***
My heart, which had been in my throat, dropped into my stomach. "W-what?"
"You are a mess," he said, his voice filled with a cold, aristocratic disdain. "You are covered in soot, you are wearing a rag, and you... smell... of something akin to a garbage bin, smoke, and stolen cheese."
My face burned, a hot, shameful flush.
"But," he continued, "you are the Governess. And you have just... testified."
He turned his head, just enough to pierce me with one cold, obsidian eye.
"You will stand with me, Governess Elara. You will stand with me, exactly as you are... when I pass my judgment on my household. You will be my... 'evidence.'"
He pushed the door open, revealing the long, dark, empty hall.
"Come."
I didn't have a choice. To refuse was to die. To obey... was terrifying, but it was the one, insane thread of survival he had offered me.
My legs, which felt like overcooked noodles, began to move.
I stepped out of the nursery, leaving Kaelen behind—a sharp, unexpected pang of... guilt... twisted in my gut. I was leaving him. Again.
I glanced back, just for a second.
Kaelen was not cowering. He was... he had moved. He was on his small, thin legs, having crept out of his blanket-nest. He was standing near the hearth, his small, pale face a mixture of terror and... something else. He was watching the Duke's back, his magenta eyes wide. He still clutched the bread.
I had given him fire, food, and a clean floor. Now... I was leaving him with the one man he should have been able to trust, but who terrified him more than anyone.
Zander must have sensed my hesitation. He didn't look back. "He will be... 'safe'... for ten minutes, Governess. He has a fire. He has your bread. The monster... is with me."
Was that... sarcasm? From him?
My head snapped up, but his back was all I saw. He was already walking, his long, measured, booted strides a sound of impending doom on the stone floor.
I had to run to keep up practically.
And so began the most humiliating, terrifying, and utterly bizarre walk of my two lives.
I was... a sight. My matted hair was falling out of its pathetic bun. My face was streaked with soot from the hearth and, I realized with a jolt of revulsion, probably smears of gruel from when I'd been cleaning. My thin shift was damp, and I stank of smoke and spoiled milk from where I'd knelt on the floor. My bare feet, already blue, were now black with grime.
And next to me... walked perfection.
Zander Voronoff was a creature of impossible, cold, clean lines. His black coat was unblemished. His polished boots made no sound. He didn't walk; he glided, a panther of a man, an apex predator moving through his own domain. He radiated a chill that had nothing to do with the freezing hallway, a scent of something cold, clean, and sharp, like ozone and winter.
We were the most absurd pair in the history of the empire: The Ice Duke... and the garbage-bin-girl.
My mind, unhelpful as ever, supplied a thought: At least he'll have no trouble convincing them I'm the criminal. I'm a walking exhibit of guilt. I scoff and stifle a laugh at myself.
As we walked, my internal panic monologue was finally, finally interrupted by the one voice I had been both dreading and hoping for.
The blue window flickered in my vision.
[...System... Recalibrating...] [...ERROR... Path 'Execution 1.A - Ice Sculpture' ... FAILED.] [...ERROR... Path 'Execution 1.B - Flogged & Dismissed' ... FAILED.] [...Analyzing... Player 'Elara' has defied [Original Fate] path.] [Player 'Elara' has survived... ? ? ?]
The System seemed to be having a stroke. The text flickered and glitched.
[Recalculation Complete.] [Reputation (Zander Voronoff): 1 / 100] [...This is not a rounding error.] [System Note: ...Huh.]
My entire body went cold for a different reason. Huh? Huh?! I had just survived a fatal encounter, I had defied a 10% survival rate, I had broken the entire plot!... and the god-like System in my head, the arbiter of my fate, just said... 'Huh.'
The personality leak... the "hidden character"... I had just baffled it. I had baffled the cold, logical Ice Duke and the cold, logical System.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I settled for a small, hysterical, choked-off sound.
The Duke's head turned, his black eyes pinning me in the dark. I instantly shut up.
We continued in terrifying, absolute silence.
We left the derelict East Tower, our footsteps (his silent, mine a desperate slap-slap-slap) echoing through the mausoleum-like servants' halls. We finally emerged into the main, grand, opulent part of the estate.
And I realized where we were going.
The Great Hall.
It was a cavernous, two-story room designed to intimidate ambassadors and kings. A massive, vaulted ceiling. Gargantuan, unlit fireplaces. And rows upon rows of glowering, dark tapestries depicting the bloody victories of the Voronoff ancestors.
But it wasn't empty.
As we approached the massive, arched entryway, I heard... voices. A low, nervous, humming sound. A hundred people, all whispering in fear.
Zander Voronoff did not slow. He strode through the archway, and the sound died. It was as if a switch had been thrown, plunging the room into a silence so profound it was deafening.
He glided to the center of the vast, black-marble floor, his back to a cold, 20-foot-high fireplace, and he turned.
He was the lord of his castle—the king of his domain.
And I... I was still with him.
I had stumbled in behind him, and now I stood, a few feet to his right, a pathetic, filthy, trembling creature, illuminated by the hundreds of candles that lined the walls.
The entire household staff was... there.
Everyone.
Dozens and dozens—no, it had to be over a hundred—servants, all lined up in perfect, terrified, military rows. Maids in their gray-and-black uniforms. Footmen in their livery. Kitchen staff, scrub-women, guards, gardeners, stable-boys... everyone.
They were all staring, their faces a sea of pale, wide-eyed terror.
They stared at the Duke... and then... as one, their gazes shifted... and they saw me.
If the Duke's appearance had caused silence, my appearance caused a gasp.
I heard it, a collective, shocked, horrified intake of breath that rippled through the room.
They all recognized me. I was Elara. The "crazy governess." The "filth of the East Tower." The pariah.
And I was standing at the Duke's side.
Not in chains. Not held by guards. I was standing there, in all my disgusting, soot-covered, stolen-cheese-smelling "glory," as if I... as if I belonged there.
I saw them. I saw all of them.
My eyes found the Head Cook, the woman built like a battle-axe. She was in the front row. When she saw me, her jaw, which had been set in a terrified, respectful line, just... dropped. Her face went from pale terror to a sick, greenish-white. She knew. She knew why she was here.
I saw Eliza, the maid from this morning. She was hiding in the back row, trying to make herself invisible, her face the color of old parchment.
And I saw Thorne. The Head Butler. He was standing near the Duke, but not with him. He was off to the side, his waxy, defeated face not looking at the Duke, but at the floor, his entire body trembling with an exhaustion that matched my own. He had been beaten.
The Duke let the silence stretch. He let them look. He let them see me, his "evidence," his living, breathing, walking, stinking accusation.
Finally, when the silence was so heavy that it felt like a physical weight, he spoke.
His voice was not raised. He did not need to. In the tomb-like silence of the hall, his cold, quiet words carried to every corner.
"You were not expecting me."
A collective flinch. No one breathed.
"I arrived to find... discrepancies... in the management of my household."
His cold, obsidian gaze swept the room. It was a scythe, and everyone it touched wilted.
"I was informed, by my Head Butler," he said, and Thorne let out a small, pathetic whimper, "that my nephew... my brother's son... was a 'monster.' I was told he was 'vicious.' I was told he 'refused' the care he was given."
Zander's gaze was so cold it burned.
"These," he said, the word dropping like a block of ice, "were lies."
The gasp this time was one of pure, collective terror. He had said it. He had accused them.
"I have just come from the East Tower," the Duke continued, his voice a flat, level, terrifying monotone. "I did not find a 'monster.' I found a child in a prison cell. I found a boy who was freezing. I found a child who was starving."
His gaze landed, like a physical blow, on the Head Cook. She looked like she was going to faint.
"I found this," he said, and he pointed... at me.
Every eye in the room—every single eye—snapped to me. I was the focal point of a hundred terrified, hateful, confused stares. I felt like I was being skinned alive.
"The Governess Elara," Zander said, my name a judgment. "A confessed thief. A confessed arsonist. A woman who broke into my stores, who stole from my larder... all, she claims, to do the one job none of you were doing."
He paused, letting the accusation sink in.
"To keep my brother's son alive."
The Duke's cold, obsidian gaze turned from the crowd... to the Head Cook.
"Head Cook," he said.
The woman, who had been white, was now turning a strange, mottled purple. She was trembling so hard her apron was rattling.
"You will step forward."
It was not a request.
The woman stumbled, her legs like water. She took two, shuffling steps into the open, a sacrifice pushed onto the altar.
"My... My Lord..." she whispered, her voice a reedy, cracked thing.
The Duke looked at her. And then... he turned his head, just slightly... to look... at me.
The entire household was watching. The Head Cook was watching. The Ice Duke, in this grand, terrible hall, was waiting.
"Governess," he said, his voice a quiet, deadly command. "You testified... to me... that this woman denied food to my brother's son. You testified that she called him a 'monster.'"
He turned his head back to the terrified cook.
And then back to me.
"Is that correct?"
(End of Chapter 8)
***
(Author's Note)
Ding dong, the witch is... well, banished. 👋
I have to admit, seeing the Head Cook realize that Zander hates liars more than thieves was incredibly satisfying. But the silence in that hall right now? You could hear a pin drop. Or a career-ending.
But Zander isn't done. He just called out Eliza. By name.
If you enjoyed the justice being served, please drop a Power Stone! 💎
See you next #TickyTockThursday for the rest of the purge!
👉 SCENARIO POLL! (Tap the paragraph to vote):
The Duke is PURGING. He knew the Cook's role, and now he's aimed at Eliza by name. HOW?! What is his terrifying secret?
A) He's a walking lie detector. (The "Cold Read" route)
B) He's got spies everywhere. (The "Master Schemer" route)
C) He's got his own System. (The "Is He a Player?" route)
D) This isn't a purge, it's a massacre. (The "No Survivors" route)
E) He's just that much of an Apex Predator. (The "Pure Intimidation" route)