BLOOD & SIGILS

Chapter 5: The Serpent Returns

The Veyrin Manor rarely fell into silence, but when it did, it never lasted long.

Tonight was no exception.

A cold wind swept through the halls as the grand entrance doors burst open, sending a flurry of movement through the gathered servants. A dozen heads turned toward the threshold, eyes widening before they hurried into neat rows, their postures straight, their hands clasped before them.

Even the knights, who had seen their fair share of war, stiffened.

Because only one person could make even battle-hardened warriors brace themselves just by stepping into the room.

Isolde Veyrin had returned.

She stood at the entrance, a formidable figure, draped in a flowing black coat embroidered with silver serpents that coiled along the hem. Beneath it, she wore a high-collared dark gown that hugged her frame, the fabric shimmering like the surface of a still lake beneath the moonlight.

Her long, raven-black hair—identical to Elira's—was slightly tousled from travel, but rather than dim her elegance, it only made her presence more striking.

And then there were her eyes.

A deep violet, sharp and piercing, a color that stood in stark contrast to the Veyrin family's signature red. Her gaze flicked across the assembled servants, taking in their expressions with something between amusement and boredom.

She clicked her tongue.

"Two months, and not a single one of you thought to prepare a proper welcome?"

The nearest servant paled. "L-Lady Isolde, we—"

"Relax," she sighed, waving a hand. "I'm not that cruel."

A bold-faced lie.

Isolde Veyrin was many things—playful, elegant, terrifying—but merciful wasn't high on the list. She had a particular way of handling things that kept even the most composed nobles on edge. Her reputation wasn't built on raw power like her husband's, nor overwhelming mana reserves like the rest of the Veyrin line.

No, Isolde's strength was far more insidious.

She was a tactician, a woman who wielded wit sharper than any blade and spun webs of strategy with an ease that left even seasoned generals second-guessing themselves. While the Duke commanded from the heart of their domain, Isolde operated on the borders, ensuring that enemies never dared take a single step past the empire's defenses.

Her two-month absence had been spent in the western territories, overseeing a dispute between Eldoria and the neighboring kingdom of Valsen.

A petty, annoying conflict—one the Valsen nobles had tried to resolve with assassins.

They had, of course, failed miserably.

She removed her cloak, handing it off to a nearby attendant with a sigh. The faint scent of incense and steel still clung to her—a reminder of the long hours spent handling negotiations in a way only she could.

As the servants scrambled to move, Isolde turned her gaze toward the grand staircase.

She knew her husband would be in his study, buried in reports.

Her eldest son, Rheon, was likely somewhere training, ever the perfect heir.

And Elira? No doubt lurking in the shadows, waiting to deliver some sarcastic remark the moment their eyes met.

But it was her youngest, Kael, who she was most interested in seeing.

With a smirk curling at the edge of her lips, Isolde strolled deeper into the manor, her heels clicking against the polished floors.

She had been gone for two months.

Let's see what her little runt had been up to.