The wagon clattered to a halt, its wheels spraying gravel across the cobblestone driveway. Amelie and Celine leapt out, leaving the driver to take care of the exhausted horse still heaving for breath. Celine’s heart pulsed in rhythm with Amelie’s urgent footsteps, as they hastened through the main entrance of the Strout mansion. The heavy oaken doors slammed shut behind them, echoing through the desolate halls like a death knell.

Willem stood waiting in the center of the foyer, his face contorted with anger, arms crossed over his lean frame. “So, you choose to arrive now, at the eleventh hour?” he snapped. “Lady Varga will be here any minute now!”

“Willem,” Amelie said, her voice trembling with urgency, “we must speak about Lady Varga. I have reason to believe she is not coming here with the best of intentions.”

“And what reason might that be?” Willem asked dismissively, his scowl deepening.

Amelie took a deep breath, steeling herself against her brother's disdainful gaze. “Lady Belinda Anroth has confided in us about her concerns regarding Lady Magdala's true motives,” she revealed. “I fear she might use our father’s weakened judgement to...”

“Enough!” Willem cut her off. “Lady Belinda, her womb as barren as the Anroths’ lineage, goes around whispering nonsense to any fool who will listen. I bet you two made a wonderful audience for her.”

A red hue rose on Amelie’s cheeks. “I may be fool, but at least I have respect for those with more knowledge and experience than me.”

“Well, that includes just about everyone,” Willem scoffed. “But luckily for all of us, you don’t need to worry about Lady Varga’s ambitions or our father’s state of mind, since I will handle the negotiations myself. The only thing I need from you is to not look like a common peasant at the reception, which is about to start. Can you manage that?”

Celine saw the frustration rising in Amelie, her slender fists clenching at her sides, and she knew that another bitter quarrel between the siblings was imminent.

“Let’s go, it’s pointless to argue with him,” Celine whispered to Amelie. “We must prepare for Lady Varga's arrival.”

Amelie hesitated, her anguished gaze locked with Willem's cold stare, but ultimately relented with a defeated nod. Willem’s eyes, twin shards of ice, met Celine's briefly before he turned away, dismissing them both with a flicker of disdain. As Celine led her away from the confrontation, she could feel the heavy burden of unspoken truths pressing down upon them both.

As they ascended the grand staircase, their footsteps echoing through the entrance hall, Celine couldn't help but notice the way Amelie's slender fingers played anxiously with the frayed edges of her cloak. It was a small gesture, easily overlooked, yet it revealed the turmoil that churned beneath her composure.

As soon as they arrived at Amelie's chamber, Celine swiftly assisted her in disrobing and selecting an appropriate dress for the occasion. Amelie stood before a large cheval mirror as Celine draped a gown of midnight blue over her slender form. The delicate fabric cascaded like a waterfall over troubled waters, accentuating her pale beauty. Celine couldn't help but feel inadequate when comparing her own reflection in the mirror to the ethereal presence of her mistress. She caught herself wondering why Amir would ever transfer his affections from the enchanting Amelie to her, but she quickly pushed the thought aside, chiding herself for entertaining such distractions at a time when vigilance was paramount.

“Willem would not listen,” Amelie complained, as Celine fastened a string of pearls around Amelie's neck. “He is drawn to power and prestige, heedless of the danger he so willingly invites – as if his desires could bend the very fabric of reality to their whims.”

“Desire can be a treacherous tide,” Celine murmured, brushing a stray lock away from Amelie's forehead. Her fingers expertly wove strands of Amelie's chestnut hair into an elegant updo, adorned with delicate silver pins that shimmered like stars. “You have done all you can, my lady,” she continued. “Perhaps the upcoming negotiations will reveal the truth of Lady Varga's intentions, and Willem will see the error of his ways.”

“Let us hope so,” Amelie sighed, her gaze heavy with unspoken fears.

As they made their way down the grand staircase, they could hear the enraged voice of Amelie’s father echoing throughout the entrance hall. Amelie straightened her posture, as if instinctively preparing for yet another confrontation, whereas Celine wondered if there was some trouble regarding Lady Magdala’s arrival, or if this was just another outburst from Amelie's unpredictable father.

Upon reaching the grand entrance hall, they were met with the sight of Lord Werther Strout, in all his deteriorated splendor, yelling at his son. Willem stood frozen under his father's wrath, his jaw clenched in defiance.

“You are a disgrace of a son! How dare you to deny your part of this?” Werther’s obese body wiggled with each bellow as he tapped his cane on the marble floor for extra emphasis. “For allowing this foolish waste of money, you are just as culpable as… Ah! There she finally comes, dressed up like a harlot!” He pointed an accusing finger at Amelie.

Amelie maintained a regal stride as she approached her father and brother, undaunted by the barrage of insults aimed her way. Just a slight shiver in her shoulders revealed to Celine's observant eyes, how terrified she was. Celine, silently joining the guard of honor alongside the other servants, couldn’t have been more proud of her.

“Neither of you have any understanding of the value of a coin!” Werther continued, his wrath now directed equally at both siblings. “I expect impeccable behavior during the Varga woman’s visit, or there will be severe consequences!”

Amelie and Willem exchanged glances. They held their tongues, as this had been found to be the most effective way to soothe his temper. Nevertheless, there was no way of knowing how much longer his raging would have lasted, if he hadn't been interrupted by a guardsman announcing Lady Varga's carriage pulling into the courtyard.

After long minutes of waiting, the doors finally swung open. A gust of icy wind rushed in, announcing the arrival of Lady Magdala Varga. Wrapped in velvet and silk, she swept into the entrance hall with calculated elegance, her piercing eyes scanning the room.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Werther, having seemingly forgotten his previous anger, rushed to greet her with completely different attitude. “Welcome, my lady,” he said, his voice dripping with ingratiating sweetness. “Our home is yours.”

“Indeed,” Magdala replied with equally sugary smile. “I am certain that our negotiations will prove most fruitful.”

Amelie took a step closer and gave Magdala a small curtsey. “I hope your journey was not too treacherous, Lady Varga,” she said to her, but Celine knew the implications were meant for Willem. “The tempest was most unforgiving, and the mountain road is known to be perilous.”

Magdala shot Amelie a quick glance but kept a forced smile on her face. “Aren’t you adorable,” she cooed. “Your gloomy words, as well as your pale looks, suggest that you lead a secluded life, shunning the outside world – as a girl in your position should.”

“Ma’am, I…” Amelie started, but Magdala interrupted her objection.

“Don’t you worry, darling. There is a trick for ladies to achieve a healthy color on their cheeks – something your poor mother didn’t have a chance to teach you.” She gave a sharp pinch to both of Amelie’s cheeks. “There! Looks much better!”

Celine could tell that there was now more color on Amelie’s cheeks indeed, but she didn’t think it was due the trick Magdala had introduced. She wished she could step forward and shield her friend from the viper's venom, but she knew her place – invisible and silent, like a shadow on the wall.

“Speaking of secluded life,” Willem chimed in, “I was hoping to meet your son Michail as well. Surely, our dealings would benefit from his presence.”

“Children have no place when titans craft their legacies,” Magdala replied, her emerald eyes flashing with hidden intent. “Their games are best kept away from the tables where destiny is dealt.”

Willem's jaw tightened at her words. As he watched his father nod in agreement, the lines of his face hardened.

“Michail is no child,” he argued, his voice trembling with indignation. “He is twenty years old, soon coming of age just as I am. It should be in everyone's interest for the heirs of our two remarkable families to discuss our futures together with the retreating generation.”

“Oh, the young eagerness – the trait not so beneficial for any serious negotiations.” Magdala said dismissively to Willem. Then she continued, with just slightly more hardened tone: “It is hardly your place to worry about my son, but I am happy to tell you that his future is well-assured.”

Werther's annoyance at Willem's argument was evident. “Willem speaks out of turn,” he growled, giving his son a warning look. “Please forgive his insolence, he has grown without mother.”

“Trust me my lord, I know what it is like to raise your child all on your own”, Magdala said, her voice smooth as the black velvet she was wearing. “Sometimes I wish I had a man on my side – a powerful man like... you.”

With a mix of dread and fascination, Celine observed how Magdala's words wrapped around Werther like tendrils of a vine, ensnaring him in a web of flattery and allure. It was as if her mere presence had cast a spell over the room, bending the wills of those around her to her whims. And based on the gleam of Werther’s eyes, he was thoroughly ensnared in Magdala's intricate trap, unable to see the danger lurking beneath her honeyed words.

Magdala took a step forward, her eyes locked onto Werther. “My lord,” she purred, “I find it more productive to conduct certain negotiations in private. I'm sure you understand.”

“Of course, my lady.” Werther agreed eagerly, without even a glance at his own children. “If you'd like, we can retire to my study.”

Celine felt a chill run down her spine, an icy finger of foreboding that left her shivering despite the warmth of the room. She knew, deep in her soul, that whatever transpired behind closed doors would have dire consequences for them all.

“Father, I must object,” Willem interjected, his voice tight and strained. “As your heir, I should have a say in these negotiations.”

“Silence!” Werther roared, his anger flaring like a sudden storm. “One more word from you, and I swear on your mother’s grave that I will strip you of your birthright!” His words struck Willem like a whip, rendering him speechless.

From her position among the other servants, Celine helplessly witnessed the blatant disregard for Willem's right to be involved in his family's future. She glanced towards Amelie, who stood close by, her expression a mixture of pain and concern.

“Very well,” Magdala said smoothly, her eyes flicking between father and son. “Let us retire to your study, my lord. We have so much to discuss.” Her black hair swayed like a dark banner of victory as she followed Werther's shuffling gait toward the seclusion of his study. The door closed behind them with an ominous click.

A chilling silence settled upon the entrance hall. For a moment, the servants exchanged questioning glances, while Amelie and Willem just stood there frozen on their positions.

“Dismissed!” Willem finally yelled, shaking with frustrated rage. The servants departed quickly without saying a word, leaving only Celine to wait for Amelie.

Willem stood alone, a solitary figure against the backdrop of family portraits whose eyes seemed to judge him from their gilded frames. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the knuckles bone-white. Celine could see a tempest of fear and fury gathering behind his eyes.

Amelie approached her brother hesitantly. Her delicate frame belied the courage it must have taken to bridge the chasm of silence between them. “Willem,” she started, her voice a delicate whisper that barely reached his ears. “We cannot let this happen. Father is not himself; he will ruin everything we have.”

“Everything you have?” Willem snarled, his eyes blazing with fury. In a sudden motion, he grasped her arm tightly, his fingers digging into her fragile skin. Amelie winced, her brown eyes wide with shock and pain.

“Willem, please,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she tried to free herself from his grip. But her brother held fast, his rage a constricting force that refused to relent.

Celine's heart raced in her chest as she desperately searched for a means to save her beloved friend from the tempest of Willem's wrath. She was torn between her desire to protect Amelie and the knowledge that stepping in could make matters worse.

“Do not speak as if you know anything about what is at stake here,” Willem spat. “You're but a ghost of our mother's last breath! You are the one who has ruined everything I had!”

“Willem, I never asked for any of this!” Amelie cried out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I have suffered just as much as you have!”

“Silence!” His fury boiled over, and he lashed out, striking Amelie across the face with such force that she stumbled backward, a cry of pain escaping her lips.

”Leave her be!” Celine cried out. “Amelie is not the enemy here.”

”Stay out of this!” Willem spat.

Celine approached the siblings with defiance that surprised even herself. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to let fear control her actions. “Enough of this!” she said. “Release her, now.”

“Or what?” Willem sneered, his rage barely contained. “You forget your place, girl.”

”Perhaps it is you who has forgotten yours,” Celine retorted. “A brother should protect his sister, not harm her.”

For a moment, the tension hung heavy in the air, as Celine and Willem stared at each other. Then, with a sneer of contempt, Willem released Amelie, shoving her roughly towards Celine.

“Take your precious lady and go,” he spat, turning away from them in disgust.

Celine caught Amelie just as she stumbled into her arms, steadying her fragile frame with gentle hands. She could feel the tremors wracking Amelie's body, the fear and pain still coursing through her veins like poison.

“Amelie, come,” Celine commanded, starting to guide her away. Together, they climbed up the stairs, each step taking them further from the tempest of Willem's fury.

“Where are you taking me?” Amelie whispered, her voice trembling.

“To safety, my lady. To your sanctuary.” Celine's reply was a soft incantation, weaving a spell of protection around them both.

They reached Amelie's chambers, a refuge of faded elegance shrouded in gloom. Celine barricaded the door with a quiet finality, shutting out the malevolence that roamed the halls of the Strout mansion. Here, in this secluded tower, the echoes of betrayal could not reach them. Here, amidst the whispers of silk and secrets, they could pretend, if only for a moment, that the world outside was nothing more than a distant nightmare.