THE BETRAYAL- Within the serpent's mouth

 The lingering scent of spiced wine and roasted pheasant hung heavy in the air, a sickly reminder of the night's events. Amara stirred in her bed, the jovial laughter and clinking of glasses from the feast a stark contrast to the turmoil within her. Though Duchess Elara's words had offered a glimmer of hope, the weight of the duchess' request and the underlying tension at the feast lingered, leaving Amara with a gnawing unease.

Kylea entered; her usual bright smile replaced by a concerned frown. "Good morning, Lady Amara," she said softly, setting down a tray with a steaming cup of tea and delicate pastries.

Amara forced a smile, the gesture feeling brittle on her lips. "Good morning, Kylea. Please, just Amara will be fine today." The informality was a small comfort, a way to distance herself from the suffocating expectations that accompanied her title. Kylea then began to arrange Amara's hair, her movements slow and deliberate.

 "Did you sleep well?"Amara shook her head, the truth heavy on her tongue. "how could I, considering what happened yesterday." A silence fell within the room, Kylea understanding it would be best not to flame her mind.

The day unfolded with a chilling coldness. The warmth that once permeated the grand halls was replaced by a stifling silence punctuated by forced smiles and sidelong glances. Gone were the playful exchanges from servants and instead, she felt the weight of their scrutiny and whispers following her like phantoms. Amara longed for the genuine warmth of bygone days.

 Lunch was a miserable affair. The food stuck in her craw, the jovial chatter a grating noise. Exhausted by the pretense, she excused herself, escaping to the solitude of her chambers.

The night offered no solace as well. Sleep was a distant melody, replaced by a relentless replay of the previous night. The seeds of doubt Duchess Elara planted had taken root, blossoming into a chilling suspicion. It was time for answers.

The next morning, Amara made a beeline for the study where her brother usually spent his mornings. She found him poring over maps, a grimace etched on his face.

"Edgar," she said, her voice betraying a tremor of anxiety. "Can we talk?" He looked up, his face hardening. "About what, sister? The festivities were a smashing success, wouldn't you agree?" His voice dripped with a sarcasm she had never heard before.

"There's something wrong here," Amara pressed, her voice gaining strength. "The way everyone's acting is..." 

"The way everyone's acting is how they should, except for you. Perhaps you wouldn't feel so out of place if you could just accept reality and perhaps loosen those rigid morals of yours a little."

Amara recoiled, her heart twisting with a mixture of betrayal and confusion. "Rigid morals? Mother and Father raised us to do what's right!"

"Right, for whom?" Edgar countered, his voice rising. "Our father has clung to his ideals for far too long, clinging to a past that no longer exists. With Morci, our past glory will be back to the Skyer hold after years of 'honorable' ruling. all it takes is looking the other way at some of his less savory… dealings."

Amara stared at her brother, the words churning in her stomach. "Power at the cost of our values and honor? That's not the House Skyer I know!"

"The House Skyer you know is a relic, Amara," Edgar said, his voice softening a touch. "The kingdoms are growing weak, Amara. Morci's forces are unparalleled. With him as an ally, we won't just survive; we'll be the strongest force in the land."

The revelation hung heavy in the air. Amara understood their fear of weakness; survival was paramount. But to achieve it by aligning with someone like Morci? The very thought was… repulsive.

Determined to seek another perspective, Amara made her way to Ophelia's chambers. Once inside, she found her mother engrossed in paperwork, her face a mask of studied indifference.

"Mother," Amara began, "I need to talk to you about--"Ophelia cut her off with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Not now, Amara. I have urgent matters to attend to."Amara's shoulders slumped. The coldness in her mother's voice echoed the chill in the castle's atmosphere.

With a heavy heart, she sought out Isadora. Surely, her sister would understand and let her know what exactly happened. She found Isadora in the practice yard, sparring with a group of recruits. 

She approached her and tried to initiate a conversation, but Isadora met her gaze with an icy silence before resuming her training, leaving Amara feeling utterly alone. Desperation gnawed at her. Finally, Amara gathered her courage and confronted her family during the evening meal.

 While mirroring the frost that gripped Amara's heart, the grand hall was filled with cheers and inquiries between Isadora and Edgar. Though their smiles felt hollow and mocking in Amara's eyes. Ophelia, adorned in a shimmering emerald gown, barely acknowledged her daughter's presence, dismissing Amara's inquiries with curt nods and murmurs such as, "Later, dear or it is for your own good."

 Amara fed up with this situation, declared with a firm voice "I will not be ignored any longer… What is happening? Why has the atmosphere in this house changed so drastically within a single night?"

 The room fell silent. The laughter died in throats, and cutlery clattered on plates. All eyes turned towards Amara, some with apprehension, others with a flicker of defiance.

Her mother, Ophelia, finally met her gaze. But it was not a look of love or concern. It was a cold stare that sent shivers down Amara's spine. "Amara," Ophelia said, her voice laced with steel, "there is no need for such theatrics. We are simply preparing for a future that will ensure House Skyer's prosperity."

"Prosperity built on a foundation of deceit and corruption?" retorted Amara. "Is that what you wish to make of my father's legacy?"

 "As well as my husband," Ophelia said firmly with a twitch on her jaw. "You are way too naive, child. Power has its price. And in these uncertain times, we must align ourselves with those who can guarantee something…better... for our future."

Amara heard an echo of Edgar's words, but her mother's chilling pragmatism was far worse. "At what cost?" she pressed. "Are we to abandon our principles, turn a blind eye to Morci's crimes, simply because he offers us some benefits?"

Edgar slammed his fist on the table, the clatter sending a jolt through the room. "Morci's resources are unmatched within our lands! With him by our side, we'll not just survive, we'll be untouchable!"

"And what about the innocent lives Morci tramples on to achieve that power?" Amara roared back, her voice echoing through the hall. "Do we simply turn away, content to be shielded by his blood-stained cloak?"

A tense silence descended upon the room. Amara scanned the faces of her family, searching for a flicker of understanding, of remorse. But she met only stony facades. They were lost to the allure of power, blinded by fear.

A single tear escaped Amara's eye, tracing a warm path down her cheek. These were not the people she had known, not the family she had held dear. In their eyes, she saw only strangers, driven by ambition and consumed by a ruthless pursuit of self-preservation.

With a deep breath, Amara straightened her spine, a newfound resolve hardening her features. "If this is the path House Skyer chooses," she declared, her voice ringing with quiet determination, "then I might as well walk a different one."

The words hung heavy in the air, a challenge and a declaration of independence. A voice laced with a cruel amusement and a scornful look was heard, "You'll have to do that after your marriage with Morci."

 Amara stared at Edgar, who seemed to be the source of that voice, her blood turning to ice. "Marriage with Morci? That's the funniest part about this whole circus show," she continued a scoff twisting her lips. "I don't know where you took that absurd idea of yours from, but we all know why it's never going to happen."

Turning her back towards her family, Amara left.