A heavy glass decanter shattered against the obsidian fireplace, sending shards of crystal and dark red wine splashing across the hearth.
Duke Abernathy stood at the center of his private study inside the capital manor, his chest heaving under his wrinkled uniform.
His face was a mottled, ugly shade of purple, his jaw clenching so tightly that the bones visibly throbbed beneath his skin.
The golden hum of his metal mana flared erratically around his knuckles, causing the iron pens and letter openers on his desk to rattle and bend under his kinetic fury.
“He is a broken tool, Catherine!” the Duke roared, his voice a scraping, metallic sound that made the room feel thin and suffocating.
He pointed a trembling, scarred finger toward the window that looked out over the chaotic capital streets.
“The scouts just returned from the eastern sea! The Holy See’s grand crusade has been completely, systematically wiped out in a single afternoon! Pope Boniface locked himself in a vault to blow up the continent, and Julian was found groveling on the cathedral floorboards like a pathetic, sniveling dog!”
Catherine sat perched on the edge of a dark velvet chaise lounge, her fingers lightly smoothing the torn lace of her white dress.
Her innocent facade was entirely gone, her sapphire eyes wide and burning with a frantic, desperate denial.
“No… it isn’t possible, Father! Julian is the Crown Prince! He has the imperial vanguard, he has the backing of the high nobility—”
“He has nothing!” Duke Abernathy slammed his hand onto the mahogany desk, fracturing the wood.
“He lost the southern iron mines when Vivienne exposed the weapon smuggling receipts to the Judiciary! The royal knights have split their loyalty, and the commoners are currently screaming Vivienne’s name in the streets because she tossed them the papal gold! Julian is not a strong alliance anymore. He is a dead weight that will drag this entire house into a coffin if we do not break our connections to him immediately!”
She grabbed his heavy, trembling wrist, her voice dropping into a sharp, manic frequency.
“We cannot break connections with him! I must marry Julian, Father! I have spent three long years making myself into his perfect, submissive puppet bride! I paid the maids, I poisoned her reputation, I did everything to ensure he would choose me over her!”
“You are a fool!” Duke Abernathy violently wrenched his hand out of her grip, looking down at her with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust.
“Do you have any idea what is happening? Vivienne holds the receipts to my illegal smuggling operations! She has the backing of the Iron Tyrant! Caelum’s armada is sitting in our commercial harbor right now! We are fighting for our lives, and you are still crying over a wedding canopy?!”
“You don’t understand!” Catherine shrieked, her face twisting into a mask of pure, venomous envy.
Her fingers clawed into the fabric of her skirt until the seams groaned.
“It isn’t just about the crown, Father! Vivienne still loves him! I know she does! She spent her entire life begging for his scraps of affection, begging for you to look at her instead of me! She only ran to the North because she was throwing a tantrum over our closeness!”
She took a frantic step forward, her breath coming in short, ragged puffs of madness.
“I will not let her have the satisfaction of winning! Whatever Vivienne owns, whatever she wants, I will take it from her! If she wants Julian’s heart, then I will marry him and make her watch him hold me! If she wants the imperial throne, I will sit on it! I spent my whole childhood being the perfect, beautiful daughter while she was treated like a clumsy, talentless brute! I will not crawl in her shadow now!”
Duke Abernathy stared at his daughter, the terrifying intensity of his focus turning entirely cold.
“You truly are a brainless idiot,” the Duke whispered, his voice dropping into a freezing, gravelly register that made Catherine freeze in mid-sentence.
“You think Vivienne still cares about that pathetic prince? Did you not see her face when she stood in that ballroom? She didn’t look at Julian with jealousy, Catherine. She looked at him the way an executioner looks at a piece of wood before the blade falls. She didn’t run away because of a tantrum. She outplayed us before the engagement feast even began.”
He walked over to the tall viewports, his heavy leather boots clicking heavily against the stone floorboards as he looked toward the northern horizon where the Obsidian Domain lay.
“Julian is finished,” the Duke stated flatly, his golden eyes narrowing into ruthless slits of pure calculation.
“He is currently a prisoner of his own palace, stripped of his authority, waiting for the Judiciary to finalize his high treason charges. If you try to cling to his white sleeve now, the royal executioners will put your head on the same spike as his. I am drafting a formal decree to the Imperial Council tonight. House Abernathy hereby completely dissolves all formal and informal agreements with the Crown Prince. We will align with the eastern factions instead.”
Catherine’s breath hitched, a cold, nauseating wave of panic flooding her chest as she realized her father was systematically destroying her lifetime ambition.
The pristine, innocent maiden was entirely dead; the venom in her soul consumed her thoughts until her teeth ground together so hard they ached.
“You can dissolve whatever you want, Father,” Catherine whispered fiercely, her sapphire eyes flashing with a psychotic, unyielding malice as she turned her back on him and marched toward the door.
“But I am not letting her win. Julian is mine… and whatever Vivienne took from me, I will make her pay for it in blood.”
She slammed the heavy oak door behind her, leaving the Duke alone.