CHAPTER 39: CHAPTER 38. REMNANTS OF THE BLOODY BATTLE

The knights of Borgia and Wyndham are caught off guard when a massive wave of water suddenly crashes over the balcony, splattering them with gore. Blood, severed limbs, and chunks of unrecognizable flesh rained down, mixed into the icy torrent like some horrific stew. The scene is so grotesque that for a moment, even the howling wind seemed to go silent.

For the Borgia knights, something like this is nothing new. They had fought countless battles alongside Roxanne and were well-accustomed to carnage on this scale. Most of them didn’t even flinch, their only reaction being a faint grimace or an annoyed shake of the head as they wiped the blood from their faces.

The Wyndham knights, however, are another story. Unlike their Borgia counterparts, they’re rarely exposed to such nightmarish gore. The sight of mangled intestines and shredded flesh caused several of them to pale and stumble back in horror. A few outright shrieked, their voices high and panicked, echoing through the courtyard.

"Oh gods! What is that—?!" one knight cried, gagging.

"Hold it together!" another shouted, though his own face had turned green.

Maxim stepped out onto the balcony. Anton followed closely behind, his expression caught between disbelief and resignation. Together, they surveyed the carnage below.

"Oh... that’s not good," Maxim muttered with a grin that is far too amused for the situation.

Anton groaned and rubbed his temples, clearly pained by what he saw. "Oh, by the heavens... I cannot let my wife see her rose garden like this. She’ll never forgive me." His tone is half serious, half despairing.

Footsteps approached, and his two teenage children appeared beside him, both equally stunned by the scene.

"Definitely can’t tell Mom," Ian, the eldest, said flatly.

Rose, his younger sister, crossed her arms, her sharp eyes scanning the gore-streaked courtyard. "I’ll keep her inside the house until we’ve cleaned this up," she said matter-of-factly. Then she tilted her head, squinting. "Is that... intestines? And... stomach contents?"

"Rose!" Anton and Ian shouted in unison, spinning toward her with horrified expressions.

"What?" Rose blinked innocently, her tone defensive. "I’m just asking! I wasn’t the one who hacked people into pieces like that." She shrugged, completely unfazed by their outrage. "Blood, sure, I’ve spilled plenty of that. But this—" she gestured to the grisly mess below "—this wasn’t me."

Anton let out a long, exasperated sigh, muttering under his breath, "Why couldn’t I have had normal children?" Maxim chuckled, clearly enjoying their family drama despite the carnage surrounding them.

While Anton, Maxim, and the others are still fussing and bickering over the grotesque sight below, a sudden whoosh of air swept through the hall. It isn’t just a breeze; it’s a powerful rush of wind that rattled the shutters, swirling through the room like startled birds. The atmosphere shifted in an instant.

The stench of iron and blood, so heavy it clung to their throats and made every breath taste metallic, began to fade. In its place came a fresh, earthy scent, like rain falling on dry soil. Petrichor. It’s clean, soothing, and almost sacred, and it made everyone pause and inhale deeply without realizing it.

The knights looked around in confusion, unsure whether to be relieved or on guard. Then, without warning, a small weight fell against Mara’s broad chest with a soft thump.

"Ohhh, it makes your fur so dry and soft now," Marvessa sighed, her voice muffled as she nuzzled into Mara’s chest. She flopped against the taller woman without an ounce of shame, utterly exhausted yet strangely content, her fingers absently stroking the ends of Mara’s thick fur.

Mara froze for a heartbeat, blinking down at the smaller woman now curled up in her arms. "...Marvessa," she said slowly, her tone somewhere between confusion and amusement. "Are you... sniffing me?"

"Oh, I can’t?" Marvessa replied without lifting her head, sounding blissfully dazed. "But it’s nice. Really, really nice. And your fur—so soft now." She gave a sleepy little giggle, clearly too tired to care how ridiculous she sounded.

Mara’s lips twitched into a smirk as she wrapped one arm protectively around Marvessa’s shoulders. "You’ve had a rough night, huh?"

Marvessa only hummed in agreement, her body sagging further against Mara’s warmth. The petrichor-like scent grew stronger for a moment, almost as if the very air is responding to Marvessa’s relief.

Behind them, Anton raised a brow, clearly bewildered as he took in the strange scene before him. "What... exactly am I looking at right now?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and disbelief.

No one answered him. The entire room had gone silent, their gazes instinctively drawn toward the Grand Duchess. Vivianne is at the center of it all, nestled securely in Roxanne’s arms. Her usually soft, light-purple eyes now glistened with golden sparkles, shimmering like sunlight on water, a clear sign that the lingering petrichor scent and the cleansing air are her doing.

Vivianne’s voice is calm but soft, carrying an edge of apology. "My apologies," she said, her words like a quiet melody amidst the chaos. "I don’t like the smell of blood. It was... overwhelming."

Roxanne tightened her hold around Vivianne, wrapping the thick fur blanket more snugly around her wife. Her crimson eyes softened with tenderness, but there’s also a protective spark to her gaze as she remembered that Vivianne is still completely bare beneath the blanket. Roxanne’s towering frame cast a shadow over her, a gesture that made sure no one would lay a hand, or even a glance, upon her.

Her voice rumbled low and commanding as she turned to Anton. "We need another room." There’s no anger in her tone, but it’s sharp enough to slice through the air like a blade.

Anton’s instincts kicked in immediately. "Of course, Your Grace!" he said, nearly tripping over himself as he rushed toward the nearest bell rope. He yanked it with urgency, the chime echoing through the hall as servants scrambled to attention.

"Prepare the west building," Anton ordered, his voice rising above the chaos below. "Fresh linens, a full bath, and every ounce of warmth you can muster. And hurry!"

"Yes, my lord!" the servants chorused, scattering like leaves in a storm. Already awake from the commotion in the house.

Anton turned back to Roxanne, bowing his head slightly, his composure restored. "The west building will be ready within minutes. It’s the cleanest wing of the estate—and farthest from... this." His gaze flickered reluctantly toward the current room, which is little more than a battlefield drenched in blood and ruin.

Roxanne’s lips curved into a small, appreciative smile as she glanced down at Vivianne, who had nestled closer into her arms. "Good," she said, her voice softer now. "I want her far away from this mess."

Anton nodded fervently, though he couldn’t help a sigh as his eyes drifted to the ruined chamber. "You and Her Grace shouldn’t have to see this again."

As the servants began their frantic preparations, Roxanne gently adjusted Vivianne in her arms. Vivianne is safe, wrapped in warmth and love, while the night’s horrors are slowly scrubbed away by loyal hands and the fresh, rain-kissed air that lingered from Vivianne’s power.

Meanwhile, in a quieter corner of the room, Marvessa is barely clinging to consciousness. Her body trembled violently, drenched in dried blood, some hers, some belonging to the assassins she had fought so fiercely against.

Her usually sharp, glowing dark-purple eyes are dull and unfocused, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps. She had pushed herself far beyond her limits tonight, driven by one singular purpose: to protect the Grand Duchess.

Mara knelt beside her in an instant, her white tiger-striped ears twitching as she let out a low, distressed growl. "Marvessa, hey—stay with me!" Mara’s strong arms slid under Marvessa’s frail frame, lifting her as though she weighed nothing.

Her sharp crimson eyes burned with worry as she cradled the spirit user tightly against her chest. She then used her healing power on Marvessa after she saw multiple wounds and blood still coming from Marvessa’s body.

Marvessa’s lips trembled as she tried to speak. Her voice is barely a whisper, hoarse and broken, but it carries the weight of her devotion. "...The Grand Duchess..." She coughed weakly, a small trail of blood staining the corner of her mouth. "...Is she safe?"

Mara’s chest tightened. For a moment, she could barely speak past the lump in her throat. She pressed her forehead gently against Marvessa’s clammy one, her white tiger-striped tail swishing in frustration.

"She’s safe," Mara said firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt. "I swear it on my life. You did it, Marvessa. You protected her."

Marvessa gave the faintest ghost of a smile, her trembling body finally relaxing at those words. Before she could say anything more, her eyes fluttered shut, and she went completely limp in Mara’s arms.

Mara stood quickly, scooping Marvessa up as though she weighed nothing. "Hang on, little one," she muttered under her breath, her voice almost a growl as determination filled her. She stormed from the chamber, moving fast toward the annex where the Borgia knights had set up their temporary quarters.

When she entered, some of the knights who are currently trying to clean themselves stared blankly at Mara, then their expressions darkened when they saw Marvessa’s condition.

"Clear a space," Mara ordered sharply. "She fought harder than anyone tonight. I’m going to heal her and put her into a deep sleep so her body can recover."

Several knights rushed to help, pulling blankets and clearing a sturdy cot. Mara carefully laid Marvessa down, brushing damp, filthy strands of grey hair away from her pale face.

"Guard her well," Maxim said as he walked into the room, staring at Marvessa. "She’s earned her place among us."

The other knights nodded, their eyes glinting with newfound respect for the fragile-looking spirit wielder who had stood against the Black Covenant.

With a final glance toward the unconscious Marvessa, Maxim turned to the rest of the knights, her expression fierce. "The rest of you—patrol the Wyndham estate. No assassin is setting foot near the Grand Duke or Grand Duchess again. Not while we still draw breath."

"Yes, Captain!" they chorused, splitting off into groups to secure the grounds, their footsteps echoing like a war drum in the night.

"I’ll leave her to you, Mara." Maxim said as he walked out to patrol.

"Yes, Captain," Mara replied.

As the others departed, Mara focused her healing energy, a soft golden glow wrapping around Marvessa’s battered body. "Rest, stubborn little wolf," she whispered with a rare gentleness. "When you wake up, you’ll see that she’s safe... and so are you."