Why The Hell is Fate Trying to Kill Me?

Chapter 71 Monsters at the Table

The afternoon sun was already beginning to wane when the sound of hooves thundered against the cobblestones of the Manor's courtyard.

I sat in my room, by the window, but I did not look out. I heard the heavy, rhythmic clatter of the Vanguard. I heard the shouting of grooms, the creak of carriage wheels, and the distinct, commanding voice of my father barking orders about the weapon racks.

They were back.

The door to my room opened softly. Adel stepped inside, her hands clasped in front of her.

"My Lady," she said. "The Duke and Duchess have returned. Young Master Aurelio is with them. The entourage is unloading in the courtyard."

I didn't turn my head from the book I was pretending to read. "I hear them."

"Will you go down to welcome them?" Adel asked gently. "It is customary."

"Customary for a daughter," I corrected, turning a page without reading a single word. "But I am not feeling like a daughter today, Adel."

Adel paused. She looked at my rigid back.

"They will expect you."

"Let them expect," I said cold-heartedly. "I have spent three days being the topic of their gossip and the Queen's pity. I will not step out until I am ready."

"As you wish, My Lady."

Adel bowed and left.

I stayed in my room as the afternoon bled into evening. I heard the house come alive—the heavy footsteps of soldiers, the rustle of servants, the distant murmur of my parents' voices in the hall.

I waited.

It wasn't until the sun had fully set and the candles were lit that Adel returned.

"My Lady," she announced. "The Duke and Duchess request your presence for dinner. They said... it has been two weeks of confinement. They wish to break bread as a family."

I finally closed the book.

"A family," I repeated, tasting the word. "Very well."

I stood up.

"Prepare the Midnight Velvet," I commanded. "The one with the high collar. And the Aurelius Choker."

Adel nodded, understanding immediately. I wasn't dressing for a family reunion. I was dressing for a negotiation.

...

The Grand Dining Hall was a cavern of shadows and flickering candlelight. The long mahogany table, usually capable of seating thirty, was set for only four.

My father sat at the head. My mother sat at the opposite end. Aurelio sat on the left, picking at a bread roll with a sullen intensity.

The moment I entered, the silence in the room deepened.

I didn't rush. I walked with the slow, deliberate gait I had perfected in the mirror—the gait of the Wicked Witch.

"Father. Mother," I said, inclining my head slightly but not bowing.

"Aurelia," my father said. His voice was tired, but his eyes were sharp. He watched me take my seat opposite Aurelio.

My mother didn't speak. She simply watched me over the rim of her wine glass. Her eyes, identical to the ones I saw in the mirror during my fever dream, were assessing. Calculating.

The servants brought the first course—a soup of roasted pumpkin and sage.

I picked up my spoon. I didn't eat. I just stirred the liquid, watching the steam rise.