CHAPTER 2- Hopeful Goodbye

The chamber was suffocating. Not because of the towering marble pillars or the golden-trimmed banners hanging above us, but because of them—the noble leeches who had circled me like vultures for three decades, waiting for the day I would finally step down.

I didn't turn to look at their faces. I didn't need to. The whispers slithered through the hall, barely restrained amusement laced with relief.

Finally. Finally, she's leaving.

The Witch of Nyxveil will no longer be standing in our way.

Now, it's our time.

A hand settled on my shoulder—warm, grounding.

Kaelith.

"The Court of Ignis will always be grateful for the service and loyalty shown by my beloved friend and most trusted servant, Selantina Amaris Nyxveil."

Beloved friend.

I almost laughed at the choice of words. To be called the emperor's friend in this hellhole of a court? It was a privilege none of them could ever dream of attaining. I could feel their gazes flicker between confusion and irritation, their expectations shattering with those two words.

I let a small smirk play at my lips. How bitter must it be for them…

Kaelith gave me a final pat before stepping away. And just like that, the moment he moved, the vultures pounced.

The first to approach was Rheon Veyne, Duke of Westbourne.

A man with golden-brown hair that almost looked like it was kissed by the sun but was deceptive, much like the man himself. His uranium-blue eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned my face with something between amusement and scrutiny. His coat, deep navy lined with gold embroidery, clung to him like second skin—polished, refined, and tailored for someone who lived in the dangerous game of politics.

"You have worked hard, Madam Nyxveil," he murmured, taking my hand with an almost mocking gentleness. His lips brushed against my knuckles. "Don't worry. We will take very good care of the rest."

It was supposed to be reassuring. It wasn't.

I arched a brow. "Isn't that supposed to be my greatest concern, Your Grace?"

Rheon chuckled lightly, the sound smooth yet utterly insincere. "I will miss our little friendly conversations, truly."

I smiled, mirroring his tone. "Feel free to visit. I'll bake you fresh bread and cake—unless, of course, your Grace has a problem with a humble setting."

Before Rheon could respond, another voice cut in, smooth, sharp, and far too amused.

"Oh? To be personally served by the infamous Witch of Nyxveil? Duke Veyne, you truly are blessed."

Claude Noctemi.

The Master of the Noctemi Magic Tower and the most infuriatingly unpredictable man in the empire.

His long brown hair was pulled into a loose braid, a few strands carelessly falling over his glasses—thin, silver-rimmed, and always reflecting something unreadable. His deep purple coat shimmered under the chandeliers, embroidered with silver threads infused with magic, a sign of his absurd authority over the Tower.

"Don't worry, I won't be going without you, Claude," Rheon mused, smirking.

Claude scoffed, flipping his braid back. "I won't miss that one."

"You assume you're invited," I deadpanned.

Claude placed a hand over his heart, lips curving into a lazy grin. "So cruel, Madame Nyxveil. You're resigning—no need to draw lines now."

"I draw lines wherever I please," I shot back.

Rheon hummed, tapping his chin. "Ah, you see, this is why she lasted thirty years in the Court of Ignis. That iron will. No wonder half of them wanted her dead, and the other half wanted to marry her."

Claude smirked. "And which half were you in, Rheon?"

The duke scoffed, adjusting his coat. "The half that values his survival."

I sighed, but a small laugh escaped me. For all the tension, the politics, the endless battles—we had once been able to talk like this, hadn't we? Before the betrayals. Before the years of bloodshed.

But laughter was fleeting. It always was.

Rheon reached into his coat and pulled out a small wooden box. A ruby gleamed at the top, embedded in its intricate carvings.

I frowned. "What's this?"

"My son found it in the ruins near the Wynster Mountain range," Rheon said, handing it to me. "Supposedly, it grants one's greatest desire."

Claude and I both stared at him.

"You must be joking," Claude muttered, adjusting his glasses.

Rheon shrugged, unbothered. "I'm just the messenger. Blame my son if it turns out to be cursed."

I tried opening the box. It wouldn't budge. No magic. No visible lock. Just sealed.

"You…" Claude hesitated. For the first time that night, he didn't sound playful—just uncertain. His fingers twitched slightly as he studied my face. "You aren't leaving because you're dying, are you?"

The question was ridiculous.

The fact that both of them were staring at me like they already knew the answer made my stomach twist.

I let out a breath, shaking my head. "So, that's what you two thought?" A small smile tugged at my lips. "No, I'm not dying."

They both visibly relaxed.

"In that case," Rheon said, grinning, "don't forget—I'll drop by with this guy." He jerked his thumb toward Claude.

Claude clicked his tongue. "If you put salt in my coffee again, I'll set your estate on fire."

"If you actually drank the coffee instead of analyzing its molecular structure, you'd realize it was a joke."

"Joke? Poisoning is a joke now?"

I sighed. "And people wonder why I'm resigning."

They laughed.

It was easy. Natural. Something I would miss.

But it didn't last.

Claude's gaze flickered behind me, and in an instant, his expression hardened. The playful smirk vanished, his posture shifting into something composed. Unreadable.

I turned.

The throne room, once filled with murmuring nobles and politicians, was now silent.

Most of them had left. The ones who remained knew better than to interfere.

And yet—

There was someone else other than us who was standing behind me, as if waiting for his turn to say goodbye.

"We will reach out to you soon, Tia." Rheon, who seemed to understand the situation, hurried the goodbye. Claude nodded at me. We smiled at each other. 

Maybe we could go back to the time before we were thrown into this harsh, viper-like courtroom. Both of them left, whispering me goodbye, and I turned around.

There he stood, exactly one foot away from me, looking down at me with his mysterious and mesmerizing golden eyes.