Luckily, the Duke did indeed reimburse the dining table, though at a cost Ava struggled to pay.
In his great romantic determination to sweep the protagonist off her feet, the Duke had begun to pressure Ava, who had to perform mental backflips and acrobatics to weasel her way out of each threat, veiled or not.
Resources from the far north such as ice, Frigid Steel, monster parts, whaling products and arctic seafood had stopped arriving at the castle; each day, the Duke would visit, and each time he left in bubbling, boiling huff, yet another good would vanish from the pantry shelves.
It wasn’t just items that would disappear, though.
Servants would suddenly melt away without a word; seemingly loyal guards would disappear from their posts, yet reappear with the Duke’s entourage.
With each passing day, the Duke’s influence in the castle grew, slowly making his way down to the dungeons.
His message was clear: even if Ava refused to let Rayna go, he could force her to without issue.
Ava could only retaliate by suppressing the Northern province, cutting off trade between the Central and Eastern provinces, raising taxes and enforcing more restrictions.
Sure, the common peoples would suffer, but —
But she didn’t care.
In her eyes, there was herself, Rayna, and insignificant blobs.
Rayna was her priority.
She knew that even if Rayna was to be tortured under her hands, torn apart, disfigured, abused, starved —
That was okay, because Rayna was hers.
Just like how she was Rayna’s.
Both would rather Ava tear her apart, than for Rayna to be gifted — with a ribbon and bow — to the male lead.
It was like an unspoken line of permission, admission, a code of their limits and bonds, between them.
With the kingdom’s two main powerhouses fighting, the economy of the kingdom naturally began to rapidly fall; in turn, the rebels and the Duke freely pinned the blame on Her Majesty for her extravagance and failure as a ruler, the people’s words and convictions so strong that even a passing sparrow would know of these ever-taller tales.
Only those few left in the vast, empty castle knew that Ava had only three sets of clothing; the rest had been torn apart and discreetly mixed into Rayna’s prepared pile of rags whilst the system was distracted.
The dungeons were cold, after all, and rather dirty.
It was on her next visit down into the deep did Rayna say, “A blackbird told to fly.” That meant, Rayna’s system was going to have her escape. “Weeping for the broken wings; beaks glued shut.”
I’m sorry for letting go. I couldn’t speak.
Ava rocked back and forth in her robes, gripping her fur-lined coat with white fingers. She replied, “A blackbird shot down from mercy. This cycle, who would pity a shattered bird but I?”
I understand.
I’m sorry for ordering the torture; I can’t say no.
Rayna murmured, “...Birds will eventually die.”
Ava sighed; the other had said, I understand.
Like fingers gently tucking away her hair, the system whispered in Ava’s ears, [Please follow the script. Please follow the script. Please follow the script. If violations continue, the system will seize control of the body.]
The girls could only converse in riddles so ridiculous; otherwise, the system would intervene. Even a conversation as disembodied and as maddening as this couldn’t escape the system’s ears.
That day, she had dinner in silence.
That day, she didn’t bother to save the animals, because there was only a vegetable salad for a dish.
…The Duke and taken away everything else.
Ava hated mushrooms.
Like a noose tightening around her neck with each passing second, Ava spent the night in a fitful, sporadic sleep, before tensely walking down to the dining room with the attitude of a wretch condemned to the guillotine.
As expected, a plotpoint appeared.
Her red wine was poisoned.
As the world spun, glittering in odd colours and strange scents, a needle-like pain erupted from her stomach, rolling in waves and painful fits. This was…
Torture.
Legs weak, she collapsed to the ground, buckling under her weight. With a loud, painful thud, her chair was pushed away, the red liquid spilling over the table, dripping onto the carpeted floor below, running like blood.
Eyes cast on the ground, a pair of fine leather shoes appeared, with black suit pants and a hand gloved in white. The butler said, “Your Majesty, this servant apologies for the wrong.” With an elegant, regulated bow, he swiftly turned, and silently walked away, not a glance back nor a shred of emotion.
How harsh, how decisive, how ruthless, how cruel —
Must you leave like this, too?
Everyone is leaving, everyone is leaving to their future…
Don’t I deserve a future, too?
Don’t I?
[No, you don’t. You are the villain. You have destroyed your future. You are undeserving of a future. She will always leave you behind.]
As Ava panted on the ground, clutching her heart, she slowly stood up as the pain faded to a throb — this body had trained itself to develop immunity against poisons.
Perhaps the butler still cared a tiny —
With thudding, urgent steps, a tottering sprint, and tattered robes, she ran down to the dark, dull and damp dungeon, were she found —
An open door.
An empty cell.
A missing girl.
That Rayna was gone.
Gone, gone, gone.
With a mix of excitement, of fear, of boiling, mixing emotion tremors, she pulled out her pocket watch, the face of the circular disk inlaid with rubies and black steel. As she watched the second hand tick with an ominous premonition, she fiddled with the thin, black chain, a minute, strange smile on her face.
