The road back was unforgiving, a jagged ribbon of stone and dirt that wound through the hills like a serpent. Francis and Viremont pressed forward, their steps uneven, their breaths sharp in the cold air. The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the crunch of boots and the occasional slip of loose gravel.
Viremont stumbled once, catching herself against a crooked tree trunk. Francis steadied her, his hand firm on her arm. "Careful," he muttered, his tone clipped, though his eyes betrayed concern.
They walked on, the path narrowing, the estate looming somewhere beyond the horizon. Finally, Francis broke the silence, his voice low but edged with suspicion.
"So," he said, eyes fixed on the trail ahead, "what's the real reason you're back? Is it that you want to take Elaine back and…?"
Viremont's lips curved into a faint smile, her gaze distant. "It's just time she has to be on her own. So…" Her voice trailed off, soft but resolute, as though she had rehearsed the line a hundred times.
Francis stopped abruptly, his hand tightening around hers. He pushed her slightly toward the side hill, his tone sharp, almost accusing. "You're just here with ill intentions, aren't you?"
Viremont dangled for a moment, her hand gripping a jagged stone, her body suspended precariously. She looked up at him, her voice calm despite the danger. "Yeah. I want my daughter to be happy. I mean… you are, aren't you? Now that you finally have a lover."
Francis's face flushed crimson. He pulled her back up quickly, his words stumbling, his composure shattered. "W…W‑W‑W‑What made you say that?"
Viremont scoffed, brushing dust from her sleeve, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I know my ways."
Francis melted into embarrassment, his voice cracking as he tried to recover. "Well… what about your clothes? What happened to them?"
Her smile faded, replaced by a shadow of sorrow. She looked ahead, her tone grave, each word heavy with memory. "The king was already dying when Elaine was with me. And now he is dead. Elaine has to rejoice with her sisters, to take part in what will become of the Kingdom."
Francis's expression shifted. His teasing melted into sympathy, his eyes softening. He walked beside her in silence, the weight of her words pressing against his chest. He had always seen Viremont as sharp, elusive, untouchable. But now, in her voice, he heard the cracks — the grief, the guilt, the longing.
The estate loomed ahead, its walls draped in green vines, lavender spilling across the grounds like a sea of purple flame. The air was thick with fragrance, almost suffocating, the sweetness cloying, pressing against their senses.
Viremont wrinkled her nose, her voice tinged with disdain. "Too much lavender, don't you think?"
Francis's eyes narrowed, his instincts sharp. "Look!"
He pointed toward the gates. Guards stood in formation, their armor glinting in the fading light, their grips tight on chains. Colden, Isabelle, and the brothers were bound, dragged forward like criminals.
Viremont's breath caught, her body stiffening. Her shoulders trembled as her eyes locked on the sight. Blood stained the stones before the gates, dark and fresh, a silent testament to violence.
Her voice broke, a whisper of horror. "Blood… at the gates."
Francis's jaw clenched, his heart pounding. The estate was no longer a sanctuary — it was a battlefield.
They crouched behind the lavender hedges, the scent overwhelming, their eyes fixed on the unfolding scene. Colden's face was pale, his eyes burning with rage even as chains bound his wrists. Isabelle wept silently, her body shaking, her cries muffled by the crowd's hum. The brothers struggled, their voices drowned in the chaos.
Francis's mind raced. This isn't just a funeral. This is a trap. Austin's hand is in this. It has to be.
Viremont's eyes shimmered with tears, her voice trembling. "Elaine… if she's caught in this…"
Francis gripped her hand tightly, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. "We'll find her. We'll get them out. But we need to move carefully."
The crowd thickened, whispers rising like smoke. The Lavender family's mourning carriage gleamed in the distance, its garlands swaying, its presence ominous. The guards tightened their ranks, their eyes scanning, their blades ready.
Francis and Viremont exchanged a glance — a silent pact. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.
The estate gates creaked open, the sound echoing like a death knell. The prisoners were dragged inside, their fates sealed by Austin's unseen hand.
From the cliffs above, unseen by the crowd, a shadow lingered. Marco.
His eyes widened, his breath caught, his body trembling. Tears spilled freely, his chest burning, his soul breaking. He watched, helpless, as Colden was dragged away, as Isabelle wept, as the brothers fell silent.
He wept.
He wept as he saw them, after so long, after so painfully long. His heart shattered, his voice silent, his tears endless.
TO BE CONTINUED…
NEXT CHAPTER ON 1st APRIL 2026