Chapter 55: Ch55 The Dinner Of Daggers
The Fiorie estate had always boasted of grandeur, as if gold and brick could hide the corruption festering beneath. The estate towered on the outskirts of the capital, its gilded towers a brilliant pallor in the fading sun, golden flags streaming defiantly in the breeze. Jewels of plenty encrusted every corner of the stone front, its windows burnished to a mirror sheen, the gardens clipped with maniacal precision.
But to Liliana, rolling toward it in her carriage, the sight was not awe-inspiring. It was garish. Pudgy. An empty palace weighed down by decadence.
This was once home. This is where she had once wandered these rooms with child’s naivete, seeking something warm where none was offered. And now, with the wheels rumbling over the stones of the drive so long, she looked on with war-hardened and deceit-practiced eyes.
Her fingertips brushed the hilt of her sword. There was no homecoming. There was only a battlefield.
The carriage came to a halt before the great steps. Liliana went down first, boots thudding on the stone with a soldier’s confident step and not a daughter’s uncertain step. The declining light of day caught on the steel at her hip, casting a small glint across the shining marble.
Tina hurried after her, her skirts fluttering nervously, clinging tightly to the edge of her shawl as though it could safeguard her already and so clearly perceptible in the air.
The household staff congregated on the steps and courtyard with heads bowed as one. But strangely, no one voice was raised to greet her in affectionate family manner. Instead, they all spoke in rigid, drilled unison:
"Welcome, Count Fiorie."
Not Miss. Not Lady Liliana.
Only the name she’d claimed with blood, steel, and determination.
Liliana’s jaw set. The corner of her mouth twisted — not a smile, not a sneer. She said nothing, only swept her eyes over them. Their eyes were cast down, their backs straight, as though her presence branded.
With that silence oppressive like a wall, she proceeded ahead. The great doors creaked wide for her, spilling golden light out across the stone.
The great dining hall was before her.
It glittered with wealth, chandeliers aglow, a table groaning under steaming food and gem-colored wines. Silverware glowed so bright it was almost blinding. But under the glow was poison, heavy and suffocating.
At the long table sat her family — father, mother, two brothers — their postures stiff, expressions twisted, as though her presence alone was a thorn lodged deep in their throats.
The first dagger came from her father’s mouth. His voice carried the weight of false authority, smooth and heavy.
"You’ve changed."
Her mother’s sharp gaze flicked toward the sword at Liliana’s hip. Her lip twisted with contempt, the sort that only years of painstakingly polished malice could craft.
"A merchant’s daughter becomes a soldier, and in an instant she thinks herself noble."
One of her brothers — the younger, lean and smirking — rested indolently against the back of his chair, a smile playing around his lips.
Had you stayed, you would be the crown jewel of our trade empire. Now you shame us fencing. Tell me, Liliana — how many pieces of silver does fencing earn you?"
Scoffing words dripped from his mouth, and before long, laughter followed, followed by his older brother’s deeper laugh. Harsh and cutting, intended to inflict pain.
Tina, beside Liliana, flinched as if struck. Her small fists balled in her lap, eyes lowered, as if she could curl herself up and disappear.
Liliana did not flinch. She did not blink. She stood up straight and hard, her back a straight knife drawn.
Her father moved forward, his fingers interlocking on the table, his voice weighed with pretended patience.
You’re marriageable age now. Betroths come flooding in — more so after your. performance in that last battle. You’d do well to settle down now. You’ve made your point, Liliana. Now, go home. Get back to us."
There was thick silence.
Tina’s mouth agape with alarm. She shot a glance at Liliana, panic illuminating her eyes, silently begging her not to lose her mind, not here, not now.
But Liliana’s smile was already reserved, as keen as the steel at her waist. She smiled, her lips creasing gradually into a thin line. Not warm. Not soft. A smile that could cut.
Her hand dropped to the hilt of her sword.
The soft rasp of steel against scabbard echoed through the jeweled hall as she drew it halfway, the blade shining in the light of the chandeliers, reflecting it back in a harsh sheen.
"Mine is my marriage," she answered, voice light and glacial as shattering glass, "to choose. Mine. Not a decision of a family which discarded me the moment I had the audacity to pursue my own path."
Gasps circled the table. Her mother’s hand went to her lips, horror-blazed eyes wide. Her brothers stiffened, bravado abandoning them. Her father’s face darkened, patience mask shattering into wrath.
Liliana moved the blade, and its edge caressed the silk tablecloth. The faint glimmer of its tip menaced to cleave the feast asunder.
"Try to order me again," she breathed, each word a blade in itself, "and I’ll demonstrate how much stronger a Count’s blade is than a merchant’s wealth."
They descended upon her like a tempest.
The Fiorie pride, centuries old in the tradition of commerce and coin, disintegrated at the hands of her power. Anger flushed their faces, but none could move.
She slid the sword back into its sheath with slow grace. The ring of steel home was final, conclusive. Her smile remained, cool, mocking, out of reach.
"I have no taste for this farce now."
Her cape fluttered as she spun on her heel. Tina hastened to follow, chair scraping loudly across the floor. The girl cast a last nervous glance at the table and took off after Liliana.
The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, swallowing the quiet inside.
There was a breathless pause. No one spoke. The hall was suffocating in its own quiet.
And then her father’s fist slammed on the table. Plates flew off, silver clanged, wine splashed onto embroidered silk like fresh blood.
"That girl... she has the audacity to shame us in our own grand hall! She will pay for such disrespect!"
Her mother spat, quivering with outrage.
"We should never have invited her in. She has brought nothing but shame upon us."
The brothers exchanged bitter looks, pride smarting raw. Laughter had not returned now, instead substituted with the flavor of humiliation.
But in their fury, they did not notice the figure of darkness.
Against the distant wall, leaning carelessly against a pillar carved from black stone, stood a man surrounded by darkness. His presence was quiet and yet unmistakable, as if the room itself curved to accommodate him.
Duke Aithur.
He had appeared unseen, sneaking into the gathering like a ghost. No servant would be foolish enough to stand in his path — not when his own name was strong enough to crush merchant lords beneath its foot.
He stood there watching, holding his tongue, lips pressed into a thin, knowing smile. His gaze flashed to the door Liliana had burst through, eyes burning with envy.
Sharp as ever, little Countess," he breathed, voice as smooth as velvet. "A lioness among hounds."
Finally, the younger brother had laid eyes on him. His face blanched, his body stiffened. He lurched to his feet, stumbling.
"Y-Your Grace! P-Please forgive us, we did not—"
"Sit."
The single word, delivered in languid command, struck with more force than a bellow. The boy sat down again in seconds, his face burning with embarrassment.
Aithur pushed himself away from the pillar, brushing an imaginary speck off his sleeve. He moved deliberately towards the table, each step echoing with unspoken power.
"You would do well to handle your jewels more carefully," he remarked suavely, voice with a hint of mockery. "Show them too much darkness, and they grow claws. Sharp ones."
The Fiorie family froze, not knowing if his words were threat or taunt.
Aithur’s smile increased. "But fear not. Her radiance a thousand times more luminous than your dull coin could ever possibly achieve is what I want."
And with that, he turned on his heel, cloak billowing out behind him like a shadow, and departed without haste — as though the entire melodrama had been performed merely for his amusement.
The Fiorie family gazed aghast, their rage now compounded with shame, seething like a festering boil.
Outside, meanwhile, the Countess’s carriage rattled along the moonlit road.
Inside, Liliana folded her arms, stare fixed out the window, her face sharp against the glass. Beside her sat Tina, staring wide-eyed, breast heaving with gasping breaths.
The carriage was silent for a very long time.
Then Liliana took a breath, the corner of her mouth creasing into a triumphant sneer.
Let them seethe. Let them drown in their fury.
She was out of their reach to command.