Less than twenty-four hours remained until the wedding.
The air inside the residence was stagnant, heavy, as if the house itself were holding its breath before a fatal blow. The servants hired by Nikolas Kladis moved through the halls with the arrogant efficiency of an occupying army, placing decorations, moving furniture, preparing the "bride" for her big day.
Kael watched from the upstairs railing.
"It looks like a funeral. An expensive one where the corpse is still breathing."
Downstairs, in the foyer, Donal Voss stood by the front door, receiving a delivery of wine boxes. His back was slumped, his face grey. He seemed to have aged ten years in the last three days. He accepted the orders of Kladis's lackeys with silent nods, stripped of all authority in his own home.
Martha was in the kitchen, supervising the preparation of the cakes that would be taken to the Kladis mansion. Kael could hear her muffled sobs over the noise of the pots.
'Pathetic,' Kael assessed. 'They are broken. They have accepted defeat as a done deal. They believe there is nothing to be done.'
Better this way.
Genuine despair was the best disguise. If Donal or Martha had a glimmer of hope in their eyes, Nikolas would smell it. Predators smelled hope; it warned them that the prey could still kick. But total resignation... that made them lower their guard. It made them feel safe.
Kael stepped away from the railing and walked toward Elara's room. The door was ajar.
Inside, two of Kladis's spy maids were, no doubt, finishing adjusting the veil over Elara's hair.
The young woman was sitting in front of the vanity mirror. She was not looking at her reflection. She was looking through it, toward a place where debts and forced marriages did not exist.
Her face was a mask of cold porcelain. There were no tears. Not anymore. The tears had dried days ago, replaced by a terrifying emptiness.
"Leave us," Kael said from the doorway.
The maids turned, annoyed.
"Mister Kladis ordered that..."
"Mister Kladis wants the bride ready," Kael interrupted with his 'bored little lord' tone. "And she is. I want to speak with my cousin. Alone. Or did Kladis forbid farewells too?"
The women exchanged glances, assessing the risk of offending a noble, even if he was a child. Finally, they made a shallow curtsy and left, closing the door behind them with a dry thud.
Kael waited a moment, listening to their steps fade away.
Then he approached Elara.
She did not move.
"You look..." Kael searched for the word. "Fine."
Elara slowly looked up. Her eyes were dull.
"I look like a sacrifice, Kael. Don't try to sugarcoat it."
"I won't. White suits you. It symbolizes purity. Innocence. Exactly what Daemon wants to destroy."
"Have you come to give me more instructions?" she asked in a monotonous voice. "Do I have to smile more? Do I have to cry less? What is my role in your play today?"
"Your role is to do nothing," Kael said, leaning against the dressing table. "Your role is to keep breathing and walk toward that altar. Don't pretend to be brave. Don't try to be a heroine. Be exactly what you are now: a defeated woman."
Elara let out a bitter, brief laugh.
"That won't be difficult. I am defeated. Tomorrow at this time, I will be his wife. And you will go back to Stormvale, and I will stay here, in my golden cage."
Kael watched her. He could tell her the truth. He could tell her that Thorne was sharpening his knife, that Gareth was preparing torches, that Aldric had his sword ready. He could tell her that the wedding was going to be a battlefield, not a ceremony.
But he didn't.
If she knew there was a chance of escape, she would get nervous. She would look toward the doors seeking help. She would give herself away.
'Better that you know nothing, Elara.'
"Perhaps," Kael said. "Or perhaps fate is funny."
"Go, Kael," she whispered, turning to look at the mirror again. "Leave me alone with my misery."
"As you wish. Rest. Tomorrow will be a... memorable day."
Kael left the room.
Elara remained staring at her reflection. A perfect bride. A perfect victim.
She did not know that Kael had just confirmed that her performance was impeccable.
The true center of operations was not Donal's office, nor the living room. It was the attic.
A dusty space, filled with old trunks and forgotten memories, where the heat of the day accumulated and the silence was absolute.
Nia was there, sitting on a threadbare rug, cross-legged.
In front of her, lined up like paper soldiers, were the documents.
The marriage contract. The debt letters. The notes about the counterfeit metal. And, most importantly, the evidence of the direct connection between Torren and the thugs who had terrorized the port.
Kael climbed the ladder and closed the trapdoor. The sound of the bolt was the only warning.
Nia looked up. Her eyes were not dull like her sister's. They shone with a mixture of fear and a fierce determination that Kael found fascinating.
"Are they ready?" Kael asked, sitting down opposite her.
"I have ordered them as you told me," Nia replied, pointing to the stacks. "First the debt. Then the extortion. And at the end... Torren's letter."
"Good. Very good."
Kael took Torren's letter. It was the key piece. It was not definitive legal proof of murder, but it was irrefutable evidence of a conspiracy to manipulate the imperial market. In Vaeloria, that could be ignored with enough bribes. But in Arven, in front of all of Torren's competitors, in front of the lesser guilds that had been crushed... it was a bomb.
"Nia," Kael said, lowering his voice. "Tomorrow, you are the most important person at that wedding."
The girl swallowed hard.
"More than you? More than Aldric?"
"Much more. Aldric is muscle. I direct. But you carry the truth."
Kael took the documents and put them into a flat cloth bag, designed to be hidden under clothing.
"Thorne is going to start the fire," Kael explained, reviewing the plan one last time. "He is going to enter and he is going to scream. He is going to accuse Daemon of rape and murder. He is going to create emotional chaos. Everyone will look at Thorne. Everyone will look at Daemon."
He leaned forward.
"And in that moment, when Nikolas tries to discredit Thorne, when he says he is a crazy, drunk man with no proof... that is when you enter."
"I go out and show the papers," Nia recited, her voice trembling but firm.
"You don't just show them. You read them. Or you shout what they say. 'Torren ordered this!' 'Kladis owes money!'. You have to be the voice of innocence that breaks the lie. No one will immediately attack a child. That second of doubt... that second is all we need."
Nia took the bag. Her hands were small, but she gripped the fabric tightly.
"What if they catch me before?"
"They won't catch you," Kael assured her. "No one is looking at you. To them you are the useless little sister. The one who cries. The one who doesn't matter. You are invisible. And that is power."
Nia hung the bag around her neck and hid it under her tunic. She smoothed her clothes. Nothing was noticeable.
"Kael?"
"What?"
"Are you going to kill Daemon?"
The question floated in the hot air of the attic.
Kael looked at her. He was not going to lie to her. Not to his accomplice.
"If necessary," he said. "But death is easy, Nia. Daemon deserves something worse than death. He deserves to lose everything first. I want him to see everything fall apart before he dies."
Nia nodded. A harsh expression crossed her childlike face.
"Good. I want him to suffer."
Kael smiled.
'There it is. Pure hatred. Without all that adult moral nonsense.'
"He is going to suffer. I promise you."
He stood up and offered her his hand to help her up.
"Now, hide that. Don't separate from it even to sleep. Tomorrow, when we enter the Kladis mansion, you are not carrying papers. You are carrying Nikolas Kladis's head in that bag."
Night fell over Arven like a shroud.
Aldric was in the stable, checking the carriage one last time. He had hidden a short sword under the driver's seat and a pair of daggers in the main cabin, glued with wax beneath the benches.
Precautions.
Kael entered the stable, his steps silent on the straw.
"Ready?"
Aldric straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag. He wore his "mercenary" armor, but he had sharpened the cheap sword until the edge shone like a razor.
"As ready as one can be for a social suicide," he murmured. "Have you spoken with Gareth?"
"This morning," Kael replied. "He and his men are positioned. They have counterfeit city guard uniforms. They will enter when the chaos starts, pretending to restore order."
"Risky. If there are real guards..."
"There will be confusion. In confusion, the uniform commands. Gareth knows what he is doing. His target is Torren. While we shatter the wedding, he will shatter the Torrens."
"A two-front attack," Aldric shook his head. "You are ambitious, young Kael. Too ambitious."
"Ambition is the only thing keeping us alive, Aldric. If we strike softly, they will strike back. We have to hit so hard that they can't get up."
Kael leaned against a beam, looking at his knight.
"Tomorrow, your priority is Elara and Nia. Thorne is disposable. I can take care of myself. But the girls... if they are caught, we lose the justification. And I need the Vosses to survive so they owe us the favor."
Aldric let out a dry laugh.
"Since when do you care about morality?"
"I care about the story," Kael corrected. "If we save the innocent family from the evil usurers, we are heroes. If the family dies in a bloodbath we provoked... we are villains."
Aldric approached, his huge figure casting a shadow over Kael.
"There's something you haven't told me."
"There are many things I haven't told you."
"About Torren. Why is Gareth going to his house? Just for the money?"
Kael smiled in the gloom.
"The money is the bait for Gareth. But Torren has more. Archives. Lists. Names of corrupt officials in Vaeloria. If Gareth gets those papers... we have leverage not only here, but in the capital."
Aldric whistled softly.
"You are building a network. Not just saving merchants."
"I am building a ladder. The corpses of Kladis and Torren are the first steps."
The knight looked at him with a mixture of horror and respect.
"Let's go," Kael said, turning to leave. "Just us."
The morning of the wedding dawned cloudy, with a grey sky that threatened rain but wouldn't let it fall.
The Voss house was a hive of silent, gloomy activity.
Elara came down the stairs dressed as a bride.
The white dress shone with its own light, almost obscene in the midst of the house's sadness. The veil covered her face, hiding the dark circles and the fear, but it couldn't hide the trembling of her hands.
Donal waited for her at the foot of the stairs, dressed in his finest clothes, which now hung loose on him due to the weight loss from stress.
"Daughter..." he murmured, his eyes full of tears. "Forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive, father," Elara said, her voice muffled by the veil. "I do what I must."
Kael watched from the parlor door. He wore a formal noble boy's suit, hastily custom-made by a local tailor. Dark grey, with the Drayvar emblem discreetly embroidered on the collar. He was no longer hiding as a servant. Today, he would enter as a guest. As a witness. As an executioner.
Nia was by his side, wearing a simple cream-colored dress. She carried a small velvet bag slung over her shoulder, pressed against her side.
She looked like a flower girl. Harmless. Sweet.
No one would suspect she carried the ruin of House Kladis under her arm.
"Are you ready?" Kael whispered.
Nia nodded. She wasn't smiling. Her face was pale, but her eyes were steel.
"Ready."
Aldric appeared at the door, with his polished armor (the mercenary one, but clean) and his sword at his belt.
"The carriage is here. Marcus says the streets are crowded. All of Arven wants to see the wedding."
"The show," Kael corrected.
They went out into the street.
There were people. Curious onlookers, neighbors, beggars. They looked at the bride with a mixture of envy and pity. Everyone knew the rumors. Everyone knew it was a wedding forced by debt. But no one did anything. They just watched.
Elara got into the carriage with her father's help. She looked like a mechanical doll.
Nia climbed in afterward, sitting opposite her sister and gripping her hand tightly.
Kael and Aldric got in last.
The journey toward the Kladis mansion was slow. Carriage traffic was dense. Nobles, merchants, officials. Everyone wanted to be near the power of Nikolas Kladis.
Inside the carriage, the silence was absolute.
Elara looked out the window, watching the city pass by—a city that was once her safe home and was now a prison.
Nia pressed the bag against her chest, her lips moving in a silent prayer or a review of her role.
Kael was calm. His mind ran through the checklist.
'Thorne: Positioned.'
'Gareth: Ready.'
'Documents: Secure.'
'Aldric: Armed.'
'Elara: Perfectly broken for the surprise.'
'Torren: Confident.'
Everything was in place.
The carriage stopped in front of the gates of the Kladis mansion. This time, the gates were wide open, adorned with white flowers and golden ribbons. Guards in dress uniforms flanked the entrance.
Music from harps and flutes floated in the air.
"We have arrived," Donal said, his voice sounding like a death sentence.
Kael looked at Nia.
"Remember. Wait for the chaos. Don't rush ahead."
Nia nodded.
Kael looked at Aldric.
"Keep your eyes open. If you see Torren, don't lose sight of him. He is the connection."
Aldric nodded.
Kael looked at Elara.
"Time to act. Smile."
Elara lifted her veil for a moment. Her eyes met Kael's.
"I hope you are right, Kael Drayvar. I hope your hell is better than theirs."
"My hell is yours too," Kael replied.
Elara lowered the veil. The fake smile was painted on her lips, barely visible through the transparent fabric.
The carriage door opened. The daylight, grey and diffused, flooded the interior.
Elara stepped down. The crowd cheered.
Kael stepped down behind her, adjusting his shirt cuffs.
The wedding had begun. And with it, the countdown to destruction.