How Shadows Turn to Ash

Chapter 9: Octavia

There was nothing like watching a man get grotesquely murdered to understand the gravity of your situation. Octavia had spent a good hour trying to calm Antonia down. It was only when her sister had fallen asleep that Octavia slipped from the room, trying to keep her expression composed and calm as she walked on the upper terrace toward her parents' room.

Despite her determination to remain calm, the image of the axe moving through the air replayed in the back of her mind. She felt as though the tip of the metal was at her neck, a cold sharpness flooding down her back.

"Hello, darling niece."

Octavia froze. Friedrich was walking toward her with his axe slung over his shoulder. Fear clutched at her throat. There was no blood on the weapon. Part of her wished that alone could convince her that what she had seen in the wine cellar was a dream.

"Darling niece? Really?" she asked, keeping her voice level. Lucius was close behind Friedrich, worriedly biting his lip as he glanced between them. A coy smile touched Friedrich's lips, and Octavia knew they were about to enter a battle, whether it be with words or Octavia smacking the grin right off of him.

"What should I address you as?" he asked. "I don't believe you have any titles."

"Please, don't start this," Lucius muttered. A fire lit in Octavia's chest, the heat building as it drifted down to the pit of her stomach. How could he be so nonchalant after murdering a man?

Octavia placed her hands behind her back. "Remind me, uncle, what titles do you hold?"

It was like watching a peacock puff up with how Friedrich pulled his shoulders back, showcasing medals and honors that probably came from a nearby pawn shop.

"Commander of-"

"Commander?" Octavia interrupted, tilting her head. "How prestigious, indeed. And who bestowed this title upon you?"

Friedrich's eyes narrowed. "The people," he said flatly.

"All of them?" Octavia asked innocently. Lucius gave her a nervous look. "I wasn't asked about this. Am I not a person?"

"Royals are not-"

"So I'm a royal?"

"No-"

"But you just said I was," Octavia cut in again, watching his face grow a deeper shade of red. "Commander Friedrich, I'm starting to think you gave yourself your title," she told him as if confronting a small child on some white lie. "I suppose that's fair enough, given the dismantled streams of power," she mused, glancing at where Lucius was twisting his hands. Octavia gave him a quick wink. "Why, I suspect we could all choose our titles! I prefer princess. Lucius? What title would you like? Grand Duke? Perhaps you can call yourself king?"

Friedrich's eyes darkened, fingers twitching by his side. Octavia glanced down at his fists, giving a challenging jut of her chin. She stepped forward so she could put mere inches between her and Friedrich.

"My name is Octavia," she said, the taunting tone dropping into something colder. "You may not have to call me my lady or princess, but you will call me by my name. It holds more honor than your fake titles ever will."

Friedrich raised his hand. Octavia braced herself for the hit, but the smacking sound of flesh meeting flesh never came. When she opened her eyes again, Friedrich had stepped away, shielding Lucius slightly.

"Morana," he greeted tersely.

Octavia's mother smiled politely from where she stood between her and Friedrich, hands folded together in front of her. "Friedrich," she said, voice placating despite a vague threat lurking underneath. "Thank you for finding my daughter. I was just looking for her." She placed a hand on Octavia's shoulder.

Friedrich opened his mouth, looking torn over his next words. Octavia had always known her mother to be a gentle soul. She had never even seen her shout, though there were always rumors that flitted about the castle. Some said that she had been a whirlwind before marrying her father, unreasonable and unruly. Others say it was only after Octavia's birth that her temper had calmed. Octavia wasn't sure if any of it was true. Her father once warned her that people would make up lies about her mother because she was Dualian.

Now, Octavia wondered. She had never seen Friedrich and her mother exchange more than a handful of words to one another. What did her mother think of her dead sister's husband now? Had she seen this coming? Did Friedrich wonder what his precious wife would think about him betraying his own flesh and blood?

If such thoughts were on either of their minds, neither spoke them out loud. Friedrich only hesitated before turning back to Octavia and giving a terse nod. "I wanted to ask after your sister's health," he said, voice growing more respectful. "I heard she was ill last night."

Octavia forced a sweet smile. "It's kind of you to ask," she said. Her mother's hand remained stagnantly on her shoulder. "She's feeling much better this morning. I suspect a few more hours of sleep is all she needs."

Friedrich bowed his head with murmured pleasantries before lightly pushing Lucius away.
Hatred filled her. If they survived this... Octavia would bring the entire revolution down to its knees. For Lord Savoy. For her father. For her sister. For the threat against all of their lives. She would take that axe from Friedrich and chop his head off first.