CHAPTER 261: CONSUMING FIRE

Sylvia’s heartbeat was steady, too steady, as though her body had already accepted what her mind refused to admit. This was the rational thing to do. This was her duty.

In the evening light, with smoke rising from the upper halls, the mistress of the mansion would take the secret passage that led to the stables; that was the usual procedure in the noble households and that was what they would expect for them to do. The real Lorraine would have escaped through another route. Sylvia was the decoy, the bait.

The bell tolled again, its desperate echo cutting through the crackle of flames and the chaos outside. She could hear the screams from the ballroom, the clash of steel, the cries of dying men, the pleading voices of servants who had once laughed in these very halls. Fire danced up the grand staircase, and the rich velvet curtains curled into black ribbons.

Sylvia swallowed hard and entered the tunnel behind the wine cellar, her torch flickering weakly against the damp stone walls. The air was thick with soot and fear.

Then she heard it... footsteps.

She didn’t turn. Let them follow. Let them think she was the princess. That was what she wanted.

The passage opened to a narrow path lined with old trees, the air outside thick with smoke and cinders. She was halfway across when a sharp voice barked, "Stop!"

Sylvia froze.

She looked up just in time to see the reflection of fire in the mansion’s stained-glass windows. Flames had reached the roof. No, she saw someone burning the roof. The emperor wanted to destroy them. There was no turning back.

She ran.

Boots thundered behind her, steel flashing in the dim light.

"Catch her!" someone shouted.

Her lungs burned, her legs heavy, but she didn’t stop. Every second she ran was another second Lorraine gained. But luck ran thin in burning places.

A soldier caught her by the arm and wrenched her around, the force knocking the breath out of her. His eyes widened in realization.

"This is not the Crown Princess!" he snarled, hurling her to the ground.

Sylvia hit the dirt hard, pain searing her shoulder. Another soldier approached, looming above her, his shadow long and cruel against the firelight.

"Where is she?" he demanded. His voice was low, vicious.

Sylvia said nothing. Her lip trembled, but she kept her head down.

He struck her across the face, the sound sharp in the smoky air. "Answer me, woman! You dare defy the Emperor?"

Her cheek stung, blood filled her mouth, and still, she didn’t speak.

The man drew his sword, pressing the tip to her chin. "One last time. I’m not going to ask again. Where is she?"

Sylvia looked up, eyes blazing through tears. And then, without hesitation, she scooped a handful of dirt and threw it into his face.

The man cursed, stumbling back.

Sylvia didn’t wait. She turned and ran, barefoot, breath ragged, heart hammering against her ribs.

She knew she wouldn’t get far. But if she could lead them deeper into the woods, if she could buy even a minute more... then maybe, just maybe, Lorraine would live.

Sylvia ran with all her might.

Branches tore at her arms, smoke clawed at her lungs, and the shouts behind her grew closer and closer, until the thud of boots was all she could hear. She stumbled once, caught herself, and kept running. Her vision blurred from the heat and the tears she refused to let fall. She would not cry. Not now.

Then, a hand seized her from behind. Rough fingers tangled in her scarf, yanking her backward so hard she lost her footing. She kicked, twisted, scratched, every ounce of her will screaming to live. The soldier slammed her against a tree, the bark cutting into her back.

"Where is she?" he snarled again.

Sylvia spat blood, her breath ragged. "Far from you," she hissed.

The soldier’s expression twisted with rage.

And then... steel flashed.

The sound was sickeningly soft, a wet thud against her body. Sylvia gasped, eyes widening. For a moment, she didn’t understand what had happened. The world tilted. Heat bloomed in her stomach; a terrible, searing warmth spreading beneath her palms when she tried to hold herself together.

The man yanked the blade free, and Sylvia’s knees gave way. She collapsed to the forest floor, the autumn leaves darkening beneath her.

Her breath came shallow, quick. Somewhere far away, the bell was still tolling, echoing faintly through the woods. The mansion burned in the distance, its glow flickering through the trees.

She smiled faintly, her lips trembling. Lorraine would have made it by now. She had to.

Sylvia pressed her hand to the wound, her fingers slick with blood. Her vision dimmed.

------

but in the blur of smoke and flame, she thought she saw a figure running—someone’s silhouette, pale and desperate, running toward her.

Good, she thought hazily. Run, my lady.

And as her body fell still, the forest swallowed the sound of the bell.

-----

Lorraine froze.

Her hands, still halfway through fastening her gown, fell to her sides as the door creaked open. The man who entered was not Leroy. The light from the fire outside bled through the curtains, casting his shadow long and monstrous across the room.

Her heartbeat quickened, but she didn’t scream. She couldn’t afford to. Not with the heat thickening in the air, not with the faint sound of the alarm bell tolling in the distance, each clang reminding her that she was not one life anymore. There was another heartbeat within her now, fragile and silent.

Her mind raced. The tunnel? No. He would follow. She would never outrun a soldier, not in this gown, not barefoot, not with the smoke already seeping under the door.

Her only chance was to fight.

"There you are..."

His voice slithered into the room, heavy with mockery. He stepped closer, boots crushing the hem of her gown. "Is that an invitation, Your Highness?" His gaze lingered cruelly. "Showing your bare back to me? Hm... are those scars?"

Lorraine went still. The words struck deeper than the dagger she wished she had.

Her hand inched toward the drawer, she knew what lay inside: the vial of paralytic poison, quick and silent. But before she could reach it, his arm snaked around her waist and yanked her backward.

"What are you looking for?" he whispered, his breath grazing her cheek like the hiss of a serpent.

Every muscle in her body locked. No one, no one, had ever dared come this close to her except Leroy.

Her heart pounded as she struggled against him, but he was stronger. The smell of smoke, sweat, and iron filled her nose. Then came the sound... the rip of linen. Her gown tore open. She gasped, clutching what remained against her chest as she fell to her knees.

The marble floor was cold beneath her palms. Her skin burned with humiliation, fury, and fear.

And then...

A sharp crack split the air.

Lorraine’s head whipped upward. The ceiling beams above her groaned, glowing red from the fire eating through the mansion. Ash drifted down like snow.