"...I still can’t believe it."
Anastasiya took a long sip from her teacup before setting it back onto its saucer, then looked at Ilya as though she were seeing a completely different person.
"How in the world did you manage to convince Father?"
Ilya slipped into his coat, fastening the buttons one by one without looking up.
"Father..." Ilya smiled faintly. "He’s surprisingly awkward when it comes to asking for favors..."
"Awk–ward...?"
Of all the words she could have used to describe her father, that was perhaps the only one she would have dismissed without a second thought.
The image of the Grand Duke of the North being described as awkward was so absurd that she genuinely wondered whether her brother had been hit in the head.
"He needed something from me," Ilya explained as he adjusted the collar of his coat. "The problem was that his pride wouldn’t allow him to ask directly. So before getting to the real subject, he had to lecture me, tear me down, and remind me exactly where I stood, until refusing him no longer felt like an option."
He let out a chuckle.
"What he didn’t realize was that I also needed something from him. In the end, we both walked away with what we wanted."
Anastasiya frowned, unable to follow his reasoning.
"What could Father possibly need from you?" she asked. "Enough to permit your transfer, no less. I can’t imagine there being anything only you could offer him..."
Ilya finished fixing his coat before answering with a helpless smile.
"Well... it would seem Father has decided to sell me off to the Imperial Family."
"...."
Before Anastasiya could gather her thoughts, Ilya was already halfway through the door.
"Bye."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left the mansion. After opening his umbrella against the light drizzle, he made his way through the estate gates and climbed into the carriage that had already been prepared for him, the coachman giving a respectful nod before taking his seat.
"House de Montreuil."
"At once, Young Lord."
The reins snapped, and the carriage rolled forward, leaving the Belozersky estate behind as it made its way toward the Montreuil residence.
Mariya had yet to return since leaving after her quarrel with Valentin, and with the Grand Duke already on his way back to the North, someone had to bring her home.
"We’ve arrived, Young Lord."
"Yes."
Ilya stepped out of the carriage and opened his umbrella before making his way through the gates of House de Montreuil.
The servants had already been informed of his arrival, and by the time he reached the entrance, Mariya was already waiting under the broad stone portico, sheltered from the rain with only the sound of falling droplets softly echoing.
"Thank you for coming to pick me up, Ilya."
"...."
But the first thing Ilya noticed was her face. Even under the careful touch of powder, the signs were impossible to miss.
"...."
Her eyes were still swollen, clearly from crying, followed by a bruise along the side of her neck that seemed to fade under her collar, another near the base of her jaw, and a small split at the corner of her lips.
None of the injuries were severe, but together they painted a picture that words no longer needed to explain.
Ilya lowered his gaze.
"...."
His eyes caught the hand holding onto the folds of her dress. The sleeve had shifted just enough for him to notice the fading marks encircling her wrist before she quickly adjusted the fabric, concealing them once again as though it had become second nature.
Mariya noticed where he was looking, prompting her to draw the sleeve down over her wrist before offering the same gentle smile she always gave him.
"Shall we head home?" she asked. "Your father has already left, hasn’t he?"
"...Did he do this?"
Mariya’s fingers brushed against the bruising before she withdrew her hand.
"It looks far worse than it actually is," she said with a gentle smile. "Don’t make that face, Ilya. Your father and I have always been rather poor at arguing with one another."
"Did he do this?"
She reached over and gently looped her arm through his, treating the question as though she had never heard it in the first place.
"Come now," she continued, giving his sleeve a light tug. "Standing out here won’t accomplish anything, and I’d rather not keep the coachman waiting any longer. Let’s head home before the rain gets stronger."
"Mother."
She stopped, slowly lifting her eyes to meet his.
The smile on her face softened as she realized he had no intention of letting the matter rest.
"And what do you intend to do about it?" she asked. "Raise your hand against your father? Do you truly believe that would change anything, Ilya?"
She reached out and gently brushed a few strands of damp hair away from his forehead.
"I know how much you resent your father," she continued. "But for now... we have to endure. Endure until your sister succeeds him."
"He might... listen to me... I’ve managed to convince him once already, Mother."
"...."
"I convinced him to let me become a wizard..." he said. "So perhaps—"
"So you’re trying to crawl out of your hole."
"...."
Without another word, Mariya slowly crouched beside the stone path.
Puzzled, Ilya followed her gaze. A small earthworm had emerged from the soaked ground, inching its way across the wet stones, writhing clumsily as the rain continued to fall around it.
"Mother?"
"Look at it, Ilya," she said with a smile. "It thinks it’s escaped."
The worm continued to crawl.
"It doesn’t know how many birds are already watching from above."
"...."
Ilya raised his head. Above them, there was nothing but the gray sky, the rain, and the dark branches swaying in the wind.
When he looked back down, Mariya had already risen to her feet. She brushed the dampness from her sleeves as though nothing unusual had been said.
"Sorry," she said. "What were you saying?"
Ilya stared at her for a long moment.
"...It’s nothing."
"Is that so?"
She slipped her arm around his once again and began leading him toward the waiting carriage.
"Ilya, don’t challenge your father. That’s what’s best for all of us."
He turned once more toward the worm.
It had only managed another few inches before a shadow moved silently across the stones.
"...."
By the time he looked again, it was gone.
"...Yes."
The two continued walking under the soft patter of the rain. Mariya held onto his arm a little tighter than before, her smile remaining gentle as she kept her eyes fixed ahead.
"You’ll never abandon me, will you, Ilya?"
Ilya met her eyes.
"Never."