"A guard is just a servant, Seera," the Marchioness pressed, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "A Marquis’s daughter cannot be escorted through high society by a nameless sellsword. It lacks dignity. Kavien is an adopted son of this house; his presence establishes your status."

"His presence establishes nothing but your own poor taste," the grandmother cut in smoothly, her voice dripping with absolute disdain as she wiped her mouth with a silk napkin. She stood up, leaning heavily on her walking stick as Heena instantly rose to support her elbow. "The guard stays. The parasite stays out of my sight. If I see this boy hovering around my granddaughter’s courtyard today, I will have the knights throw him out of the front gates myself."

The Marchioness stood up as well, her head bowing slightly, but her eyes remained locked on Heena’s face. "As you wish, Mother."

"Come, Seera," the grandmother said, completely ignoring her daughter-in-law as she began to walk toward the exit, her frail hand resting securely on Heena’s arm. "Let us leave this dismal room. The air here is entirely too foul this morning."

"Yes, Grandma." Heena guided her out with fluid, graceful steps, her posture perfectly regal.

As they walked out into the sunlit grand corridor, Samuel fell into step precisely two paces behind them, his heavy, rhythmic tread acting as a constant, reassuring weight. Heena kept her eyes fixed forward, but her internal terminal was already humming as the little lion System materialized a tiny, translucent status screen right in the center of her vision.

*[ Host! ]* the System squeaked mentally, his digital voice buzzing with a sudden, high-frequency alert. *[ I’ve just intercepted a localized encrypted transmission originating from the Marchioness’s private study! It wasn’t sent to the capital noble houses. It was routed through a secret dark-channel array directly toward the northern border garrison! ]*

Heena’s eyes sharpened, the lovely, sweet smile on her face remaining completely unchanged as she mentally replied, *’The northern garrison? My mother is communicating with the leylines region? What did the transmission say?’*

*[ The data encryption is heavy, Host, it’s using an ancient high-noble cipher that pre-dates the current script! ]* the little lion reported, his digital tail puffing up in panic. *[ But I managed to decode three specific keywords before the signal vanished into the frozen sector: ’The Vessel,’ ’The Thirteenth,’ and ’The Execution.’ Host... your mother isn’t just a corrupt aristocrat trying to steal a birthright. She is actively communicating with the unknown faction in the north! ]*

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The short walk from the secondary dining hall led them into a secluded courtyard tucked deep within the matriarch’s personal wing. It was a hauntingly silent place. At its center stood a massive, ancient cherry blossom tree, its dark and twisted branches entirely bare — skeletal against the pale morning sky, without a single leaf or petal to soften the silhouette. Smooth stone tables were arranged around a pristine koi pond, where flashes of gold and crimson cut through the dark, mirror-still water.

The perfect sanctuary for a woman who trusted no one.

The grandmother’s cane clicked against the stone path before she stopped. She didn’t turn around. She simply raised one frail hand.

"Leave us."

The servants, guards, and attendants retreated without a breath of hesitation, bowing in perfect unison before dissolving like shadows through the courtyard gates. Samuel caught Heena’s quiet nod and stepped back into the corridor. The heavy wooden doors clicked shut behind him.

The moment they did, Heena knew the game had changed.

The grandmother turned around slowly.

The warm, doting expression that had lived on her face all morning was gone. Completely, chillingly gone. What remained was the face of a woman who had survived fifty years of cutthroat aristocratic warfare — absolute, unyielding, and without mercy. The pressure radiating from her was suffocating, the kind designed to strip away pretense and force submission.

Her ancient, sharp eyes locked onto Heena and did not waver.

"Tell me, Seera," the grandmother said, her voice stripped of all warmth and sharp as a drawn blade. "Exactly since when did you develop an allergy to lotus root?"

Heena stood perfectly still. She looked at the towering presence before her and understood immediately that a woman who had ruled the capital’s high nobility for half a century could not be fooled by parlor tricks.

Slowly, she let her facade dissolve.

The fragile slump left her shoulders. Her posture straightened. Her eyes turned dark and sharp, laced with a cold, unshakeable clarity. She met the matriarch’s overwhelming gaze without flinching. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

"Since the moment I was murdered by my own mother," Heena said, her tone completely flat.

The grandmother froze. The suffocating pressure radiating from her stalled mid-air. Her eyes widened slightly, her knuckles turning white around the head of her cane.

Heena did not look away. A cynical, profoundly bitter smile curved her lips. "Did you truly believe the official reports, Grandma? Did you actually think that a girl raised under your strict tutelage — someone who was always impeccably proper, poised, obsessed with her duties — would carelessly wander to the edge of a treacherous cliff to admire the view?"

The grandmother stared at her. Her chest rose and fell as the horrifying logic settled in. After a long silence, she whispered, "No."

"You raised me," Heena continued, taking a slow step forward. Gravel crunched softly beneath her silk shoes. "I spent more time beside you in the study than I ever did with my own parents. You are the one person in this entire estate who knows the marrow of my bones. So tell me honestly, Grandma — did you truly believe I would vanish from this world without a reason?"

The grandmother’s sharp eyes glistened. The terrifying ruler of the Marquisate seemed to recede, leaving behind an old woman staring at the ghost of her bloodline. "Where have you been all this time, Seera? Truthfully."

"In a small, impoverished village far from the capital," Heena answered, her voice softening just a fraction.

The grandmother nodded slowly. "And your memory? Your brother claimed you forgot—"

"I did lose my memories. All of them." Heena wove the necessary lie into the brutal truth without hesitation. "For years I lived as a low-class servant in the household of a rural provincial noble. A vile old man with a cruel wife and an adult son."

The grandmother’s eyes narrowed. "And the guard of yours. The one standing outside."

Heena smiled — a genuine, slightly fond smile that reached her eyes. She wasn’t surprised in the least. How could a woman who had inspected imperial knights for decades be deceived by a costume?

"You knew, didn’t you?" Heena asked softly.

A curt, dismissive nod. "Of course I knew. His posture is rigid, yes — but it is the rigidity of pride, not servitude. And his hands. I saw them when he bowed. Smooth and elegant. Those are the hands of someone who holds a calligraphy brush and turns the pages of ancient texts, not the calloused hands of a mercenary who swings a blade for coin."

"You have sharp eyes, Grandma," Heena said. "Yes. He is my husband."

A heavy, complicated emotion crossed the old woman’s weathered face. She bit her lower lip — an entirely uncharacteristic gesture of maternal anxiety. "Did he... treat you well? During those years?"

Heena’s gaze drifted toward the closed wooden doors. A cold, steady edge entered her voice.