novelnext Chapter 202: Feast for the Crows
Chapter 202: Feast for the Crows
"Oh... so that is how it is."
Olivia took a calculated step backward, her posture recovering its icy, aristocratic poise in a fraction of a second. She offered a shallow, formal bow. "My apologies for disturbing your peace... Your Grace."
She turned on her heel, her black veil swaying as she prepared to leave the bitter Duchess behind. But before she could take another step, a pale, trembling hand shot out. Serene gripped Olivia’s forearm with a sudden, desperate strength, pulling her backward—not into a confrontation, but into a tight, crushing embrace.
Olivia froze, her breath hitching as the scent of her mother’s grief enveloped her.
"Olivia..." Serene’s voice was a fractured, barely audible thread against her ear. "Tell me... please. Did she suffer? Did she feel a lot of pain when she died? I know... I know I sound completely insane right now. But no matter how twisted she was, she came from my flesh. She is a part of me... I am still her mother."
The initial shock faded from Olivia’s eyes, replaced by a dull, heavy solemnity. Slowly, almost reluctantly, her arms came up, wrapping around Serene’s rigid frame to return the embrace.
"Your daughter tortured me, Serene," Olivia whispered back, her voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet depth. "She ruined my life, and she killed my son while he was still drawing breath. I destroyed her just as she destroyed everything around her. She didn’t deserve an ounce of your mercy."
Serene’s fingers dug painfully into the fabric of Olivia’s black dress. A fresh wave of hot, silent tears spilled from the Duchess’s eyes, soaking straight into the collar of Olivia’s gown, burning her skin.
Olivia closed her eyes, letting out a long, heavy breath that she had been holding since she entered the hall. Her voice softened slightly, carrying an unspoken weight as she whispered, "She died in her sleep. It was quick. She didn’t suffer... don’t worry."
Serene’s entire body went rigid in Olivia’s arms. For a terrible second, the silence between them was suffocating, but then, a long, shuddering sigh of pure relief passed through the mother’s lips. The crushing weight of imagined horrors lifted from Serene’s chest.
She leaned closer, her lips brushing against Olivia’s veil as she whispered, "Thank you... thank you for showing her mercy in her final moments."
"I only did it for you," Olivia replied, her gaze staring blankly over Serene’s shoulder into the dim corners of the hall. "Otherwise... I would have made sure her agony lasted for weeks."
A few paces away, Leon stood like an unmoving shadow. Though the two women were speaking in whispers completely masked by the low hum of the funeral, his sharp eyes never left them. He didn’t need to hear their voices; his eyes tracked the subtle movements of their lips, reading every single word they exchanged with absolute precision.
An involuntary twitch passed through Leon’s brow. He found himself deeply unsettled, almost fascinated, by how flawlessly Olivia could shift her masks. His mind flashed back to the dark, freezing night they had buried Elvira—he remembered the manic, unhinged laughter, the dark triumph in Olivia’s eyes, and how she had practically screamed in victory over the dirt. Yet here she was, mimicking the perfect, comforting daughter to the woman whose world she had just shattered.
Olivia broke the embrace, stepping away from Serene without another word. She walked back to Leon, her face instantly hardening back into a flawless, unreadable shield.
As they walked side by side toward the exit, blending in with the departing nobles, Leon leaned in slightly, his voice a low murmur meant for her ears alone.
"You showed her mercy, hmm?"
Olivia didn’t look at him, her eyes fixed straight ahead on the heavy oak doors. "Shut up, Leon."
"I saw your lips, Olivia. You told the Duchess she passed peacefully," he countered, a faint, cynical edge to his tone.
"What else was I supposed to say?" Olivia snapped softly, her jaw clenching beneath her veil. "She is a mother. In spite of everything, I understand her pain... I know exactly what it feels like to lose a child. Comforting her like that... it was the absolute least I could do to appease her soul."
"Anyway, let us leave," Olivia muttered, her voice dropping into a dark, freezing register as they approached the exit. "I will personally see to it that this isn’t the only funeral held in this place."
Leon’s lips curved into a dangerous, subtle smile. "As you command, Your Grace."
They were just about to step through the threshold when a heavy figure suddenly lunged from the side, colliding sharply with Olivia’s shoulder. The force of the impact staggered her back a step.
In an instant, Leon’s demeanor shifted from a calm ally to a lethal predator. His hand dropped toward his hilt as he glared at the intruder with raw, murderous fury. The man was dressed in the armor of the Emperor’s personal guard, his helmet and visor casting a deep shadow that completely concealed his face.
"You," Leon growled, his voice vibrating with immediate threat. "Apologize to her. Now."
Olivia stabilized herself, her heart hammering not from fear, but from the sheer annoyance of the disruption. Sensing the eyes of the remaining nobles turning toward them, she quickly reached up and lifted her black mourning veil, glaring sharply at Leon.
"Leon, shut up," she hissed under her breath, her eyes flashing with a warning intense enough to freeze him in place. "Are you looking for trouble? We don’t need to draw any more attention to ourselves. Haven’t you noticed that every pair of eyes in this hall is already—"
She cut her own sentence short, snapping her head back toward the silent guard. Re-lowering her veil with a sharp flick of her wrist, she spat coldly, "You... get out of my sight."
The guard didn’t utter a single syllable. Instead, he offered a remarkably smooth, elegant bow—an uncharacteristically refined gesture for a mere palace soldier. He then turned and slipped away into the shadows of the corridor without a word.
Leon watched his retreating figure, his brows knitting together in deep suspicion. "That man... he was definitely strange."
"Forget it. Move," Olivia commanded, sweeping past him and into the freezing rain outside.
Meanwhile, back inside the dim recesses of the grand hall, the silent guard retreated behind a massive stone pillar, far from the prying eyes of the court. He reached up, slowly removing the heavy imperial helmet to reveal his face, his breathing heavy.
Lوسيوس stepped out from the darkness, leaning against the cold stone with a knowing, cynical expression.
"So, Mathias," Lucius murmured, his voice laced with a quiet amusement. "Has your heart finally calmed down now that you’ve seen your wife and your brother?"
Mathias stood frozen, his intense, burning gaze fixed entirely on the distant heavy doors through which Olivia and Leon had just vanished. The briefest touch against her shoulder had ignited a chaotic storm inside his chest.
"No..." Mathias whispered, his voice dark, hollow, and laced with an obsessive, terrifying longing. "I miss them even more now. I could stare at the two of them until the very last day of my life, and it still wouldn’t be enough."
"Well, once your hands are clean of this blood, you will return to them soon enough," Lucius remarked, a sharp, cold glint of anticipation in his imperial eyes.
Mathias didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted across the emptying hall, cutting through the shadows until it locked onto the wretched, trembling form of Duke Roland. The tyrant looked hollowed out, ruined by a grief that defied imagination.
"It seems someone else took a blade to one of my targets first," Mathias murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that carried no pity. "But cutting the branches means nothing... when the venomous roots are still breathing."
Lucius followed his line of sight, his jaw tightening slightly as he observed the broken Duke. "He is on the brink of absolute madness after what happened to his daughter. Do not underestimate a beast with nothing left to lose. Be cautious."
"Roland is nothing but an afterthought now, Your Majesty," Mathias whispered. He slowly turned his head toward the farthest, darkest corner of the hall, where a single, noble figure stood watching the court with calculating silence. A chilling, unhinged smile slowly stretched across Mathias’s face. "Before I reclaim what is mine... I think it is time to pay a long-overdue visit to my dearest friend."
Lucius looked toward the same dark corner, his eyes narrowing as the identity of the man clicked in his mind.
"Hmm... you mean Cedric," Lucius murmured, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. "Go then. Let the real hunt begin."
Mathias didn’t reply. Adjusting his imperial guard helmet to completely swallow his face in iron and shadows, he turned and broke away from the Emperor, stepping into the crowd with silent, predatory grace.
He navigated through the lingering nobles until he stopped directly in front of Cedric. The sudden presence of a towering royal guard made Cedric pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at the concealed face before him.
"Do you require something, guard?" Cedric asked, his tone laced with aristocratic detachment.
The guard didn’t utter a single word. Instead, he smoothly reached into his armor, pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment, and pressed it into Cedric’s hand. He then offered a perfectly executed, deeply respectful bow—mimicking a loyal palace soldier flawlessly.
Cedric raised an eyebrow, looking down at the parchment. "Ah... so you have a message for me, then."
The guard offered a brief nod of affirmation, then took a step backward, melting seamlessly into the shadows of the corridor and vanishing from sight before Cedric could even question him.
Cedric watched the space where the guard had been, a flicker of curiosity passing through his eyes. Once he was certain no one was watching, he slowly unfolded the parchment.
The moment his eyes scanned the handwritten ink, the curiosity instantly drained from his face. His expression froze into a mask of pure, absolute shock, his blood running cold at the sight of those four, devastating words:
I am coming for you.