First, embarrassed at Lady Zyra's place.
Then fleeing in panic only to run directly into her servant and bow apologetically.
If this got out, how could she ever hold her position within the Ravenswood household again?
Morven's certainty grew: the trembling woman before him was none other than Lady Wilhelmina.
His sharp gaze swept over her face, half-hidden beneath trembling hands and wide sleeves, and he glimpsed the faintest trace of fur growing along her cheek. The truth became clear, her face was ruined, and out of shame, she was trying to hide it.
But who would dare do such a thing?
This was the Ravenswood estate, the household of the Lord Chancellor.
Since the passing of the old Chancellor's wife, Lady Wilhelmina had become the mistress of the house, ruling it with an iron fist.
Who could have dared to curse her visage here, inside these walls?
Wilhelmina's reign was marked by cruelty and arrogance; many in the inner court bore her wrath silently, unwilling to confront her openly. Even the men of the house kept their distance, unwilling to provoke a scandal.
Morven couldn't guess who could have done this.
"Begone!" Wilhelmina screamed, trembling uncontrollably as she fled.
Morven's eyes, cold as the deepest ice caverns, fixed briefly on her retreating form, then shifted toward the faded manor house known as Mistshade Hall.
The once-grand courtyard, tiled with colored glass and supported by heavy timber, once bustled with servants, guests, and laughter, especially when the late Master Ravencourt and his lady were alive.
Now it stood desolate, the echo of former glory replaced by a chilling silence.
Morven recalled Lady Yvette's counsel, urging him to leave.
If even he left, what would become of Lady Zyra?
She acted on impulse, heedless of consequences, and he had grown accustomed to cleaning up after her.
He wondered if the steward Oswin would come back with fresh troubles.
He quickened his pace.
At the hall's entrance, Morven came upon a sight unexpected,
There, at the dining table, sat Lady Zyra herself, relaxed and composed, propping her chin on her hand, calmly watching a small rabbit with a patch of red on its ear feast upon the lavish rabbit banquet.
Morven's eye twitched involuntarily.
Since when did she develop such a bizarre whim?
Had she let herself go after her heartbreak?
Zyra's sharp senses caught his gaze and met it evenly, without surprise or discomfort.
"Back so soon," she said simply.
Morven nodded once.
A strange warmth stirred within him.
Never before had he felt this way.
Mistshade Hall no longer felt like a cold, empty place but shimmered with fragile glimmers of light.
The Lady Zyra was no longer just a charge to be protected, but a person with depth and shape.
Before, she never acknowledged him this way.
He was either present or absent, she cared not.
He regarded her as less than nothing.
The cold balance between them was subtly broken.
"Have you eaten?" she asked softly.
She knew Morven had never tasted the culinary wonders of Rabbit Hearth's famed chef, no tavern in all the kingdom could rival it.
Since he had cared for her so much, it was only natural to want to treat him to a proper meal.
Not like the spiteful jest of Lady Wilhelmina's visit.
Morven hesitated, swallowing hard to force out a lie.
"No… not yet."
Lady Yvette had invited Morven out for wine and a feast. Naturally, it wasn't just about the drink , the table was laden with dishes, and he had eaten well before returning.
"Go on," Lady Zyra said, reaching out to gently pat the head of Rabbit Thorn.
The small creature instantly understood, licking the grease from its whiskered lips before bounding off the table toward the kitchen.
Morven's gaze lingered on the rabbit with a mix of curiosity and unease.
Why wasn't it hopping like other rabbits?
Typically, rabbits bounded forward with both front legs moving in unison, then the hind legs following suit.
But this one's gait was eerily smooth, its left and right legs moving with a grace more fitting a tiger or a leopard.
"Is this your new pet, my lady?" Morven asked softly, his voice rich and low, carrying a subtle hint of concern.
"Indeed," Zyra replied nonchalantly. "Bought it from the market."
Morven frowned slightly. "I hope it's not some strange beast that might harm us."
After all, normal rabbits nibbled on grass, but this peculiar one ate meat; normal rabbits hopped, but this one ran like a predator.
The crimson markings on its ears and the black stripe down its back gave him a vague sense of foreboding.
"It won't harm anyone," Zyra said firmly.
No beast dared defy her watchful eyes.
Morven's gaze shifted downward, catching sight of a few thin, white tufts of fur scattered on the floor.
Rabbit fur?
No , rabbit fur was twice as long.
His mind flashed back to Lady Wilhelmina's ruined visage, her face covered in dense, short fuzz very much like the strands on the ground.
Could it be,
"Has Lady Wilhelmina been here?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes," Zyra answered bluntly. "She came and left."
Morven pieced together the strange events, the steward Oswin's public flogging on the street, Lady Wilhelmina's desperate flight from Mistshade Hall, her face ruined.
A wild suspicion crept into his mind.
Could it be her doing?
Had Zyra poisoned Lady Wilhelmina?
Morven knew of Lady Zyra's mother, the Lady Second, who was skilled in the healing arts and had saved him as a child, finding him bleeding at the foot of Mount Lorga and nursing him back to health.
But when had Zyra herself learned such skills?
She never visited the small apothecary her mother left behind, nor the study filled with medical tomes.
Zyra was no ordinary lady, she was clever and cunning.
When she caught Morven's glance at the fur on the floor and heard him mention Lady Wilhelmina, her expression was unreadable.
"Just a little souvenir," she said flatly, her face as impassive as ever.