Episode 22
955 Words
The House of Secrets
The moonlight poured like silver over the estate, painting the rooftops in a ghostly glow. Hyacinth stood at her window, arms folded across her chest, staring east—toward the ruined manor where Patricia had been taken, where Adelaide had delivered her venom-laced threats with a velvet smile.
She wasn’t crying anymore.
She was planning.
Beneath her window, the hedges rustled faintly in the wind, whispering secrets. She felt it in her bones—something was unraveling. The truth crept closer with every breath.
A knock came at the door.
“Enter,” she called, not moving.
Harold stepped in, hair windblown from the ride, eyes tired. “I came as soon as I could. Are you certain you want to do this?”
“She’s my only friend,” Hyacinth replied, calm but steely. “I won’t wait here like a caged duchess while Patricia suffers. This ends tonight.”
He stepped closer and handed her a folder. “I brought floorplans of the Branford estate. It used to belong to a nobleman named Lord Branford—”
She stiffened. “Branford?”
“Yes. One of the nobles accused of embezzling funds from the Queen’s naval expansion. Disgraced. Died two years ago.”
“My parents knew him. My mother especially. They argued constantly at royal gatherings,” Hyacinth murmured. “She never trusted him.”
Harold opened his mouth to respond but stopped as she broke the seal on a fresh letter delivered that morning—no name, only a single initial: C.
“The enemies that destroyed your family haven’t stopped. They simply moved in silence. But you have something your mother didn’t—a title, a voice, and the courage to finish what she began.”
Hyacinth’s hands trembled slightly. “My mother didn’t just die in a storm. That shipwreck wasn’t an accident.”
Harold went still. “You think it was sabotage?”
“I know it was,” she whispered. “They killed her to stop her from revealing something. And now they’re circling me like vultures.”
That night, cloaked in black, she rode through the woods with Harold and two trusted guards. The forest was heavy with damp leaves and silence. They approached the ruins of the Branford estate like shadows slipping through a graveyard.
The house was barely standing—walls strangled by ivy, windows hollow and broken. A mansion of bones.
Hyacinth stepped through the side entrance, candleholder gripped in one hand. Every creak of the floorboards screamed with memory.
They searched quickly, silently.
Then a sound: muffled sobbing. Upstairs.
Hyacinth darted up the stairs without hesitation, heart in her throat. The third room. She shoved it open—
Patricia sat bound to a chair, bruised but alive, eyes wide.
“My lady—?”
“Shhh.” Hyacinth cut her loose with a blade from her boot. “I’ve got you.”
But then the door slammed behind them.
Lady Corra Branford stepped from the shadows, robed in plum velvet, her eyes sharp with amusement.
“You really don’t know when to quit,” she said coolly.
“Where’s Adelaide?” Hyacinth snapped.
“Gone. She has larger games now.” Corra stepped forward. “You have her cornered, dear duchess. She’s dangerous when cornered.”
“You helped sabotage my parents’ ship,” Hyacinth said, voice low. “Didn’t you?”
Corra smiled, unbothered. “Your mother was about to make enemies of the entire commerce council. Her husband was too clever. We couldn't risk it.”
“So you murdered them.”
“I preserved the peace.”
Hyacinth stared her down. “Your peace was bought with blood.”
Behind her, Harold stepped into the doorway. “And now we have a witness. You’ve confessed.”
Corra turned—but two guards were already blocking the hallway.
“I suggest you run,” Harold said. “Because we’ll be coming back for everything you’ve taken.”
Back at the estate, Patricia hadn’t spoken a word. Hyacinth watched over her as the physician checked her for injuries. Nothing broken—just shaken.
“Stay in your room,” Hyacinth said gently, brushing her hand. “You’re safe now.”
Patricia finally whispered, “I knew they wanted to hurt you. That’s why I didn’t tell her anything.”
Tears pressed behind Hyacinth’s eyes. “You did everything right.”
At breakfast the next morning, Hyacinth sat at the table with her untouched tea. Her mind was elsewhere—lost in memories of her mother’s laugh, her father’s protective hands, their quiet arguments about politics at the breakfast table. And the letter.
Edger entered late, looking more tired than usual. He paused beside her.
“Where were you last night?” he asked softly.
She looked up. “Rescuing the only person who’s ever truly been loyal to me.”
His jaw tightened. “You should’ve told me.”
“You should’ve told me about the Branfords,” she countered.
He looked away.
“Edger,” she said, voice low, “did you know? About the shipwreck?”
His silence was the only answer she needed.
“You knew,” she whispered. “You suspected it wasn’t an accident.”
“I didn’t have proof,” he said tightly. “But yes. I suspected. Your mother crossed too many lines... and the Branfords made her pay.”
Hyacinth stood slowly, the room suddenly too small. “Then help me finish what she started.”
He finally looked at her. “What are you planning?”
“I’m going to expose every last one of them.”
A pause.
“Then I’m with you,” Edger said.
- Writer
