Chapter 3: Threshold of Obsidian Manor

Three days passed in a blur of frantic preparations.

While Mara spent her days boasting to high-society noblewomen about her upcoming royal wedding to Prince Caspian, ordering carriage loads of silk from foreign merchants on House Vance’s tab, Sara prepared for her departure quietly and strategically.

On the morning of the third day, an iron-plated carriage drawn by four coal-black warhorses arrived at the gates of House Vance. There were no fanfare trumpets or golden flower petals like those Prince Caspian promised Mara. Instead, fifty elite knights of the Iron Guard stood in rigid rank, their polished dark steel armor reflecting the morning sun like a sea of shadow.

Sara stepped into the carriage, leaving behind her childhood home.

As the carriage rolled through the iron gates of Obsidian Manor, Sara looked out the window. The estate was massive, carved from dark granite and dark basalt, surrounded by high defensive battlements. Yet, contrary to the horrifying rumors spread by imperial gossip—rumors of torture dungeons and hanging gallows—the grounds were immaculate. The stone paths were swept clean, the military armories were organized with military precision, and green pine trees bordered the wide courtyards.

The carriage ground to a halt before the main keep.

The carriage door was opened not by a servant, but by Duke Valerius himself. He had discarded his heavy battle armor for a tailored black velvet tunic embroidered with silver thread, though his imposing stature remained just as intimidating.

He offered her his gloved hand.

Sara placed her hand in his, stepping down onto the stone courtyard.

“Welcome to Obsidian Manor, Duchess Sara,” Valerius said quietly. “My household staff is small. I do not keep courtiers or sycophants here. You will find no spymasters whispering behind tapestries in these halls.”

“That sounds like paradise, Your Grace,” Sara replied with a light smile. “I have had quite enough of spymasters and sycophants.”

Valerius looked at her intently, led her into the warmth of the grand library. A massive stone fireplace crackled merrily, casting golden light across thousands of leather-bound tomest and ancient maps of Solaria. On a polished oak table sat two silver tea goblets and a spread of freshly baked pastries.

“I suspect,” Valerius began, taking a seat across from her and pouring tea, “that you did not agree to this marriage out of sudden affection for a scarred general.”

Sara took a graceful sip of tea. The taste was rich and spiced—not poisoned, unlike the tea she had been served at Caspian’s palace in her past life.

“I agreed to this marriage because I value survival and truth, Your Grace,” Sara answered directly. “And because I know who the real monster in Solaria is.”

Valerius raised an eyebrow. “Oh? The capital calls me the Executioner of the North. They say I feed traitors to warhounds.”

“The capital is controlled by Prince Caspian’s propaganda,” Sara said, her tone hardening. “They call you a monster because you refuse to let Caspian raid the imperial treasury to cover his secret debts. They call you a tyrant because your Iron Guard protects the grain routes from corrupt royal officials.”

Valerius set his goblet down with a soft click. The casual, distant look in his dark eyes vanished, replaced by a sharp, piercing focus.

“You are surprisingly well-informed for a noble lady who has spent her life in drawing rooms, Lady Sara,” Valerius noted, his voice dropping an octave. “How do you know about Caspian’s debts?”

Sara leaned forward slightly, her eyes meeting his without a flicker of fear.

“Prince Caspian has borrowed over two million gold crowns from the Shadow Syndicate of the Western Realm,” Sara revealed calmly. “He used House Vance’s seal unlawfully three months ago to guarantee a loan. In less than six months, when the syndicates demand repayment, Caspian will attempt to frame House Vance for high treason, seize our estate wealth to clear his debt, and execute my family.”

Valerius sat in total silence for several seconds. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the wooden armrest of his chair.

He was a master strategist, but even his intelligence network had only recently begun suspecting Caspian’s shadow transactions. For Sara to state the exact timeline and mechanisms of Caspian’s treason was staggering.

“And how, pray tell, did you acquire such precise information?” Valerius asked softly.

“Call it a revelation born from bitter experience,” Sara replied softly. “I know Caspian’s moves before he makes them. He believes he has won by taking my sister Mara. But Mara has no access to our house’s vault keys—I hold them. When Caspian realizes Mara cannot pay off his creditors, he will turn vicious.”

Valerius looked at the young woman sitting across from him. He had expected a timid, frightened bride who needed protection. Instead, he had been handed a brilliant tactical commander wrapped in velvet and silk.

A rare, low chuckle escaped Valerius’s chest—a sound so deep and genuine it shocked even the old butler standing near the doorway.

“So,” Valerius leaned back, a dark, dangerous spark igniting in his grey eyes. “My new Duchess has come not to seek shelter, but to declare war on the Second Prince.”

“I have come to form an alliance, Your Grace,” Sara corrected smoothly, extending her glass toward him. “You command the sword of Solaria. I hold the shield and the foresight. Together, we can strip the snake of his scales before he can bite.”

Valerius picked up his goblet, clinking it against hers.

“A toast then,” Valerius murmured, his eyes locked onto hers with newfound admiration. “To the downfall of snakes.”

Meanwhile, across the capital in the opulent rose gardens of Prince Caspian’s villa, a vastly different scene was unfolding.

Mara sat at a marble vanity, surrounded by stacks of unpaid merchant invoices.

“What do you mean the Vance grand vault requires Sara’s master key?” Mara shrieked at the trembling family accountant.

“I-It is true, Lady Mara!” the accountant stuttered. “Before leaving for Obsidian Manor, Lady Sara transferred all commercial deeds and financial keys of House Vance under the Regent’s official protection! We cannot withdraw a single gold crown without Duchess Sara’s written signature!”

Just then, the heavy oak doors banged open.

Prince Caspian entered the room, his white royal robes slightly disheveled, his handsome face dark with fury. The charming smile he usually wore was entirely absent, replaced by a cold, menacing sneer.

“Mara,” Caspian barked, tossing a thick stack of red-sealed debt notices onto her vanity desk. “Your father promised a dowry of five hundred thousand gold crowns upon your betrothal. The royal treasury collector is at my door! Where is the gold?”

Mara turned pale, clutching the ivory Jade Phoenix token to her chest. “C-Caspian… my darling… Sara locked the vaults before she left! But it doesn’t matter! Once we are married, as the future Emperor, you can simply seize—”

SLAP!

The sharp crack echoed through the room.

Mara tumbled to the floor, her cheek burning red, her hair disheveled. She looked up in utter shock and horror at Caspian.

Prince Caspian stood over her, his eyes filled with disgust and malice. “You stupid, arrogant brat,” he spat, stepping on the hem of her crimson gown. “I don’t need a penniless, useless girl! I took you because I thought you had your father’s financial backing! If you cannot get me those funds by next week, I will have you demoted to a low-ranking concubine and thrown into the outer manor!”

Caspian turned and slammed the door shut behind him.

Lying on the cold floor, cradling her bruised cheek, Mara wept tears of blood.

No… this isn’t how it was supposed to go! Mara screamed internally. In the past life, Caspian was so loving! He gave Sara everything! Why is he hit me? Why is he so cruel?

It was only now, in the dark quiet of her room, that the horrific truth began to dawn upon Mara.

Caspian had never loved Sara. He had used Sara’s brilliance and wealth to build his power. And by snatching Caspian for herself, Mara hadn’t stolen Sara’s fairytale—she had voluntarily walked into the slaughterhouse in Sara’s place.