CONFESS
995 Words
Sirian led Isolde to the gazebo, the same one he had brought her to before.
She followed happily, her steps light, the picture of obedient charm.
Elyse trailed behind, staying quietly at a distance, her posture stiff, hands folded, watching as they settled under the shaded structure.
Isolde tilted her head, looking at Sirian with those wide, loving eyes, the perfect mask of innocence.
“Do you truly believe Lady Selene wished to harm you?” Sirian asked, his tone calm but probing.
Isolde’s eyes narrowed briefly—anger flashing
“Her again?”she said to herself—but her eyes quickly softened into sorrow. , almost to herself.
Then, with a quivering lip and a very sad face, she continued.
“I… I couldn’t believe it at first. After all she did—protecting me—how could she plan something so cruel? But… now I can’t help but feel she did. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, Your Highness. I… I’ve always felt she’s looking down on me.”
Sirian’s brow lifted subtly. “Looking down on you?”
“Yes… Your Highness,” Isolde said, nodding, her voice trembling as she continued weaving her tale.
“She would glare at me, refuse to greet me… once, she even bumped into me, and I fell—but she didn’t even apologize. She just walked away. All of it… all when no one else was around.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and Sirian reached out, dabbing them gently with his handkerchief, his face the picture of concern. Inside, though, he was analyzing her every movement, every falter in her tone.
Something about her was… off. He could feel it, like a shadow beneath the mask.
“Why would the Veyrant do this to you?” he asked softly, voice sympathetic as he guided her hands to rest on her lap.
Isolde’s face brightened, almost relief, as she clutched his hands.
“I… I don’t know. I just… I’m glad I told you, Your Highness,” she whispered, leaning slightly into his touch.
Sirian kept his gaze steady but turned his head slightly, noticing Elyse out of the corner of his eye.
The girl’s hands fidgeted nervously; her eyes darted everywhere but on one spot. A small spark of suspicion ignited in his mind.
Before he could move, Isolde suddenly swayed.
“Oh… Your Highness!” she gasped, collapsing lightly against him, her head resting on his shoulder.
“I… I just felt faint, I… I’ve told you everything I've been bottling up…”
Sirian almost rolled his eyes at the exaggerated gesture, masking his exasperation behind a calm, protective posture
This was going to take some time.
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The corridor was quiet, the faint echo of footsteps fading into silence.
Elyse turned the corner—and froze.
Sirian stood there.
Waiting.
Her heart skipped.
Immediately, she bowed, her movements hurried and stiff. “Y-Your Highness…”
Sirian smiled.
Soft. Calm. Almost kind.
“Elyse,” he said, as though greeting her casually.
She kept her head lowered, but her fingers had already begun to fidget, clutching at the fabric of her skirt.
Sirian noticed.
Of course he did.
“You have an… interesting habit,” he said lightly.
Elyse blinked, confused—but didn’t look up. “Y-Your Highness?”
“That.” He gestured faintly toward her hands. “You do it when you’re nervous.”
Her fingers stilled instantly.
Too quickly.
Sirian’s smile deepened slightly.
“And earlier,” he continued, voice still calm, “you did the same thing.”
A pause.
“When certain matters were brought up.”
Elyse’s breath hitched.
She shook her head quickly. “I-I don’t understand…”
Sirian took a slow step closer.
“You avoided looking at anyone,” he added. “Your hands wouldn’t stay still. Your breathing changed.”
Another step.
“Almost as if…”
He stopped just in front of her.
“…you were afraid of something being said.”
Elyse’s face went pale.
Her head lifted slightly before she quickly looked away again, panic flickering in her eyes.
Sirian watched her closely.
She’s not even hiding it properly, he thought.
“Am I wrong?” he asked quietly.
Elyse shook her head again, faster this time. “Y-Your Highness, I’m just a servant. I… I don’t know anything.”
Sirian’s expression didn’t change.
“You’re a poor liar.”
The words were still gentle.
But they landed hard.
Elyse’s fingers trembled again despite her trying to hold them still.
“I-I’m telling the truth…” she whispered, her voice unsteady.
Sirian leaned in just slightly, his presence overwhelming despite his calm demeanor.
He studied Elyse, calm and measured, letting her tremble under his gaze.
“You know,” he said softly, almost conversationally, “truth has a way of surfacing, no matter how carefully it’s hidden.”
Elyse’s fingers tightened, nails digging into her palms.
He took a step closer, his eyes sharp now, not gentle.
“And I would hate for someone… less forgiving than me to discover certain details about your actions.”
Her breath caught.
“Imagine the consequences,” he continued, voice still low but carrying an unmistakable weight.
“Not just reprimand… but the law. The exposure. Everyone knowing what you’ve done. That would be… unpleasant, wouldn’t it?”
Elyse’s face went pale. She opened her mouth, stammered, but no words came out.
Sirian’s gaze didn’t waver.
“I am giving you a choice,” he said, calm but deadly serious.
“Cooperate. Confess fully. Help me put this right. Or… one day, the wrong person could find out first.”
He let the words hang in the air.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes… Your Highness,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Sirian didn’t back down. He leaned closer, his voice low, precise.
“Start from the beginning,” he said. “Tell me everything.”
- Writer
