3

The soft patter of makeup brushes filled the mirror. In an elegant room, Lindy made the final touch. Her fingers, fluttered gently across Liberty's cheekbones.

"There," she declared, smiling. "All done."

Liberty studied herself in the mirror. Still wrapped in a towel with her damp hair coiled atop her head, her beauty and stature looked like a porcelain statue.

"Mom, where did you learn to do makeup like this?" she asked.

"Your aunt taught me much of it. Before all the lights and stages, I was just like anyone else-- barefaced, awkward, trying not to be noticed. But fame... well, it teaches you how to be seen, even when you don't want to be."

Liberty smiled, shyly. "It's my first time doing it properly. I've had creams... and magazines... from the barracks."

The moment lingered. Lindy sat on the bed beside her daughter, brushing a loose strand of hair back with more tenderness.

"You're a noblewoman now," she said softly.

"What they taught you in the barracks... you won't need all of that here. I know it shaped you. I won't shame that. But let yourself breathe now." Liberty nodded, but her face couldn't hide the skepticism.

Across the hall, in the grand salon filled with grand oil paintings, Lincoln sat reclined in a velvet armchair, relaxed, but his mind was anything but. The soft crackle of the fire along with the rustle of pages as he shifted between a book about Who Rules? A beginner's guide to Al-Nour politics and the glowing screen of his phone.

"The infantry company of the Monarchy has been massacred at Fort Kilo by the Red Skulls," he murmured, eyes narrowing.

"No control over that fort anymore… If I were the Red Skulls, I'd be cutting off support. But they don't have the means. Something's off. It's just too calculated." He continued tapping the screen, scrolling through reports.

"The reinforcements never arrived as Lady Papillona ordered. The Control must be involved. They've never been truly loyal. The Mistress's loudmouth only draws attention to it." His brow furrowed deeply.

Outside the window, the sprawling gardens were trimmed with symmetrical hedges, and the sculpted fountain at the courtyard with stone cherubs spouting crystal-clear water, and beds of blooming roses dripping with fragrant dew. Yet inside the hallways, tension dominates, a silent war in contrast to the every peaceful and beautiful grounds outside.

"His Majesty thinks the Royal Retainers' conflicts are child's play. If only he understood what's really at stake…" He said bitterly.

A soft, tentative voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes, Sir… may I proceed with the massage?" A striking young woman. She wore her lustrous chestnut hair in a neat single ponytail that swayed gently as she moved. Clad in the house's traditional black-and-white maid uniform, the fabric hugged her curvaceous figure, accentuating her generous bosom beneath the modest cut of her attire. An air of innocence in her soft eyes and hesitant smile.

She knelt before Lincoln, unhurried, adjusting the folds of her skirt as she settled by his feet. her ponytail swept over one shoulder, perfectly tied.

Lincoln looked down, surprised. "Natasha, I thought you left."

"I could never just leave without fulfilling my duties, Sir Lincoln," she replied, her lips curled into a small smile, eyes downcast, and her fingers beginning to knead his feet.

He didn't reply. But he's grateful for the simple comfort.

"Sulliva Academy... It used to be a supermax prison built by the late Aetherian King, Tirpitz-- where he locked up the most dangerous deviants. Now look at it, all fixed up and repurposed. And guess who's in charge of the renovations? The Central Ministry, of course. Nothing shady about that at all." his tone sarcastic.

"Sullivan Academy… I heard that Sir Laurel used to be a teacher there once," she replies while gently rubbing his feet. Her fingers pressing gently into the arch of his foot, her touch was careful, but she lingered longer than necessary.

He frowned faintly, then let out a small exhale. "How long have my mother and uncle been at each other's throats?"

Her hands paused briefly, her palms still resting on his skin. "I… I don't know exactly. I've only been in the household a few months. But the head maids say it's been years. Sir Laurel wanted to inherit Sir Brandon's position at Millard… but Sir Brandon passed it to Lady Lindy instead."

Lincoln tilted his head, watching her now. "An illegitimate daughter chosen over the legitimate son. That'll stir up some old blood."

Her hands slowed, her thumb pressing with just enough pressure. "Lady Lindy never even wanted the title. She only took it to keep it from Sir Laurel." 

He exhaled, and arched himself closer to her face, watching her more closely now.

"Sounds like there's more to this than a family squabble."

"There usually is," she said, finally looking up at him, her gaze steady, and right into his bloodshot-red eyes.

"But forgive me, Sir. I'm only a maid. I really shouldn't be saying all this."

"You don't need forgiveness. Just keep talking." She smiled again, just a little too knowingly, and resumed her work. "As you wish, Sir."

The room fell into a soft hush. She rose slowly from kneeling, smoothing her skirt.

"May I ease the tension in your shoulders now, Sir?" she asked gently, stepping behind him.

He didn't speak. He shifted forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his bloodshot red eyes distant but calm, unreadable as ever.

Her hands found the base of his neck, thumbs pressing firmly into the taut muscles. As she worked, she felt the heat radiate beneath his skin, and her chest, pressed close as she leaned in, rested lightly against the nape of his neck. She remained composed.

"You carry too much here," she whispered, her fingers kneading deliberately. "No wonder your voice sounds so... gravelly sometimes."

His expression remained impassive, almost indifferent. "I hadn't noticed."

Her smile was soft, almost teasing. "That wasn't a complaint."

He made no reply, but his stillness held a subtle undercurrent, something like restraint, or an unspoken acknowledgment.

She continued, her hands sliding down to his broad, muscular shoulders. Moving carefully, her palms pressed over the firm expanse of his chest beneath the white shirt. She was struck, caught off guard by how strong and solid he was, how much power lay beneath that calm surface.

His young master, despite his eighteen-years of age, had a stature like that of a hardened man. A fleeting awe flickered inside her.

Her voice lowered, a quiet murmur close to his ear. "I wonder what's behind that stillness."

Lincoln leaned back just slightly, unbothered, his gaze cool and unreadable. "Duty is steady. It doesn't quicken the pulse."

She pressed her fingertips gently over the line of buttons at his collarbone, smoothing the fabric as if smoothing out unseen wrinkles in his burden.

Just then--

Click.

Liberty entered briskly, a lively spark in her eyes.

"Hey, breakfast is ready. Mom's been looking for you, too."

She paused, her gaze flicking to Natasha. "Hmm? You're Natasha, right?"

"Yes, milady," Natasha replied with a polite nod. "Is there anything you need of me?"

Liberty circled her slowly, an amused smile playing on her lips. "Not really… You're younger than I expected." Her eyes briefly lingered on Natasha's generous curves. "And stacked on top of that…"

Natasha blinked slightly in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Then her hands rested casually on Natasha's shoulders

"You know, you're the same age as Brother. He's still only eighteen. Might not want to miss the opportunity…" She chuckled, mischief clear in her voice.

Natasha returned a calm smile. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm not a candidate for the young master, milady."

Lincoln's voice cut through, "I can hear you, sister. Natasha, don't mind her."

Liberty laughed lightly, stepping back. "Just kidding. I'm off then. Lincoln! Chop, chop!"

She playfully slapped Lincoln on the head before dashing out.

Lincoln sighed, shaking his head. "She's always like that."

Natasha smiled softly. "Lady Liberty is an ecstatic one. I mean, in a good way, of course. It must be nice having siblings."

Lincoln's gaze lingered on her for a moment. "You don't have any siblings?"

"No," Natasha said quietly as she turns around back to Lincoln, her fingers fixing the creases on his shirt.

"I was raised by my uncle. I never really got to find my real parents. It's been difficult, but there's not much I can do about it." She glanced up, meeting his steady eyes. "It must have been hard for both of us, Sir. But at least you have a wingman."

Lincoln's lips twitched into a rare, genuine smile.

Natasha cocked her head playfully. "Did I say something wrong?"

He shook his head, chuckling again. "Not at all. It's been… nice, talking with you."

She mirrored his smile, a subtle sparkle in her eyes. "The pleasure is mine, Sir." She gave a graceful bow.

With one last look, he opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him. Natasha remained for a moment, the faintest flush on her cheeks, left with a quietly good impression.

At the table

Silverware sparkled beside delicate porcelain plates, each filled with sumptuous dishes. Roast meats glazed with herbs, vibrant seasonal vegetables, and fragrant bowls of rich sauces. The grand dining hall was illuminated in soft golden light from the crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, the table gleamed beneath high-quality linen cloths embroidered with the family crest, and of course the two guards from the esteemed Verschollen, standing stoic at the side of the door.

Lindy's voice broke the elegant silence. "Help yourselves."

Lincoln's gaze swept over the feast laid before him, his appetite subdued despite the lavish spread. "I'm on a diet, Mom."

"No can do! You need to eat this to get healthy. Tomorrow's school-- you'll need your energy." She replied, her voice gentle but unwavering

Liberty, undeterred by formality, eagerly piled her plate high, her cheeks flushed with youthful excitement. "The dishes are incredible, brother! You don't want to miss out."

"Don't talk with your mouth full." He lifted a delicate porcelain teacup, sipping the amber liquid slowly as he surveyed the room with half-lidded eyes, absorbing every flicker of movement. 

Lindy's soft chuckle carried through the room like a warm breeze, her smile radiant but tinged with a subtle tension.

At the side, stood Maximilian, his demeanor steady which was then broken by the sudden crisp buzz of his phone inside his pocket..

"Yes, Sir. Units have arrived. Everything is set. Tomorrow is departure." Lowering the phone, he turned to Lindy. "Pardon the intrusion, Milady. I need to speak with you privately."

"What about?"

"The Monarchy." his words, darkened.

She nodded solemnly and rose gracefully from her seat. "You kids enjoy yourselves. I'll be just outside." The two slipped quietly from the room. 

Lincoln's gaze then shifted to Liberty, who caught his eye with a mischievous smile, her youthful energy unbroken.

"Excuse me, I'm not feeling well-- need some fresh air. Guards, would you mind escorting me out?"

The guards hesitated for a while but eventually nodded, moving to accompany her, leaving Lincoln alone. Liberty's subtle signal had been all he needed, giving him the opportunity. Quietly, he slipped away from the warmth of the grand dining hall, following the faint murmur of voices out to the balcony. There, framed by the sprawling forest basked in the light of the sun stood Lindy, her expression seemingly frustrated, and Max, leaning in the wall with urgency.

Her voice cut sharply through the quiet air.

"You already know my answer. Leave Millard out of this, Mister Lysander. I've said it before." The tremor in her tone.

"You think this is betrayal? After everything we've done… The Verschollen… yes, and no! I don't hold ties with nobility that can influence His Majesty's decisions."

His gaze narrowed.

Max tried to respond, but Lindy silenced him without hesitation.

"I have enough problems today-- my brother's release a day before, now this. Don't add yours. Consider the Monarchy and Ramsay distant, and I will never submit to the Control. My decision is final." She exhaled sharply, then dropped the phone.

Max's expression tightened. "They're tearing the Central Ministry apart."

Her gaze drifted to the courtyard below, "I won't antagonize His Majesty's decisions, no matter what the Monarchy offers. Even if they threaten me."

"It'll be tough, but whatever you decide, I'm here."

Her weary sigh was almost a whisper. "Thank you, Max. I need a breather… so much today. Any news on my brother?"

"They lost his trail, but he's still in the city. We must be cautious. Scouts will be sent."

Her tone hardened. "No. Prioritize the kids. They must stay out of corporate battles."

"They're already--"

"Do as I say," 

"Yes, Milady. We'll keep them hidden from the Monarchy and Lysander's reach." Max nodded.

Lincoln pondered for a moment before stepping back inside.

Back at the Dining Room

Lindy and Max returned quietly, the soft click of the door announcing their arrival. Lincoln looked up from the cup resting in his hands. Lindy offered a gentle smile, her voice softening the tension that had clung to the room. "Doing alright, sweetie? And where's Liberty? She disappeared just now."

"She said she wasn't feeling well-- needed some fresh air."

"Of course," Lindy said with a nod, the warmth flickering briefly in her tone "If you're done eating, Natasha will prepare a bath for you."

"Okay…" His voice hung low.

"The office requires my immediate attention. We'll discuss your admission to Sullivan Academy later tonight," she said with a comforting smile, then nodded toward Max.

She began to leave, pausing briefly to cast a gentle, reassuring look back. Max's gaze stayed on Lincoln for a moment longer, quietly assessing the young man's reserved demeanor before trailing after Lindy.

In the same dim room before. The three shadowed figures spoke quietly.

"How long has he been digging?" murmured the second shadow, impatience threading through his voice.

"Long enough. He's found leads, pulling strings deep within the Monarchy's tangled web."

A brief silence fell,

Then, the leader's voice cut through again, "There was chaos at Fort Kilo. Did he want the King to notice?"

"His Majesty never overlooked the Red Skulls. His Royal Knights tore the place apart without a second thought-- even his own Monarchy soldiers were collateral. And the Control's convoy? Ambushed by his men in golden armor. No wonder Papillona's been stirring up trouble."

"So it wasn't just the Red Skulls?"

"Touché,"

"The Red Skulls played their role, crafting the perfect scapegoat-- the Control. Now, the nobility's facade is cracking, exposed and vulnerable."

"The King will seize this and use the investigation to destabilize the Control and polish his image. SMITH will feel the squeeze."

"Smart," The third shadow agreed quietly.

"The next move's set for Sullivan Academy. Laurel's the key player."

"I gave him his final chance. Fail, and he's finished."

"And you're not killing him now?"

"Even a psychopath has his use. For now, we wait. And hope." The room seemed to close in, fading in the darkness.

END OF CHAPTER THREE