Chapter 7
The guards filed into the banquet hall in neat procession, bearing gifts wrapped in velvet and gilded linen–priceless treasures that drew gasps from the
crowd.
Ornate silverware, rare tapestries, and deeds to faraway estates—each offering more extravagant than the last.
The assembly erupted in murmurs.
“All this… from His Highness?”
“They say he once bought out the whole of Jewel Hall for Lady Cecily. Now he sends gifts in person?”
“Looks like the future Lady Thorne has already been chosen.”
Their whispers were not unkind–only pitying. Their eyes turned to Eleanor with veiled sympathy.
She was the daughter of the manor. Graceful, lovely, born of the first wife. And yet tonight, in the eyes of the court, she had lost.
Eleanor calmly set down her teacup and turned to leave. The garden path led toward the boats moored at the water’s edge. A breeze stirred the hem of her gown as she exhaled into the cool air.
Then-
“Why are you all alone, dear sister?”
Cecily’s voice was a blade wrapped in silk. There were no guests near, no watchful eyes–only the two of them now.
“Father has made his decision,” she continued with a smile sweet as mead and twice as poisonous. “You’ll be wed to that ailing lord from the
Westmarch. Tragic, really. But then… history does have a way of repeating itself, doesn’t it? Your noble mother couldn’t outshine mine. And now, here you are just as outmatched.”
–
Eleanor turned sharply. “Say that again.”
“I said “Cecily leaned in close, her breath scented with cherry cordial, “your mother died as she lived–losing. A pitiful end, bleeding out on the birthing bed-”
Crack!
The sound echoed, crisp and unmistakable.
But Eleanor hadn’t struck her. Cecily had slapped herself.
A beat later, she stumbled backward, tears springing from her eyes with alarming ease. She collapsed just as Roland entered from the terrace, falling
neatly into his arms.
“I–It’s not her fault,” Cecily sobbed, clutching her cheek. “I said something foolish… Eleanor was only angry…”
More footsteps. Lord Viremont arrived with a host of concerned guests trailing behind. Disapproving stares sliced toward Eleanor.
“Eleanor!” Lord Viremont’s roar shook the rafters. “Have you lost all propriety?”
The guests gasped in waves.
“On her name day, no less–such cruelty!”
“She was raised motherless, after all. No wonder she turned out so cold.”
Amid the swelling storm of judgment, Eleanor laughed.
She strode forward without hesitation and slapped Cecily clean across the face.
“There. That one was from me.”
The wineglass she held shattered on the marble floor, the shards glinting like broken stars.
“Now you know the difference.”
And with that, she turned her back on the stunned assembly.
Just before she stepped into the garden’s shadows, she saw him–Roland. Arms still around Cecily, his gaze frozen, cold as winter steel.
Chapter 7
7.87%
Kalos
Kalos TV–Short Dramas & Reels
4.5
FREE
Google Play
INSTALL
Drama made for speed–watchers! Kalos TV’s short stories are addictive.
On the moonlit path, Eleanor had barely turned the corner when her wrist was seized in a bruising grip.
She winced.
Roland towered beside her, his voice a low growl. “Lady Eleanor.”
“What?” she met his glare, eyes sharp with scorn. “Are you planning to return every slap I give her with ninety–nine lashes of your own?”
His pupils contracted. The implication hit its mark.
No. She couldn’t know about that. He had been careful. No witnesses. No traces left behind.
“Lady Eleanor,” he said again, voice taut with restraint, “you’ve always had everything. Why must you torment your sister?”
Eleanor laughed–dry and cracked like leaves underfoot.
“Everything?” Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “The moment Cecily moved in, my mother died in childbed–her blood still warm. Cecily took my chamber, my jewels, my stipend, my father. She even claimed my place at Crownspire Academy. Tell me, Roland–what do I have left?”
For a moment, he said nothing.
It was the first time he had ever heard her speak so plainly.
In the moonlight, her face was pale and proud. The tears in her eyes did not fall.
“I’ve heard…” Roland finally said, stiffly, “that it is Cecily who has always been overlooked.”
Eleanor wrenched her arm free, her voice cracking. “Believe what you like.”
As she turned to leave, he called after her again.
“Lady Eleanor… I wish to take leave. For a few days.”
“Do as you please,” she replied without looking back.
That night, at Blackrock Estate, a sound disturbed Eleanor’s restless sleep.
She drew back the curtain and saw him in the courtyard – Roland, shirtless beneath the cold stars.
A squire spoke to him in hushed tones. He pointed to his chest, to the skin above his heart.
Two words passed his lips.
Clear as day, she could read them.
“For Cecily.”
Chapter 7
