A Test of Will

I woke up just as the first light of dawn spilled over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and soft amber. The faint chill of the morning air crept through the open window, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves.

Rising from the bed, I stretched my stiff limbs and stepped closer to the window. The vast Stormbane Estate stretched before me, its towering structures bathed in the muted glow of sunrise. A dull haze clung to the landscape, turning the estate into something unreal—almost dreamlike.

For a fleeting moment, the sight was enough to make me forget the chaos of my situation. The crisp air felt cleaner, the world quieter, as if the morning itself offered me a brief reprieve.

Below, the estate was already stirring to life. Servants hurried from one building to another, their hurried steps kicking up faint traces of dust in the cobbled paths. Guards stood at their posts, some chatting idly, others shifting their weight to shake off the lingering drowsiness of their night watch. Birds flitted from tree to tree, their melodies blending into the morning bustle.

Yet, despite the peaceful scene, a deep exhaustion clung to my bones.

I hadn't slept well.

Even though my body screamed for rest after the relentless mental strain from yesterday, my sleep had been shallow, restless. It felt as though something—someone—had been watching me throughout the night. A presence that lingered just beyond my senses, impossible to see yet impossible to ignore.

I shook off the unsettling thought and turned toward the mirror.

The sight staring back at me no longer felt foreign. Yesterday, my reflection had been an eerie, unfamiliar thing—Nathan's face, not mine. But now, his memories had seeped into my mind, and the distinction between 'him' and 'me' had blurred. This face felt mine now.

Dark brown hair, still tousled from sleep, framed my face, with a few stray strands falling over my forehead. My eyes—piercing blue, sharp even in their half-lidded, drowsy state—held a lazy, almost predatory arrogance, as if I were sizing up everything around me without a care. The faint shadows beneath them added a hollowed-out, worn look, a reminder of Nathan's past—his reckless drinking, his late-night gambling, the life of excess he had indulged in.

A well-defined jawline, sharp cheekbones—features that weren't classically handsome, but striking in a way that demanded attention. A face made for a villain.

The kind of man others would instinctively distrust.

I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the lingering fatigue.

This was my reality now.

And I had to survive in it.

Steam curled from my skin as I stepped out of the bath, the lingering warmth did a good job of chasing away the exhaustion clinging in my body. I toweled my hair dry, the damp strands falling messily over my forehead, then reached for one of the robes hanging in the wardrobe—a dark silk garment, embroidered subtly with the Stormbane crest.

Throwing it over my shoulders, I tied the sash loosely around my waist and sat on the edge of my bed.

Knock. Knock.

A sharp rapping at the door.

I exhaled through my nose, lips pressing into a thin line. Impeccable timing. I hadn't even settled before she arrived.

It had to be Clara.

Yesterday, I avoided facing her. My mind was too cluttered, the weight of new memories pressing down on me like an iron vice. But now I felt more calmer and I couldn't put it off forever. If I wanted to survive, I had to define our relationship—

And figure out where she truly stood.

"Come in," I called out.

The door creaked open. Clara stepped inside, closing it with a soft click.

She looked the same as yesterday—beautiful, delicate. But beneath the polished surface, something was off. A faint shadow clung to her features. Did she not sleep well?

When her face met mine she looked down, laced with a strange mix of confusion and hesitation. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper—

"Are you feeling well today, young master?"

"Yes," I answered, watching her carefully. "Better than yesterday."

After hearing my answer, just as yesterday, she moved to undress, fingers reaching for the buttons of her uniform.

"Wait."

She froze.

"Let's talk first."

Her head looked up tilted slightly, lips parting in a small, startled "Eh?" Like I had spoken in some foreign language she couldn't understand.

"…Talk?" she echoed, as if the concept itself was unfamiliar.

"Yes," I nodded. "I want to know, what do you think of me?"

Clara's gaze flickered downward and her fingers twitched. When she finally answered, her voice was a whisper.

"You are my master… and I am your lowly slave."

So that's how she sees herself.

I leaned forward slightly. "If you are my slave, does that mean you'll do anything I ask?"

She hesitated. Then, slowly—

"…Yes master."

I studied her, measuring the weight of that single answer. Was she telling the truth? Or was she simply too broken to refuse?

I needed to be sure.

"If I told you to poison the duchess," I asked softly, voice dipping just above a whisper, "would you do it?"

Clara's body jerked as if struck by lightning. Her fingers twitched, fists clenching at the hem of her dress. Her head remained bowed, so I couldn't see her face.

Then, after a long silence—so faint I almost missed it—

"…Yes."

My breath hitched. "What?"

This time, she lifted her head. Her expression was blank—empty, save for a dull acceptance.

Clara's lips parted, then closed again—as if considering whether to speak at all. When she finally did, her voice held no hesitation, no fear.

"Yes master"

Not a whisper this time. A confirmation.

I frowned. She has to be lying. There was no way she would betray the Dutchess. No matter how much Nathan had twisted her, there had to be a line she wouldn't cross. Right?

I needed to push further.

"Jump out of that window." I commanded, surprised by the calmness of my own voice

A violent tremor ran through her. For a split second, her eyes widened in silent disbelief. Then, as if flicking a switch—her face hardened.

She turned, her moments eerily calm, and walked to the window. With a deep breath she stepped onto the ledge and pushed her body out of the window.

My stomach dropped.

"Stop!"

She halted instantly.

"Come back."

Without hesitation, she obeyed—stepping off the ledge and walking back to her original position, standing before me like nothing had happened.

What the f*ck.

I forced my expression to remain calm, but inside, my mind reeled.

She would've done it.

She would've shattered her bones—crippled herself—for a command I gave so easily.

I dragged a hand down my face. Just how broken was she?

My gaze fell on her face. She wasn't trembling. She wasn't waiting for praise or scolding. She simply stood there, head lowered, waiting for my next order.

I had been testing her limits.

Instead, I found out she had none.