Elizabeth's study was one of the most austere rooms in the mansion. The walls, lined with shelves filled with leather-bound books, exuded the ancient scent of knowledge and authority. A fireplace crackled low, illuminating the black stone of the room, but the heat seemed unable to dispel the chilly feeling that lingered whenever the Countess was there.

Ester entered silently. Her robe trailed across the polished floor, and her red eyes, cold as blades, immediately fixed on Elizabeth's figure seated behind the oak desk, poring over some papers.

"He sent for me, Countess." Her voice was low but firm.

Elizabeth looked up slowly, with that enigmatic smile that seemed to never leave her. Her long, pale fingers rested on a red wax seal.

"Yes, Ester. I have a task for you." Her voice was calm, almost melodious. "You will travel to the Duchy of Paraphal."

Ester frowned. The name immediately brought back memories of shaky political alliances, of the arrogance of human nobles who dared to treat vampires as if they were equals.

"Paraphal?" she repeated, her displeasure unmistakably evident. "And what exactly would be the purpose of such a trip?"

Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, as if enjoying revealing a piece in a larger game.

"You will have a conversation with the duke's son. You will let him know that I have no intention of marrying him."

For a moment, silence fell. The fireplace crackled, and Ester simply stared at her mistress, as if trying to confirm if this was a joke.

"Are you telling me..." her voice sounded icy, like a biting wind, "...that you want me to cross half a continent just to reject a marriage proposal?"

Elizabeth smiled.

"Exactly."

Esther's disbelief betrayed only a brief arch of her brows, nothing more. But her voice carried the weight of her usual coldness:

"Send a letter," she said bluntly. "Or choose another messenger. I see no reason why I should waste time on such a... trivial task."

Elizabeth rested her chin on her hand, her red eyes fixed on Esther. There was amusement there, and also a hidden warning.

"Because it's not trivial," she replied calmly. "The letter could be burned, ignored, or worse: interpreted as a gesture of weakness. The duke needs to feel the weight of a personal, direct refusal, delivered by someone who represents my will without bowing down."

Esther stood erect, motionless. Her mind calculated rapidly. Elizabeth's refusal would certainly generate political tension; no one declined a marriage proposal from a powerful duchy without consequences. And yet, Elizabeth spoke as if it were merely a game, a disposable piece on her board.

"If you want firmness, send another vassal," Ester retorted, her tone dry. "I don't need to remind you that my role here is to protect you, not play messenger."

For a moment, Elizabeth's eyes shone brighter. She leaned back in her chair, folding her hands elegantly.

"Precisely because you are my protector, your presence is necessary," she said quietly. "When Ester Deathstriker speaks, it's not just a message... it's a warning. Your reputation is a message in itself."

Ester gritted her teeth, but maintained her composure.

"So that's it. You want me to be a symbol, not a messenger."

Elizabeth let out a low, delicate laugh.

"Always so perceptive."

Silence fell again, heavy, only the crackling of the fireplace filling the space.

Ester looked away, as if studying the dark wood of the table before her. Deep down, she knew arguing was pointless. The Countess didn't give orders expecting a response; she gave orders expecting compliance. But still, something burned in her chest—perhaps indignation, perhaps a deep discomfort at finding herself used as a pawn in a game she didn't fully understand.

Elizabeth seemed to notice. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes capturing Ester's like prey in an invisible web.

"I know this doesn't please you," she said softly. "But you're the only one who can go. I need the Duke to understand that this refusal is non-negotiable. I need the voice that echoes in his halls to be cold as steel, unwavering, unquestionable."

Ester held her gaze, unblinking.

"And if he doesn't accept?" she asked, her voice sharp.

Elizabeth smiled slowly, as if savoring a provocation.

"Then you will make him accept."

The weight of the sentence hung in the air. It wasn't just an order. It was a challenge.

Esther took a deep breath, but her expression remained firm.

"Understood."

Elizabeth leaned back, satisfied.

"You will leave at dawn. I have already prepared the carriage and the necessary documents."

Ester gave a brief curtsy, turning on her heel to leave. But before she reached the door, the Countess's voice rang out again:

"Ah, Ester..." she called, sweet as poisoned honey.

Ester paused, but didn't turn around.

"Don't forget," Elizabeth continued. "A refusal can feel like humiliation. And humiliation... often fuels revenge. Be ready."

For a moment, Ester's eyes shone even brighter, a shadow of suppressed fury crossing her expression. But she didn't answer. She opened the door, left the office, and closed it firmly behind her.

The hallway seemed to stretch out in infinite silence behind Ester. Her footsteps echoed steadily, but her mind was seething with thoughts she would never dare confess.

Her eyes still burned from the venom of the Countess's words, but deep down, there was something that made her breathe a sigh of unexpected relief.

A trip... days away from this mansion... away from that room...

The memory came involuntarily: moans, screams muffled by the wall, Damon's hoarse whispers, followed by Aria's pleas. At first, it had been torture; then, it became a poisoned addiction. But now, just thinking about being away from that routine, away from the humiliation of having her ears flooded every night with sounds running under her skin, an almost imperceptible hint of relief emerged.

Ester allowed herself the luxury of a small, cold smile, as if mocking herself.

"At least... I won't have to hear Aria moaning like a bitch in heat with that despicable incubus..." she murmured, her voice low, barely audible in the emptiness of the hallway.

It was only for a second. A moment of weakness where her icy rigidity cracked and a shadow of pleasure escaped her expression. Soon the smile died on her lips, and she resumed her impassive posture. But the spark was there: the recognition that, however cruel the order, there was a sweet irony in stepping away from that sonic prison.

…

Meanwhile, in the office, the atmosphere was different.

Elizabeth remained seated in the oak chair, motionless, like a statue carved from marble. Only her eyes shone with that deep crimson hue, a light charged with intentions that never fully revealed themselves.

Her fingers drummed on the wood for a few moments, and then a low laugh escaped, velvety and treacherous.

"Ah, my sweet Esther..." she murmured, as if speaking to the flames of the fireplace. "Always so hard, always so convinced that she is the master of her own fate..."

She leaned back in the chair, her lips curving into a smile that mixed amusement and calculation.

"But don't you realize that every refusal, every sigh, every small crack in your armor is exactly what I want to see?"

Elizabeth reached out, taking a goblet of scarlet wine from the table. The liquid reflected the firelight, looking like freshly spilled blood.

She took a slow sip, savoring it.

"The duke will have his answer, of course... but this trip is not just for him." Her voice was low, almost a whisper only the walls could hear. "It is for her. So she can face, far from my direct gaze, the truth she so fears to admit."

She set the goblet down on the table with a soft clink, the crystalline sound echoing through the silent office.

A moment later, Elizabeth smiled again, a smile full of mischief, like a child who has just imagined a delightful prank.

"Well..." she said with false lightness. "Now all that remains is to choose who will accompany you."

She raised her hand in the air, as if writing down the pieces on an invisible board.

"Soldiers? No... useless." Guards? Unnecessary. Her lips curved, her eyes flashing with a sudden thought. "Better than that..."

And then the decision shone clear in her mind, as natural as it was inevitable.

Elizabeth interlaced her fingers and rested her chin on her hands, staring into the flames of the fireplace as if contemplating the fate of all who dared cross her path.

"Damon." She spoke the name as if summoning a sweet poison. "Yes, it's perfect."

The smile that followed wasn't human. It was the expression of a predator who had just placed two prey in the same cage, only to see which one would emerge alive—or more destroyed.

"Ester and Damon... days together, far from my walls, far from my shadow." A cruel glint flashed in her eyes. "What a delightful spectacle it will be to observe what will emerge from this conflict."

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, satisfied, letting out a sigh of pleasure.

"There you go..." he murmured, almost like a child proud of his own mischief. "The board is set."

And in the silence of the office, only the soft sound of her laughter remained, echoing like an inevitable omen.

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