The veranda of House Dahlia faced the Wisterian hills, draped in the golden blush of late afternoon. The breeze from the east was gentle, brushing against the gauzy curtains that framed the arched windows. Cicadas buzzed in the distance. Somewhere, a fountain sang lazily. Yet in this picturesque stillness, tension curled like smoke.
They sat beneath a marble arch wrapped in ivy—Mary of Thorneveil, ever-graceful and sharp-eyed; Astrid, her daughter, clumsy with power she hadn't grown into; and Dahlia, draped in lavender silk like a blade wrapped in satin.
Adeena followed her in silence—not out of respect, but out of necessity.
Once they reached the secluded terrace where no guards lingered, Mary turned—face serene, lips painted like dried blood.
"I assume you understand why I asked for you," Mary said smoothly.
Adeena raised a brow. "Hard to imagine it's for a simple chat."
Mary smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I intend to return Wisteria's name to the royal archives. The rebellion title was a mistake. All of it was… a political misstep made in panic."
Her fingers brushed the edge of her lace glove.
"The titles, the land, the artifacts—every piece that was Wisteria shall be restored to your family. I will see to it."
Adeena didn't respond immediately. Her gaze flicked over Mary's shoulder to where Lady Dahlia stood, just inside the archway, pretending not to listen.
"And in return?" Adeena asked softly.
Mary's voice was a purr. "Peace. Unity. And perhaps… loyalty."
Adeena laughed once, quietly. "You mean control. You're offering what was stolen, wrapped in velvet and lies."
Dahlia stepped forward now, unable to hold her tongue. "This is madness. We cannot undo royal decrees like children playing dress-up. What of the accusations? The blood they shed?"
"You were framed," Mary said coolly. "And you know it."
Dahlia flinched, then stiffened. "And if you do this, the girl becomes untouchable. You will lose her. She'll never be yours."
"She was never meant to be," Mary whispered, voice lined with something unreadable. "But you forget, Dahlia, Wisteria is not so easily ruled by shadows. And I do not need your permission."
Silence fell like frost.
Adeena looked between them. "So I'm to accept forgiveness for a crime we never committed, from the lips of a woman who once tried to erase my name?"
Mary met her gaze without blinking. "You're to accept power, child. The rest is formality."
The young girl did not dare to answer.
Adeena stood beside a painting propped against the stone wall. It showed two women—one in ruin, the other in triumph. The poor girl's eyes were wide, mouth slightly open as though caught mid-plea. The victorious one? Shrouded, faceless, sword raised high, her neck tilted in smug reverence.
"If I were to ask…" Astrid said, voice playful yet loaded, "if you were the woman in the painting, Adeena… tell me. If the poor girl had lived, would she have had an easy life?"
Adeena didn't blink. Her eyes never left the painting.
"Can I really answer that, My Lady?" Her voice was level. "Should I say what I actually think in front of the royal bloodline who once conquered Central City? I might not walk out alive."
"Carry on, dear," Mary said, smiling too sweetly. "You did say the poor girl wasn't born in Central City."
"Let's listen to whatever opinion you have in mind, I am sure Melinda would not mind," Dahlia allowed it. Honestly, she was the one instructing this art to be painted by Melinda—her own daughter did not know the true story behind it as well. Some of the stories she often delivered, even to Mary yesterday, were filtered according to her fun.
Adeena folded her hands behind her back. "If she came from another region but served a wealthy woman of status—she wouldn't stand a chance."
"And why is that?" Mary asked, voice silken and sharp.
"Because Central City listens only to men," Adeena answered, blunt and without hesitation. "It doesn't matter if they kill, embezzle, gamble, rape, or obsess over young girls. If there's no proof, they walk free. Meanwhile, a woman with a whisper of guilt is put to death."
Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "So, she could be killed simply for being a woman. Is that what you're saying, sweetheart?"
"Correct."
"And yet the noble girl got away with it?"
"True."
"What is your point?" Mary asked.
"And more powerful," Adeena cut in. Her tone was mild, but the words left a mark. Dahlia stared, displeased by the defense.
"In Central City," Adeena went on, "if the crime happened there, the noblewoman could buy her innocence. But if it happened in the poor girl's homeland… she might've been protected. That's why they beheaded her without a proper investigation. They feared Withgrave's retaliation."
Astrid frowned. "Withgrave?"
"The girl's skin, her hair. She's not from Wisteria. She's Withgrave-born."
Mary turned back to the painting.
"Withgrave," Adeena continued, "isn't part of Wisteria. It is true they share similar tradition, but what is famous is—Withgrave is led by women. Men belong to harems. Women choose their husbands. They protect each other equally. That's why she trusted the man—because they were friends. Or so she thought."
Mary leaned closer, noticing the details Adeena pointed out.
"There," Adeena said, voice low. "The knight woman's right hand is raised. On her wrist, a Withgrave stone bracelet. It glimmers against the light, flickering like the truth."
Her face remained hidden in shadow, her posture proud and victorious. On her left wrist, she was carrying a broken bracelet, throwing it to the ground—showing so much about her fake relationship and whatever bond they ever shared.
"Was it really friendship she was after?" Adeena asked. "Or was the Withgrave girl just a pawn to spark war?"
None of them answered.
"May I change the matter of conversation, Your Grace?"
"Proceed," answered Mary.
"Your traditions," Adeena said, trying to shift the mood. "I am not familiar with Central City tradition, but I heard Central people choose kings through Nimueh's selection, don't you? Even in Atlante's time?"
Mary nodded. "The Atlante King is chosen by the people's voice and the truth Nimueh reveals. If a man commits a crime—killing a man who sits on the throne is an act of challenging the authority. However he wins doesn't matter—he would be crowned as the next king."
There was silence.
Adeena gazed toward the distant mountains. "Wisteria lies in ruin now. They said my father joined the rebellion. But there's no proof. His corpse wasn't even among the traitors."
"Tell me what you believe? How can I persuade you into taking my offer?"
"Our family is not a part of Central City, Your Grace. What can he gain? What would the Wisteria household gain by killing your cousin, the king? Your Grace."
What she said never crossed Mary's mind. It was true—Wisteria was an independent region. How could she have forgotten that? It's just that the household visited Erlost every chance they got. She had mixed information.
Even so, why did that man—Naina's husband—come in and out of the court like he shared the same problems? Even though he was a matrilocal husband? Even Naina's shadow never entered the Garden Palace.
She paused, then chuckled dryly.
"What I believe is… someone in our own bloodline sold us out for wealth."
Her lips curled in a smile she didn't feel.
Astrid shivered. "That's a bit—creepy."
"They backstabbed my family to achieve what they never could," Adeena said, eyes glassy. "Unable to obtain what they desired, they framed my father."
"Ahem," Mary coughed softly.
"I wasn't raised to lie, My Lady," Adeena said, calm as ever. "Forgive my sharp tongue."
"I like you," Mary replied.
Those words were not light. They came down like iron. Adeena suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
"Adeena, you may go back," Dahlia said, noticing the weight of the room.
"Why should she leave?" Mary asked, a peculiar gentleness in her voice. "Come, sit here, darling."
Darling.
The word stung like a lash. Aidan's back flashed in her mind, a memory of his voice warning her.
There is no good minding business with those people.
Should she sit? Or leave?
She looked at Astrid, who only shrugged and scratched her temple, pointing vaguely to her mother.
Adeena turned toward Dahlia, hoping for direction. The woman looked anything but pleased.
"Sit," Dahlia ordered.
"Mandy, pour her some tea," she added with a sharp clap.
A maid hurried forward. The clinking of the glass kettle echoed in the silence. Adeena took the cup without a word. She still couldn't decide who was more dangerous—Dahlia or Mary.
"Your household was known for healing, was it not?" Mary asked, tone too smooth.
Adeena's brows flicked. The question was bait.
"I heard your father was a fairy," Mary continued. "Technically, I don't think so. He was just a genius—a man who created healing properties no one else could."
The weight in her chest returned.
"What's your point, My Lady?" Adeena asked flatly. "If you want something, say it."
Astrid gasped and kicked her under the table.
Mary and Adeena locked eyes. Dahlia said nothing. She was enjoying the show.
"My family perished because of what my father created," Adeena said, voice steady. "You ask me to take on his legacy? That's asking me to die. People like you ask and ask, and when it's over—you toss us away like fleas."
Mary's eyes glistened. "I'm sick. Someone poisoned me. I could die."
Adeena didn't flinch.
"I'm sorry, I can't help you," she said. "Someone killed my father before he could teach me."
Mary looked stunned. Her face flushed with anger.
"Sell me the recipe, then," she snapped.
Adeena sighed. "My home was raided the day they confirmed my father was dead. Everything was taken by the emperor. The book… it might still be in your room. If not, it was probably sold at auction. Either way, I can't help you, My Lady."
Mary leaned back slowly, stunned.
"What?" she muttered.
"But A—"
Astrid tried to speak, but Adeena's glare silenced her instantly.
That ended the conversation.
Mary stood, brushing her gown gently.
"Farewell," she said. "I will see to my condition in Central City. Perhaps… there's still a remedy somewhere."
Adeena said nothing.
After she left, Astrid turned to her, still wide-eyed.
"Why did you lie? Your brother is a healer."
Adeena smiled faintly and tapped Astrid on the shoulder.
"It's quiet today, isn't it, My Lady?"
Yes. Quiet. Too quiet—Like the wind was holding its breath before a storm.