The Crimson Throne

The carriage arrived at the Summer Manor. In contrast to the bright and cheerful daylight outside, an ominous atmosphere weighed on the manor and its inhabitants. Even before stepping inside, Elaine could discern the furtive glances and terrified gazes enveloping her. The maids and servants scurried about, desperate to maintain their routines and postures of normality. 

The head maid had completed her task well, Elaine mused. "Where are the mistresses?" she asked a servant.

"Everyone is gathered in the grand room, milady." The servant bowed. His head dropped low, careful not to meet Elaine's eyes.

"Bring me there."

"As you wish, Lady Estella."

The servant guided Elaine's group through the long hallway to the grand room and dismissed himself. The stubby young man stayed outside the door at Elaine's behest while she and her guard entered. When she stepped inside, a chamber filled with spectators pleasantly surprised her. Even Estella's mother and the Duke's most favored mistress, Layla, came. The chatters and whispers immediately quieted upon Elaine's arrival as all eyes landed on her.

"Greetings, Honorable Mother." She ignored the intense gazes and glided toward the center, curtsying to the regal blond-haired woman sitting at the room's far end.

The Duchess waved for Elaine to rise. Her frosty, blue eyes stared apathetically at her daughter, waiting for the soon-to-commence antics. The cherubic, silver-eyed young boy sitting beside Estella's mother fleetingly glanced up at Elaine before losing interest after a few seconds and returning his attention to the small toy in his possession.

Elaine maintained her agreeable visage while she scanned the room. The Summer Manor's mistresses clustered in a corner. Their expressions were a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Nestled among them was Isabella de Valois and Laeticia's daughter, Azalea. They leaned close to each other. Isabella's arms wrapped around the young girl's trembling shoulders, seemingly to provide support and console her. Azalea reciprocated the Valois mistress' motherly affection and hugged back, burying her face in Isabella's dress. The mistresses from other manors spread sporadically around the chamber—some stood alone while others formed into groups. No one dared to speak as the silence lengthened every additional second.

It's time to start. Elaine withdrew her gaze and again directed toward Liviane. "I am grateful for your generosity on the other day, Mother. Tasha has assisted me tremendously with many necessary tasks."

The Duchess' cast glowered. The memory of her daughter forcefully wrestling away one of her most trusted aids remained a sore spot inside her up to the present moment. Estella's mother did not respond. Her icy gaze continued piercing down at Elaine.

"Since I realize that each of you has other important matters to attend to, let us dive straight into the main event, shall we?" Elaine continued, feigning obliviousness to Liviane's somber mood. "Tasha," she called. "Why don't you present your discovery to everyone here?"

"Yes, milady."

Tasha stepped forward from a concealed area behind the crowd, holding a bundle-like object in her arms. A colorful, silky fabric wrapped around the bundle, obscuring others from viewing its content. The mistresses and servants gawked and whispered, overflowing the chamber with frenzied curiosity. Some leaned closer to attempt a peek inside. Elaine maintained her composed facade while covertly observing specific individuals' reactions. 

The expressionless maid arrived at the center and laid the bundle on the ground, displaying its secret before all the attendees. Inside the layers of fabric was a tiny human skeleton. Based on its appearance, the skeleton seemed to belong to a young, stillborn child. An audible gasp erupted and spread like wildfire across the chamber. The spectators stared at the ghastly discovery with horror. Some mistresses with young children quickly covered their children's eyes or embraced them, shielding their innocence from unwarranted corruption.

What a performative bunch, Elaine scoffed. Existing inside the Croix estate resembled predators battling for supremacy in the wild. Even without the gore and bestial nature of brawling animals, none of those mistresses remaining were without others' blood on their hands. Within the cage of opulence, friends and enemies culminated in nothing but mere concepts. The strong trampled the weak, while the cunning killed the strong. Many considered morality and empathy useless—only survival and triumph reigned supreme.

"Where did you find this baby?" Elaine quizzed.

"The skeleton was stored behind the tapestry inside Miss Isabella de Valois' bedchamber," Tasha answered.

Dark clouds descended, weighing on the atmosphere. Everyone shifted their body, and all eyes focused on the petite, delicate woman standing in the corner of the grand room. 

Isabella lifted her tear-brimming eyes, lips quivering. "Milady, even if you consider this moment a jest, it is too malicious," she sobbed. "It is wrong for me to keepsake the memories of my son?" The Valois mistress quaked uncontrollably as her legs weakened, almost failing to support her body. She could only keep her posture with the assistance of her trusted maid and Azalea. The young girl glared at Elaine with the fiery strength of a thousand arrows.

Isabella was currently the epitome of pitiful and garnered the sympathetic gazes of everyone inside the chamber. After all, she was just a mother desperately clinging to the last memories of her dead child—a notion all the mistresses in attendance could understand. Perhaps Lady Estella had gone too far with her pernicious antics this time.

Though no one dared to voice their opinions, Elaine could discern the disapproval from their stares. She expected the reactions and maintained her nonchalant visage. Elaine strolled forward, stopping a few steps before the Valois mistress. "Tell me, Isabella. When did you learn Laeticia killed your son?"

The question caught everyone by surprise. Even Liviane slightly wrinkled her brows, displaying a tiny crack in her eternally glacial countenance.