[Third Person].
The next morning passed in familiar rhythm.
redith and Draven completed their usual run in the early hours, followed by training and breakfast together.
The estate felt calm—too calm, perhaps—but neither of them comnted on it.
When it was ti to check on Xamira, redith deliberately slowed her steps. "You go ahead first," she told Draven.
He paused for a mont, nodded and continued toward Xamira’s bedroom.
anwhile, redith turned away and headed for her workstation. Inside, the room still slled faintly of dried herbs. She moved straight to the shelf where she had placed the glass bottle the previous day.
The liquid inside was clear, slightly tinted from the herbs—harmless in truth, though no one else needed to know that.
She slipped the bottle into her sleeve and left.
When redith arrived at Xamira’s bedroom, the door was already open.
Xamira sat upright on the bed, her posture noticeably better than the day before. Colour had returned to her face, and the tight fear that once clung to her had softened—though it hadn’t disappeared.
Her nanny was just gathering the breakfast tray that sat empty on the bedside table.
"Luna," the woman greeted respectfully, dipping into a curtsy.
redith inclined her head. "You may go."
The nanny hesitated only a second, glanced once at Xamira, then left the room quietly, closing the door behind her.
Draven stood near the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his expression distant. He looked as though he had been thinking long and hard about so many things.
redith stepped in beside him, and the room settled into silence again.
Xamira didn’t wait anymore, seeing as it was just them in the room. She slid off the bed and knelt, her movents swift and deliberate, her head bowed low enough that her forehead nearly touched the floor.
"My lady, I choose to serve you," she said. Her voice was steady—too steady. "As your ssenger. As your shadow. Whatever you command."
redith studied her for a long mont, searching for hesitation, fear sharp enough to fracture resolve. She found fear, yes—but it was disciplined now, and more focused.
Slowly, she reached into the wide sleeve of her shirt and brought out the glass bottle.
Xamira’s breath hitched when she saw it. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her printed dress.
"You understand what this ans," redith said calmly. "Once you drink it, your life will no longer belong to you." Then she continued, ntioning the daily antidote she had to take for the rest of her life if she wanted to live.
Xamira swallowed. Then she lifted her head. "I understand."
Without waiting to be told again, she took the bottle from redith’s hand, uncorked it, and gulped the contents down in one motion without any signs of hesitation.
redith hadn’t expected that. So, she flicked a glance at Draven, expecting him to try to stop her life yesterday.
But Draven didn’t move, speak, or even try to stop it. This made redith wonder why he didn’t make a move.
Then, she instinctively reached for his mind, trying to hear his thoughts, and found nothing but a clean and intentional wall.
Her fingers stilled for half a heartbeat as she realized that he had intentionally blocked her from reading his mind, which ant he didn’t want her to know his thoughts at this mont.
And this made redith uncomfortable. She beca uncertain whether to feel unsettled or strangely respected.
A few monts later, she turned her attention back to Xamira. "I haven’t forgotten your pretences, subtle manipulations and strategies against back then in Duskmoor," redith said coolly.
Xamira stiffened. "I know."
"But I won’t pursue it now." redith continued.
Relief flickered across Xamira’s face. "Thank you, my lady."
redith’s gaze hardened again. "Don’t thank yet. Whenever you grow tired of living, you may disappear. Don’t return. That choice will always be yours."
Xamira nodded once. "Understood."
redith straightened and turned to Draven. "It’s too risky for her to continue being Xamira once she starts running errands."
Draven nodded. "When the ti is right, I will send her off."
He didn’t need to explain further. There were available options like faking her death, exiling her, or even making a clean disappearance.
redith turned back to Xamira. "Until then, you live quietly and speak little. Draw no attention to yourself. You move only when I call for you."
"Yes, my lady."
"The antidote," redith added, "will be brought to you every night."
Xamira bowed again. "Thank you, my lady."
redith didn’t respond. She turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. And Draven only released the breath he had been holding after that.
The room felt quieter without her presence.
Draven glanced once more at Xamira—still kneeling, then let his gaze drop to the empty glass bottle on the floor that was supposed to contain poison.
Then, he turned away and walked out of the room, leaving Xamira alone with her thoughts and the weight of the choice she had made.
But the truth was, Draven had doubted that redith would poison Xamira. And he had figured it out the previous day. Yet, he didn’t confront or expose her.
When he returned from his eting yesterday and learned redith had skipped lunch because she was asleep, he brought food up to their bedroom himself. After setting the tray down, he went to wash his hands, and that was when he slled the herbs in the bathroom.
He recognized that it had been the sa scent that had lingered in her workstation earlier that day.
At first, he dismissed it, but since he was observant, he paid more attention and found so clues.
Then, when he returned to the bedroom and saw redith in her robe, freshly bathed, he noticed it again—faint, carefully concealed beneath soap and water, but unmistakable to his senses.
The herbs had soaked into her skin. That alone had told him everything, and that realization had settled sothing deep in his chest.
redith had been acting. Putting on a front if it ant control, safety, and dominance.
He didn’t bla her for hiding it from him. In fact, he respected it.
That was why just minutes ago, he had deliberately closed off his thoughts when she tried to read him. Not because he distrusted her, but because he didn’t want her to know he had already seen through her plan.
He knew how hard she was pretending to be cold, and how much effort it took for her to wear cruelty like armour.
He wasn’t about to ruin that by letting her think she had failed. So, he let her believe the illusion had worked. Let her play the villain, just a little longer.
As Draven walked down the corridor, his steps slow and asured, he realized that he didn’t have to worry about or doubt his wife’s conscience in the first place.
redith was still redith.
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