Chapter 3

Julisa POV:

As I reached the carved double doors of the upper hall, Birgitta's loud, unrefined laughter drifted through the cracks, mingled with my mother-in-law Beulah's unusually warm and affectionate voice.

They were celebrating their victory, thinking they had finally cornered the pet they raised.

They forgot whose blood flowed in my veins.

I drew a deep breath of the damp air, raised both hands, and shoved the heavy timber doors wide open.

The doors crashed against the inner stone walls with a deafening bang.

The harmonious laughter inside the upper hall died instantly.

I stepped across the threshold, my spine ramrod straight, my chin held high. I didn't lower my gaze, nor did I tilt my neck to bare my throat in the customary submission expected of a daughter-in-law.

At the center of the hall, Dowager Lady Beulah sat on her high-backed cedar chair. Her milky eyes narrowed into slits at my blatant disrespect, but she quickly masked her fury, forcing a sickeningly warm, grandmotherly smile onto her wrinkled face.

Darryl stood beside her, his Warlord armor gleaming, while Birgitta stood with her arms crossed, looking entirely at ease in the grand setting.

"Julisa, come here," Beulah said, her voice dripping with false affection. "Darryl has returned, and you finally have a man to rely on again. I know this past year has been hard on you, especially after your natal family, Clan Richardson, was entirely wiped out by demons."

She sighed, pressing a hand to her chest as if she truly pitied me. "You are the only one left. A Spiritless orphan with nowhere else to go. But don't worry, child. As long as you are sensible and obedient, Clan Parrish will always be your shelter."

My stomach churned at her blatant, disgusting manipulation. She was reminding me of my butchered family just to enforce her absolute control over me.

"Sensible and obedient?" I asked, my voice as cold as glacial ice. "Meaning I should smile and pour tea for the woman my husband brought back to replace me?"

Darryl scowled, stepping forward. "Julisa, watch your tone when speaking to my mother!"

Beulah waved a hand to stop him. "Julisa, you must look at the bigger picture. Birgitta is a frontline Warlord. She fights for the glory of this clan. She doesn't have the time or the delicate skills for domestic chores."

The old woman leaned forward, her greedy eyes gleaming. "Therefore, Birgitta will handle the battlefield, and you will continue to manage the keep. You will oversee the daily provisioning, the servants, and, most importantly, the Silverdew distribution from the common vault. It is a perfect arrangement."

Birgitta let out a light scoff, crossing her arms.

"Listen, Sister," Birgitta said bluntly. "I am a frontline Warlord. I truly have no mind for inner-court trivialities, but that doesn't mean you can walk all over me. I just want to fight by Darryl's side. As long as you keep the keep running and the supplies flowing, we won't have any problems."

I looked at the three of them—the arrogant husband, the hypocritical mother, and the self-righteous rival.

They wanted Birgitta to have all the political prestige of a Warlord bride, while expecting me to keep draining my own dead father's inheritance to fund their luxurious lifestyle. They wanted a free bloodbag.

A short, freezing laugh escaped my lips.

"Manage the keep?" I asked, reaching into the wide sleeve of my gown. "You mean you want me to keep pouring my private Silverdew into your bankrupt, empty coffers to feed your new general?"

Beulah's false smile vanished instantly. Her face turned purple, her chest heaving. "Watch your mouth! Once a bride crosses into Parrish Keep, her dowry belongs to the clan's common treasury! It is your duty!"

"If it belongs to the clan," I said, pulling out the heavy, rune-carved iron sigil key to the keep's central vault, "then the Clan Lord and his new heroine can manage it themselves."

I opened my fingers.

The heavy sigil key dropped.

Clang!

The sharp, metallic ring of heavy iron striking the flagstones echoed through the hall.

Darryl stared down at the key by my boots in absolute disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?" he sneered, though panic flickered in his gray-brown eyes. "If you hand over the vault key, what standing do you have left in this keep? You will be nothing!"

"Standing?" I said, resting my gaze on him like he was a pathetic parasite. "In the High Court, a verbal argument means nothing. Without a formal ruling, you think you can still control me and use me as your free bloodbag."

I lifted my chin, my eyes sweeping over their stunned faces.

"So, I am going to the Crown tomorrow morning. I am going to ask Emperor Edmund for a formal Severance sigil. I am cutting all ties with Clan Parrish permanently."

The hall erupted.

"You wouldn't dare!" Darryl roared, his face paling with a mix of fury and genuine panic as he took a step toward me. "Julisa, come back here!"

Dowager Beulah clutched her chest, coughing violently. "Let her go! She's bluffing! A Spiritless orphan has nowhere else to go. She has no other choice!"

I didn't even turn my head. I walked straight out the heavy doors, leaving their chaotic shouting behind me.