The Arrival

Mateo slowly pushed himself up from the cold stone floor, wincing as he touched the fresh wound Lila had inflicted on him. The pain was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the rage boiling inside him. He glanced around the dimly lit room, his eyes narrowing as he spotted something gleaming faintly on the ground.

It was Lila's necklace, a small, delicate piece that had somehow fallen off during their struggle. The sight of it only fueled his anger further, reminding him of how she had defied him, how she had dared to fight back. He clenched his fist around the necklace, the metal cool against his skin.

A slow, sinister smile spread across his face as he tucked the necklace into his pocket. Turning to one of his loyal messengers, who had been waiting just outside, Mateo called him in.

"She's dead," Mateo announced coldly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Tell everyone that Lila is gone. No one will look for her… except me."

The messenger hesitated for a brief moment, the gravity of Mateo's words sinking in. But he quickly nodded, understanding the implicit order. He hurried off to spread the news, knowing that Mateo's word would be taken as truth.

Once the messenger was gone, Mateo pulled the necklace back out, staring at it with a mix of triumph and bitterness. He then walked over to where the aftermath of the fire had left a pile of charred remains—unrecognizable, but enough to pass as anyone.

With a calculated movement, Mateo placed the necklace on the burnt corpse, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. "This will be your final resting place, Lila," he muttered under his breath. "They'll believe it's you, and no one will question it."

He stepped back, admiring his handiwork for a moment. The necklace glinted faintly against the blackened skin of the victim, a silent testimony to the lie he had just crafted. It was the perfect cover, a way to erase Lila from the story while keeping her under his control.

Satisfied, Mateo turned and left the scene, his mind already racing with the next steps of his plan. Lila might have escaped for now, but he had made sure that no one else would come looking for her. And when the time was right, he would be the one to find her.

Mateo jaw clenched, and a cold resolve settled over him. The flames that had consumed the banquet hall and the chaos that had followed were not enough. His thirst for revenge, for power, for everything he believed was rightfully his, had not been quenched. The Northern Empire's palace stood as the next stage in his relentless pursuit.

He took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs as he imagined the steps he would take next. The deceit, the betrayals, the bloodshed—it was all part of the plan. The smoldering ruins he left behind were just the beginning.

"I'll be back," Mateo muttered under his breath, his voice low and filled with determination.

He didn't look back as he turned and mounted his horse, his thoughts already plotting his return. The Northern Empire's palace was more than just a structure; it was the key to everything he sought to achieve. And when he returned, he would ensure that nothing and no one could stand in his way.

The horizon stretched before him, a vast expanse of possibilities and dangers, but Mateo felt no fear. Only the burning desire to reclaim what he believed was his by right, to make his mark on the empire that had once scorned him.

With one last glance at the distant palace, Mateo spurred his horse forward, a cold smile playing on his lips. This was far from over.

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A day had passed since the chaos in the palace, and the atmosphere remained heavy with the lingering scent of smoke and the echoes of unrest. The grand entrance of the Northern Empire's palace loomed before Axel as he dismounted from his horse, his armor still bearing the marks of war. The sight of the palace—once a symbol of stability—now seemed tainted, as if the very stones whispered of betrayal and deceit.

As Axel approached the entrance, the doors swung open, revealing the figure of Empress Lamaine waiting for him. Her expression was one of exaggerated warmth, a smile stretching across her lips as she spread her arms wide in a welcoming gesture.

"My baby," she cooed, her voice dripping with false affection as she stepped forward to embrace him.

Axel stiffened slightly as she wrapped her arms around him, the embrace feeling more like a serpent's coils than a mother's love. From a distance, it would appear as though the Empress was greeting her beloved son with genuine affection, but Axel knew better. The woman who had raised him, who had played the part of a caring mother for all these years, harbored no love for him. Her heart was a cold, dark well of hatred, and her embrace was nothing more than a mockery of what love should be.

The weight of her arms around him was suffocating, but Axel remained composed, his expression carefully neutral. He allowed her to cling to him, even as his mind raced with suspicion and unease. The palace might have seemed like a place of safety, but Axel knew it was anything but. Behind the Empress's saccharine smile lay a web of lies and manipulation, one that he had been ensnared in for far too long.

"My dear Axel," Lamaine murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. Her gaze was searching, calculating, as if trying to gauge how much he knew, how much he had uncovered in his time away.

Axel met her gaze evenly, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Empress," he replied, his voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside him.

Lamaine's smile faltered for the briefest moment, a flicker of something darker passing through her eyes before she quickly masked it with a look of concern. "You've been through so much," she said, her tone softening as she cupped his cheek in a gesture that was meant to be tender. "But you're home now. Everything will be fine."

"Yes, Mother." But Axel knew better. The Empress's touch was as cold as ice, and her words were nothing more than hollow reassurances. He could feel the weight of her hatred pressing down on him, a seething undercurrent that belied her outward display of affection. The palace was not a place of refuge; it was a battlefield, and the Empress was one of its most dangerous adversaries.