Chapter 40: Get out of my sight

Guinevere stood at the bottom of the pristine marble staircase, her breath hitching in her throat as she looked up at the older woman.

Her mother was dressed in a heavy, black mourning gown, her purple hair streaked with silver blowing gently in the evening wind.

Despite lacking the direct combat power of a front-line mage, the older woman possessed the exact same perceptive A-rank talent as her daughter, honed by decades of surviving the cutthroat politics of the Eldian nobility.

The mother did not look at Guinevere. Her sharp, intelligent eyes were locked entirely onto Lucius, who stood casually on the gravel path with his hands resting at his sides.

She could feel the suffocating, unnatural aura of death radiating off his pale skin, a cold void that made her human instincts scream in terror.

’She knows something is fundamentally wrong with us,’ Lucius noted in his mind, his glowing crimson eyes staring back at the older woman with absolute, predatory calmness.

He did not flare his mana or attempt to intimidate her. He simply stood his ground, letting the heavy silence stretch.

Guinevere quickly stepped forward, placing herself directly in her mother’s line of sight to break the tense standoff.

"Mother, please," Guinevere urged, her voice trembling slightly before she forced it into a steady, aristocratic tone. "These people are not our enemies.

They are the only reason I am standing before you tonight. But we cannot discuss this out in the open courtyard where anyone might be listening."

The older woman tore her gaze away from the pale mercenary and looked down at her daughter.

She saw the ruined state of Guinevere’s dark traveling clothes, the exhaustion etched deep into her flawless face, and the complete absence of the Count. Her jaw tightened, a flicker of genuine dread pooling in her eyes.

"Very well," her mother commanded, her voice cutting through the quiet night like a blade of ice.

She turned her head slightly toward the grand foyer.

"Sebastian. Escort my daughter’s guests into the east wing parlor. See to it that they are fed and given whatever they require. Guinevere, you will come with me to the private study. Immediately."

An elderly butler dressed in a spotless, tailored coat stepped out from the shadows of the open double doors. He offered a deep, perfectly practiced bow toward Lucius and Dori.

Guinevere cast one last, lingering look of silent desperation toward Lucius. He offered a minuscule nod, silently granting her permission to handle her family affairs.

The butler led the vampire lord and his feral subordinate away from the grand staircase, guiding them through a series of sprawling, beautifully decorated corridors.

The walls were lined with expensive oil paintings, enchanted crystal chandeliers that cast a warm, golden glow, and thick velvet carpets that completely muffled their footsteps.

Dori walked close to her master, her ceyes darting wildly across the opulent surroundings. She had never seen such a ridiculous display of human wealth in her entire life.

To her feral mind, a warm campfire and a solid roof were luxuries, but this massive estate was something entirely beyond her comprehension.

They were led into a spacious parlor room facing the eastern gardens.

A long mahogany table sat in the center, quickly filled with an array of roasted meats, fresh bread, and expensive imported cheeses by a small army of terrified but efficient maids.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," the butler said politely before bowing and closing the heavy oak doors, leaving them completely alone.

Dori did not need to be told twice. She practically dove into the nearest chair, grabbing a massive roasted bird leg with her bare hands and tearing a huge chunk of meat free with her fangs.

"This is crazy, Master," Dori mumbled through a mouthful of food, her raspy voice filled with absolute awe. She pointed a greasy finger at the gold-rimmed plates. "That purple-haired girl is stupidly rich. Why was she riding in a cheap wooden cart looking like a peasant when she has all of this?"

Lucius did not sit down. He walked slowly toward the tall glass windows, looking out over the manicured hedges bathed in moonlight.

"It was a disguise to transport the artifact safely," Lucius explained smoothly, folding his arms across his chest. "A disguise that ultimately failed. Eat your fill, Dori. We will not be staying in this room for long."

While Dori happily devoured the noble feast, Lucius kept his enhanced hearing focused entirely on the distant corridors of the estate.

He could perfectly hear the rhythmic tapping of Guinevere’s boots as she followed her mother deep into the heart of the mansion.

He felt a rare, calculating concern for his new subordinate. The system curse had bound her loyalty to him, but her human mind was still incredibly fragile, currently standing on the precipice of absolute despair.

Far across the estate, the heavy mahogany doors of the private study clicked shut.

The room was dimly lit by a crackling stone fireplace. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with ancient ledgers and magical theory texts.

Guinevere stood in the center of the plush rug, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her waist.

Her mother walked slowly toward the fireplace, pouring two glasses of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. She did not offer one to Guinevere.

She took a long, steady sip, her back turned to her daughter.

"Now," her mother began, her voice low and dangerously calm. "You will tell me exactly what happened at the border. Where is your father?"

Guinevere swallowed the heavy lump in her throat. She had rehearsed this moment in her head a thousand times during the long carriage ride back, yet looking at her mother’s rigid posture, all the words seemed to turn to ash on her tongue.

"The mercenaries in the courtyard," Guinevere started, her voice shaking slightly. "The pale man is named Lucius, and the girl is Dori. We were ambushed by bandits on the mountain pass, and they saved our lives. They are the only reason I made it back to the capital."

"I did not ask for the names of the dangerous thugs you dragged into our home," her mother snapped, slamming the crystal glass down onto the wooden mantelpiece with a sharp clack. She spun around, her eyes burning with an intense, terrified light. "I asked about the Count. Why did he not walk through those gates with you?"

Guinevere closed her eyes, the horrific image of the blood-soaked cobblestones flashing vividly behind her eyelids. The smell of the magical smoke, the violent spray of crimson, the lifeless look in her father’s eyes.

"He is dead, Mother," Guinevere whispered, opening her bright purple eyes to meet her mother’s gaze. "Father was murdered in the plaza of Border City."

The absolute silence that followed was deafening. The only sound in the study was the crackling and popping of the burning logs in the hearth.

Her mother stared at her, the color draining completely from her weathered face. For a long, agonizing moment, the older woman simply froze, completely unable to process the sheer magnitude of the words.

The impenetrable, aristocratic mask she had worn for decades fractured, revealing a deeply broken, terrified woman beneath.

"No," her mother breathed out, shaking her head slowly.

She took a step back, her hand gripping the edge of the mantelpiece to steady herself.

"No, you are lying to me. Your father is a brilliant strategist. He was traveling in absolute secrecy. He hired the best broker in the capital. He is safe."

"It is the truth," Guinevere cried out, tears finally breaking through her restraint and streaming down her pale cheeks.

She took a desperate step forward, reaching her hands out toward her mother.

"He was slaughtered right in front of me! They slit his throat and stole the artifact he was supposed to transport. He bled out in my arms!"

"Who did this?" her mother demanded, her voice rising to a hysterical, vibrating pitch. "Who dared to strike down the Count of this city?!"

"It was the House of Gregory!" Guinevere shouted. "It was Duke Gregory! He sent red-clad assassins to track us. He knew exactly who we were and what we carried. He butchered Father like an animal in the street just to gain favor with the King!"

The revelation hit the older woman like a physical blow.

Duke Gregory was a massive political titan in the capital, a man possessing infinite resources and the absolute ear of the royal family. If he was the one who orchestrated the assassination, their entire lineage was in immediate, catastrophic danger.

The overwhelming tide of grief and fear suddenly twisted into something far uglier. It mutated into blinding, irrational rage.

Her mother closed the distance between them in three rapid strides.

Smack!

The sharp, echoing crack of an open palm striking flesh rang out through the private study. The sheer kinetic force of the slap snapped Guinevere’s head violently to the side, completely knocking her off balance.

She stumbled backward, her shoulder slamming hard against the edge of a wooden bookshelf.

A bright red handprint immediately began to form across Guinevere’s pale cheek. She slowly raised her trembling fingers to touch the stinging skin, her eyes wide with absolute shock as she looked back at her mother.

The older woman was breathing heavily, her chest heaving as tears finally spilled over her eyelashes. Her expression was a terrifying mask of unfiltered hatred and devastating sorrow.

"You were supposed to protect him!" her mother screamed, her voice cracking painfully as she pointed a shaking, accusing finger directly at Guinevere’s chest. "You possess an A-rank magical talent! You can see the flow of the world, you can hear the whispers of the spirits, and yet you let him die in the dirt!"

"Mother, I tried," Guinevere sobbed, sliding slowly down the wooden bookshelf until her knees hit the plush rug.

"They were too fast. They used smoke and poison. There was nothing I could do."

"You survived!" her mother shrieked, the irrational grief completely consuming her logic. "You survived, and you brought those vile, death-stained mercenaries back to my home instead of his body! You failed your father. You failed this entire family!"

Guinevere flinched violently at the words, feeling a cold, suffocating darkness wrap around her heart.

She had sacrificed her humanity, submitted herself to a monster, and endured absolute torture just to gain the power to avenge her father, only to be rejected and blamed by the one person she had left in the world.

Her mother turned her back on her, staring blankly into the roaring flames of the fireplace.

"Get out," her mother whispered, her voice completely devoid of any maternal warmth. "Get out of my sight. Take those creatures you brought with you and leave this estate immediately. You are no longer welcome in these halls."

Guinevere sat on the floor for a long, heavy moment, the tears falling silently onto her lap.

Without uttering a single word of protest or apology, Guinevere slowly pushed herself up from the floor. She wiped the tears from her red, stinging cheek, her expression hardening into a hollow, emotionless void.

She turned her back on her grieving mother and walked toward the heavy mahogany doors. She grabbed the brass handle, pulled the door open, and stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, closing the door softly behind her.

Stunned, heartbroken, and completely alone, Guinevere walked silently down the velvet-lined hallway, heading straight back to the parlor room where her new master was waiting in the dark.