soldiers alike; anxiety began to take root where joy had been. The air, once light, grew thick with a sudden, suffocating awe.

Then, as if moved by a single, invisible thread, the entire assembly bowed in unison. Their voices rose in a hushed, reverent harmony that echoed off the stone walls:

“Our humblest greetings to you, Her Grace, the Duchess.”

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