Chapter 109: The Invitation

The head maid’s cold, authoritative voice cut through the air like a knife, leaving no room for negotiation. She shoved a heavy silver tray into Olivia’s trembling hands.

"Take this tray to Duke Avvion’s office immediately. Do not speak unless you are addressed. Place the tea on the mahogany desk, and leave at once. Do not linger. Understand?"

Olivia gripped the tray so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Why me?

she screamed internally.

I’ve only been here for one day! I haven’t even learned how to navigate the kitchen, let alone face the most terrifying man in the entire empire!

She felt like a lamb being led to the slaughterhouse, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She took a shaky breath, forcing her feet to move. Every step down the long, opulent corridor felt like walking toward her own execution. The palace seemed unusually quiet, the silence amplifying the frantic rhythm of her own heartbeat.

When she reached the massive, ornate doors of the Duke’s office, she paused, her breath hitching in her throat. She pushed them open just enough to slip inside.

The office was vast and smelled intensely of old paper, ink, and a cold, sharp scent that could only belong to Avvion himself. The Duke was seated behind his massive desk, his brow furrowed as he scanned a stack of sensitive documents.

He didn’t even acknowledge her presence; he was entirely consumed by his work, his golden pen moving with lethal precision across the parchment.

Olivia crept forward on velvet slippers, trying to be as light as a shadow. She reached the side of the desk, her eyes downcast, not daring to look at the man who held her fate in his hands.

Her hands were sweating, making the tray feel slippery and dangerously unstable. She moved to set the porcelain cup down, but as her fingers loosened their grip, a sudden, sharp tremor ran through her arm.

Tik.

Olivia placed the porcelain teacup on the desk with the precision of a surgeon, her hands trembling almost imperceptibly.

"Your tea, Your Highness," she murmured, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

Avvion did not lift his head, his focus entirely consumed by the dense mountain of parchment before him.

"Leave it there," he commanded, his voice cold and devoid of warmth. Olivia startled.

Why he not angry like what the head maid said before?

She said in her small mind.

"Yes, Your Highness." Olivia bowed her head low, relieved to have completed the task. She turned on her heel, her heart beginning to slow its frantic pace as she prepared to slip out of the room like a ghost.

Tok. Tok. Tok.

The rhythmic knocking at the heavy oak doors shattered the silence, freezing Olivia mid-step.

"Enter,"

Avvion replied, his tone as sharp as a blade.

A butler stepped inside, moving with the practiced grace of a shadow. In his hands, he held a letter secured with a heavy, shimmering gold wax seal. He bowed deeply before extending the correspondence toward the Prince.

"Your Highness, you got a letter," the butler announced respectfully.

Avvion took the document, his fingers breaking the seal with a slow, deliberate motion.

His eyes scanned the lines of text, moving with a calm, predatory rhythm. As he read, the corner of his mouth twitched a subtle, microscopic shift that most would miss.

Yet, to Olivia, that tiny, chilling smile felt like the temperature in the room had plummeted, turning the air brittle and freezing.

"Hah..." Avvion breathed out, a sound that held no mirth. He laid the letter flat on the desk, his gaze lingering on the parchment.

"It seems my dear fiancée is becoming bolder by the day."

The butler remained bowed, his eyes fixed on the floor. He knew better than to pry; he understood the temperament of his master far too well to invite unnecessary attention.

Olivia, however, felt as though she were suffocating. She didn’t understand the politics or the drama unfolding, and her only desire was to vanish from the room. She retreated a single step, hoping to escape unnoticed.

"Stop."

The word was a whip-crack in the silent office, pinning Olivia to the spot. Her muscles locked, and she slowly turned back to face the desk, her head bowed in submission.

"Yes... Your Highness?"

Avvion finally looked up from the letter. His piercing, icy grey eyes cold as a winter storm locked onto hers, stripping away her defenses.

He stared at her for a long, agonizing moment, his gaze analytical, as if he were measuring her worth or deciding her fate.

He began to tap his fingers against the mahogany surface of his desk.

Tok. Tok. Tok.

The sound was measured and deliberate, echoing through the vast space like a ticking clock marking the seconds of her remaining freedom.

"You are coming with me," Avvion declared, his voice final and absolute.

Olivia’s eyes widened, her breath hitching in her chest.

"M-me, Your Highness?"

"Yes," he replied, rising from his chair with a fluid, powerful motion that commanded the entire room.

"We depart in thirty minutes."

"But..."

The protest died in her throat the moment Avvion shifted his gaze toward her again. The sheer weight of his authority silenced her instantly.

"Did I sound as if I were asking for your opinion?" he inquired, his tone dangerously smooth.

"...No, Your Highness," Olivia whispered, her spirit wilting.

"Good." Avvion looked back down at the letter in his hands, his interest in her already drifting away.

"You will accompany me. Do not make me repeat myself."

________

The carriage moved slowly, leaving the grand gates of the palace behind as it ventured into the outskirts of the empire.

Inside the narrow, velvet-lined compartment, the atmosphere was thick with an suffocating silence. It was a space where even breathing felt like a transgression.

Olivia sat perfectly upright at the very edge of the plush seat, her posture stiff as a board. Her hands were buried in the folds of her apron, gripping the fabric so tightly that her knuckles had turned a ghostly, bloodless white.

She didn’t dare to move, let alone look up. The mere presence of the man across from her felt like a weight pressing down on her lungs.

Across from her, Avvion sat with an unnerving, predatory grace. His gaze was fixed steadily on the passing landscape outside the window, his profile sharp and unyielding as a marble statue.

He wore a mask of absolute indifference, his features void of any discernible emotion. The only sound filling the void between them was the rhythmic, hypnotic clatter of the carriage wheels against the uneven cobblestones of the road.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the Duke’s voice, low and smooth

"Do you know..."

Olivia flinched at the sound, her shoulders tensing further.

"...who we are meeting today?"

Olivia opened her mouth, her throat dry and tight. She struggled to find her voice, her heart racing as she grappled for a response that wouldn’t invite his ire.

"I... I do not, Your Highness."

Avvion offered a slow, deliberate nod.

"Hm."

A few agonizing moments ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last.

Then, the corner of his lips curled upward into a faint, chilling smirk a smile that never reached his cold, icy grey eyes.

"Whether you will be happy..."

his voice dropped, turning into a silken, dangerous whisper,

"...or filled with regret."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the stagnant air.

"...that depends entirely on you."

Olivia’s mind swirled in confusion, the cryptic warning making no sense to her. She didn’t understand the depth of his intent, yet a sudden, sharp ache blossomed in her chest.

A primal instinct, deep and buried, began to howl a warning a premonition that something dark and inevitable was lying in wait for her at their destination.

Avvion turned his gaze back to the window, watching the blur of the forest pass by.

However, he did not look away entirely; through the reflection on the carriage glass, his eyes remained fixed on Olivia. He watched, with calculated interest, as the blood drained from her face, leaving her complexion pale and drawn.

Still keeping your composure...

he mused silently, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

How much longer can you keep wearing that mask, I wonder?

He began to tap his fingers rhythmically against the silver handle of the cane resting on his lap.

Tok.

Tok.

Tok.

The sound echoed like a countdown. A dark, twisted sense of anticipation surged within him.

I truly cannot wait to see,

he thought, his smile widening ever so slightly,

what happens when the past finally stands face-to-face with you.

No longer after that..

The carriage came to a slow, deliberate halt, the iron wheels grinding against the gravel before falling silent. The sudden stillness felt heavy, almost oppressive.

"We’ve arrived, Your Highness," the coachman announced from outside.

The door creaked open, admitting a slice of bright, intrusive daylight. Avvion stepped out with the effortless grace of a predator, his cloak swirling slightly behind him. He didn’t walk away immediately; instead, he lingered, his gaze turning back to the dark interior of the carriage.

"Come," he commanded, his voice devoid of warmth.

Olivia stepped out, her movements hesitant and careful. As she stood upright and adjusted her vision to the light, her breath caught in her throat, and her feet rooted themselves to the ground.

Before them lay an estate so vast and magnificent that it seemed to mock the very idea of a private residence. High stone walls adorned with intricate carvings stretched toward the horizon, and the manicured gardens were a sprawling sea of vibrant colors.

Servants moved in a well-rehearsed, frantic dance, ensuring every inch of the estate was flawless.

Lining the path from the carriage to the massive double doors, rows of knights stood at attention, their armor gleaming with an intimidating luster. It was a fortress disguised as a home a place built for power and secrets.

A head butler, dressed in impeccable, stiff livery, rushed forward to meet them. He bowed low, his forehead nearly touching the ground.

"Welcome, Your Highness. We have been expecting you. Lady Ophilia has been waiting for your arrival in the grand parlor."

At the mention of that name, Olivia felt a sudden, sharp jolt in her chest. Her fingers tightened instinctively, crushing the delicate hem of her skirt.

Lady... Ophilia?

The name hung in the air, tasting strange and familiar all at once. It triggered a dull, pulsing ache behind her eyes, a sensation like a forgotten melody trying to break through a thick fog.

She felt a sudden, inexplicable tightening in her throat, as if a ghost from a life she couldn’t remember was reaching out to her.

Where have I heard that?

she wondered, her mind frantically searching through a void of missing memories.

Why does this name feel like familiar..

Without sparing her another glance, Avvion strode forward, his pace steady and purposeful. He had only taken a few steps before he stopped and pivoted, his eyes sweeping back toward her.

His cold, grey gaze locked onto hers, dissecting every micro-expression, every flicker of uncertainty, and every shadow of fear that crossed her face.

He was watching her not as a servant, but as a scientist observing a chemical reaction. A faint, nearly invisible smile ghosted across his lips a look of dark, calculating satisfaction.

Interesting..

he thought, his pulse quickening with morbid curiosity.

He turned back around, continuing his walk into the estate.

Let’s see how much longer you can pretend you don’t know who she is.