Fiona had disliked Guinvere for years.
She despised that distant, superior air, the way Guinvere stood above others as if admiration were owed to her by default. Even worse, there were always n foolish enough to fall for that facade, lining up willingly beneath her shadow, like Sigmund.
What truly irritated Fiona now was the irony of it all.
She had once been willing to align herself with Guinvere against Zora, only to discover that Guinvere also looked down on her. And now, with Prince Kael clearly choosing soone else, Fiona found an unexpected sense of satisfaction blooming in her chest.
If she had already given up on Prince Kael, then she might as well enjoy pulling at Guinvere’s carefully maintained pride. She wanted to see how long that lofty composure could last once the truth was dragged into the open.
As a result, her words fell, sharp and unrestrained.
Guinvere then turned to her slowly, eyes cold as frost. The chill in her gaze was unmistakable as she replied, "Whether they suit each other or not has nothing to do with you."
Her voice was calm, controlled, and aloof, just as it had always been. Yet beneath that calm, sothing had cracked. The wound was invisible, but Fiona could see it clearly.
To be left outside the ruins, to be dismissed while Zora and Prince Kael remained within, was not just rejection. It was a verdict. As if the world itself had declared that she no longer belonged.
Fiona rely lifted a brow and laughed softly, the sound light but rciless. "Of course, it has nothing to do with . I just find it amusing."
She tilted her head, her smile widening as she continued, "Guinvere, you’ve always been so proud. And yet now, even the man you value most doesn’t look back at you. If it isn’t yours, it isn’t yours. In my eyes, Zora isn’t inferior to you at all."
Her gaze sharpened and nailed the coffin with a finishing statent. "At the very least, when it cos to holding a man’s heart, you’ve already lost."
Having said her piece, Fiona did not linger there anyway. She turned away, ignoring the increasingly rigid expression on Guinvere’s face, and returned to her own group without another glance.
For years, Guinvere’s arrogance had pressed down on her. The difference in strength had forced Fiona to endure it in silence.
Now that Guinvere stood exposed and shaken, Fiona felt no guilt in twisting the knife. If Guinvere refused to show her any courtesy, then Fiona had no intention of sparing her feelings.
Perhaps one day, that flawless mask would finally shatter completely.
"The inheritance is settled. Let’s go," Fiona said coolly to the group, lifting her hand as she signaled her people to leave. There was no reason to remain here any longer.
Guinvere watched the House Ravens’ Spirit warriors depart, a sharp glint flashing through her eyes. Zora... this woman was far more dangerous than she had ever imagined.
House Night’s warriors also soon followed, unwilling to waste ti lingering outside the ruins. House Crescent’s warriors, on the other hand, remained nearby, choosing a place to wait. Elowen was still inside, and they would not leave without her.
Sigmund stood where he was, his expression dark and unsettled. Not long ago, he had been utterly convinced that Zora would never make it to the end. Now reality had slapped him hard across the face.
Yet despite the bitterness churning in his chest, he did not leave.
Guinvere was still here.
And as long as she remained, he could not bring himself to turn away. "Miss Guinvere, everyone except those chosen for the inheritance has already co out. Are you really planning to stay here?"
Sigmund looked at Guinvere carefully, his tone restrained, as though afraid of touching a wound that was already bleeding.
Guinvere’s expression was dark, the cold composure she had worn so proudly now threaded with a faint but unmistakable gloom. In the end, the outco she most refused to accept had still appeared before her eyes.
Seeing that she remained silent, Sigmund hesitated for a mont before speaking again. "If you’re also leaving... then perhaps we could go together?"
Guinvere finally turned her gaze toward him. Her eyes were calm, distant, and carried no warmth at all. "You should leave first," she said evenly. "I’ll wait here for him to co out."
Sigmund froze.
He had not expected this answer. Even now, even after everything that had happened, Guinvere was still determined to wait for Prince Kael.
A complicated light flickered in his eyes. Part of him understood her persistence, and part of him felt an indescribable bitterness. Still, reality did not allow him the luxury of lingering.
"If that’s your decision, then I’ll return first," he said at last.
This trip had ended far from how he had imagined. Not only had he gained nothing, but he had also beco the object of ridicule. The family elders would demand an explanation, and he could not avoid facing them. If he stayed any longer, their anger would only deepen.
Guinvere gave a brief nod. "Alright."
Sigmund looked at her one last ti. Reluctance flickered across his face before he turned away, leading the House Storm out of the forest without looking back.
*
When Zora opened her eyes again, she found herself standing in a apple forest.
It was eerily similar to Zora’s Manor, which Kael nad after her, where she had once lived. Endless apple trees stretched into the distance, petals drifting down like soft snow. The air was thick with fragrance, sweet yet delicate, and the entire world seed washed in pale red light, a bit dreamlike and unreal.
Almost instantly, Zora realized where she was.
It was another illusory realm.
It seed the two masters of the ruins had an exceptional fondness for such scenes, weaving illusion after illusion with effortless ease. She steadied her breathing, her gaze remaining clear and calm.
At that mont, a lody floated through the air.
The sound of the Psaltery was gentle and lingering, each harp-like note flowing like water, as though calling to her from afar. Without even realizing it, Zora found herself following the sound, step by step, deeper into the Apple forest.
She did not yet understand what this illusion was ant to test. Still, instinct told her that the answer lay ahead.
As she passed through layers of drifting petals of the apple blossoms, a delicate pavilion gradually ca into view, hidden among the trees. Gauzy scarlet curtains fluttered softly in the breeze, and within them sat a graceful figure.
Three thousand strands of dark hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. Her crimson and rose-colored robes pooled elegantly at her feet as her fingers moved across the strings. The music flowed from her hands, gentle and srizing.
Even from behind, the figure radiated beauty.
Zora slowed her steps. As a woman herself, she could not help but admire that elegant silhouette. One did not need to see her face to know that this was a peerless beauty.
She approached quietly, then stopped a respectful distance away and bowed slightly.
"I hope I’m not disturbing you, Your Grace."
The music faded, the final note dissolving into the air.
The woman rose slowly and turned around, revealing a familiar, breathtaking face.
It was Celia indeed.
"So it’s you," Zora said softly, offering another respectful salute. Her tone carried genuine admiration. "Your Grace truly carries the grace of a heavenly daughter."
Celia smiled, her expression gentle and serene. Her eyes lingered on Zora as though carefully studying her, not with scrutiny, but with curiosity and warmth.
"I have seen countless won in my lifeti," Celia said slowly. "The world has always praised my appearance. But in my eyes, you are the one who truly carries the grace of a heavenly favored daughter."
Her words were light, yet sincere, and the apple blossoms continued to fall around them like a silent witness.
Celia’s beauty was breathtaking, yet it carried not the slightest hint of sharpness or arrogance. It was a kind of beauty that felt calm and gentle, like spring water flowing quietly beneath moonlight.
From the very first mont she had seen Zora, Celia had been unable to ignore her presence. There was sothing about this young woman that felt rare, almost unfamiliar. It was not rely her appearance, but the steadiness in her eyes and the quiet confidence that settled naturally around her.
"Your Grace is too kind," Zora replied with a soft smile. "In front of you, I’m just a fledgling who just learned how to fly."
Celia’s smile deepened slightly at the response. "Outstanding looks, excellent talent, and such humility," she said slowly. "Among the younger generation I’ve seen, very few can compare to you."
Zora returned the smile, but a trace of uncertainty flickered in her clear eyes. She still could not tell what kind of test Celia intended to give her.
The next mont, Celia’s expression grew more serious. "Anyway, forget about pleasantries. Tell ," she asked calmly, "are you skilled in chess, calligraphy, or painting?"
Zora was taken aback. "Eh?"
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