Having successfully whipped the maids into shape, I ventured deeper into the mansion's secrets.
My bare feet began to grow cold, as I ventured into the south wing, the very heart of the Constello family's presence.
Sunlight poured through the grand arched windows, casting a golden glow that danced across the endless expanse of marble corridors, illuminating the pristine white stone walls that proudly stood beside dark iron fixtures.
Each high-vaulted ceiling held paintings swirling with vibrant celestial beings and vivid depictions of epic battles.
The south wing of the Constello family manor was a welcomed palace as it was home to the wolves dressed in fine clothing, always ready to devour the weak.
I walked slowly, shaky yet determined, trying to suppress the tremors racing through my limbs.
My body felt fragile, as if it might evaporate into a wisp of glass, ready to shatter into a thousand pieces at the slightest misstep.
Servants of the south wing flitted past like silent shadows, their movements practiced and fluid, eyes averted in a show of respect.
Yet their whispers clawed at the edges of my consciousness, sharp as daggers thrown from behind closed doors.
"—the bastard son—"
"—sickly creature—"
"—he has the heir's eyes. Lady Vespera will be furious—"
I dismissed them. The servants of the south wing were loud, as if they wanted me to hear.
Their words like flies buzzing mindlessly around the still air. At least the staff back in the north wing had learned from my discipline earlier.
Approaching one of the towering windows, I paused to soak in the sunlight, relishing the warmth that contrasted sharply with the biting chill of the manor's stone walls.
Despite this territory being located in the North and having an eternal winter that lasted all year round, somehow, they were able to grow flowers and smaller plants in the garden.
The sunlight seemed surprisingly hot in this winter land. I wondered how they did it.
Suddenly, murmur flickered at the edges of my mind, an unsettling whisper of something like ink bleeding into pristine water.
But I couldn't quite make out what it was saying. What the hell?
My thoughts scattered like leaves, interrupted by a voice that bubbled with unexpected cheer.
"Ah, my dear boy. What are you doing here?"
Turning, I found Lady Vespera at the far end of the corridor, moving toward me with an ethereal grace that made her seem as though she floated just above the ground.
She looked beautiful, wrapped in a silken blue fabric that shimmered and flowed with her every step.
Golden hair meticulously braided and cascading over her shoulders, framing a face as pale and unblemished as fresh porcelain.
Her smile was the kind that could stop hearts, beautiful, flawless, yet as chilling as the embrace of death itself.
"Mother," I murmured, lowering my gaze in a feign of respect.
A lie that stung like frostbite. She was not my mother; my true mother, the dancer from the East, had slipped through the fabric of time, lost within the S rank Gate.
While here I was, burdened with the pretense of being Eiden, the weak villain.
Her graceful steps halted mere inches from me, and she reached out, fingers brushing softly against my cheek, a touch that lingered a heartbeat too long, her nails grazing beneath my eye with an intimacy that felt nothing short of predatory.
"So pale. So frail. The fever nearly claimed you, my darling. But the blood of Constello runs strong after all, doesn't it?"
Her touch sent a shiver racing down my spine. The weight of her gaze felt like a scale, measuring my worth against some unspeakable criterion.
Beneath her mask lurked something sharp and deadly, tightening around her true intentions like a snake coiling its prey.
In the depths of her gaze, I saw flickers of understanding; she recognized that those eyes marked me as a threat, a rival for the successor competition, meant for her precious sons, Lucien and Damon.
I could practically hear her thoughts whirled like a tempest beneath her lovely surface, plotting on how to eliminate the inconvenience.
I bowed my head lower, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Thank you... Mother," I whispered, tasting the bitter tang of the words on my tongue.
Her fingers slid from my cheek to my chin, lifting my face delicately, forcing me to meet her unnerving gaze.
"Such lovely manners. It seems the illness has melted away that shameful temper. How peculiar... you almost remind me of your dear mother now. She was quiet, too. So graceful. So... fragile."
A cold shiver danced along my spine.
Summoning what little strength remained, I forced a weak smile, small and hollow.
"I only wish to be good. To bring no shame to the House of Constello."
Her eyes twinkled with hidden delight, like a predator sensing an opportunity ripe for the taking.
What a liar I am.
But she believed my facade, for the moment.
"What a sweet boy you've become. Your father will be so proud if you remain obedient. But remember, little one..."
She leaned in closer, her breath chilling against my ear like winter's kiss. "This house devours the weak."
With that, she stepped back, the illusion of warmth blooming anew, her smile radiant as the sun after a storm.
"Rest well, my son. I shall tend to your needs personally from this day forth."
With that, she glided away down the corridor, draped in silk and the lingering scent of soft perfume, leaving behind a trail of haunting melody that echoed softly in the air.
I stood paralyzed, ensnared in the intoxicating web of her presence.
So, this is the true face of the venomous duchess.
I pressed my palm to my chest, feeling the fragile, yet persistent rhythm of my heartbeat echoing beneath my ribs.
Don't let her intimidate you, I urged myself.
I was familiar with this novel and I refused to be shackled by its anticipated events.
A flicker of dark energy danced along my fingertips, a sudden spark that had vanished just as quickly as it appeared, leaving me momentarily stunned.
What the hell just happened?
A sudden noise made me whip my head around, my gaze landing on another figure lurking near the stairwell.
Lucien.
The eldest son.
He stood there like a statue of ice, his silver blonde hair catching the golden light.
His violet eyes, reflected my own, burned with a chill as biting as the cold depths of the harsh winter.
He remained silent, an unreadable expression frozen on his face, shrouded in an aura of unnerving stillness.