Chapter 322
Henry exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. His fists clenched so tightly that the veins on his hands bulged, his eyes burning with insane hatred. “Damn you, Prince Xander,” he snarled. “If I ever get the chance, I’ll tear you limb from limb.”
"Father!" Nicolas's sharp rebuke cut through the air, his face dark with displeasure. He met Henry's gaze, his tone slow and deliberate. "You're losing your composure."
Henry blinked, snapping back to his senses as the rage in his eyes cleared somewhat. A knock at the door broke the tension.
Nicolas's eyes sparked with confidence. “Right on time,” he declared, turning to the door. “Enter.”
A shadow guard entered, dropping to his knees. "How did it go?" Henry demanded urgently.
Looking troubled, the guard stammered, "Your Grace, Eloise was incredibly vigilant. After I dropped her off outside the city, she simply vanished."
“Vanished?” Nicolas scoffed. “You expect me to believe a full-grown person disappeared right under your nose?”
“I swear on my life,” the terrified guard insisted. “If she had kept walking, we would have shot her. But we waited for ages, and she never appeared. We've searched everywhere, but there's no sign of her.”
Hearing this, Henry slammed his fist on the table. “That damned woman is always so on guard,” he roared, his face dark with anger. “She must have anticipated my move and gone into hiding.”
Nicolas massaged his temples. “Then tell me, Father, where do you think she’s hiding?”
Henry glared at him. “With the mountains so vast, how could I possibly guess? Find her,” he commanded, his voice dripping with malice. “I don’t care if you have to turn the whole damn mountain upside down. Bring her back, dead or alive.”
The trusted aide trembled, feeling a cold sweat prickle across his back as he saw the murderous intent blazing in Henry's eyes. “Yes, Your Grace,” he replied, his voice shaking.
Margaret’s Funeral
Margaret’s burial was scheduled for three days later. On the day of the funeral, dark clouds hung oppressively low. A massive ebony coffin, borne by sixty-four pallbearers, passed through the city gates as flowers swirled through the air like a blizzard of snowflakes.
Athena, clad in white mourning garments, solemnly carried Margaret’s picture, her face gaunt from days of crying. If not for Michael helping her with the funeral arrangements, she wouldn't have been able to endure it. For three days, he had stayed by her side, quietly helping with the guests and arrangements. He watched her grow thinner by the day, his heart aching with helpless concern.
From a restaurant window, Willow watched the scene unfold, her eyes burning crimson with rage and jealousy. She crushed her handkerchief, her teeth gnashing as venomous hatred blazed in her eyes.
‘Athena, that damned bitch,’ she seethed. ‘What's so special about her that all the men are swarming around her like moths to a flame? Especially Michael. He still has lingering feelings for her and only has eyes for Athena. When has he ever spared a glance for me?’
"No way am I letting Michael and Athena get back together!" she thought, storming downstairs. Determined to monitor his every move, she followed the procession.
A Final Act
After four hours of marching, the funeral procession arrived at the burial site. Margaret’s coffin was lowered into the grave, gradually swallowed by shovelful after shovelful of earth. Athena knelt before the grave, sobbing as if her heart would break. With Margaret gone, it felt as if a part of her soul had left as well.
Seeing Athena like this, Michael’s heart twisted in agony. “Athena,” he said gently, “Margaret wouldn’t want to see you grieve like this. You must pull yourself together. She wanted you to live happily and freely.”
Athena suddenly looked up, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. “Michael, I have a show for you. Care to watch?”
“What kind of show?” Michael asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
“Hide behind the bushes,” Athena said firmly. “No matter what you see or hear, don’t make a sound.” A cold, steely glint flashed in her eyes.
Michael, though puzzled, nodded. “Alright.” He slipped behind the bushes, peering through the foliage.
Before long, Jessa marched over, dragging Willow along. She slammed the bound Willow down hard in front of Margaret’s grave. When Willow saw the freshly dug pit beside the grave, her aristocratic composure shattered as she shrieked in terror.
Athena rose and delivered a brutal kick, sending Willow tumbling into the pit. Looming over her with icy contempt, Athena snarled, “Willow, I told you I’d kill you. This is for Macy Forrester and Thalia Blackwood!”
Willow thrashed in the pit. “Let me out! You can’t do this. I’m the Marchioness of Somers! If you kill me, you’ll never get away with it!”
“What if I don’t care about living anymore?” Athena sneered, her eyes blazing with murderous fury like the Grim Reaper's.
Willow shook uncontrollably, tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face. “No! I don’t want to die! Please, I’m begging you! Macy and Thalia’s deaths had nothing to do with me. You have to believe me!”
Athena grabbed the shovel and began to fill the pit with earth. Dirt rained down on Willow's body and face, her panicked shrieks echoing across the desolate graveyard. “Have you gone mad? If Michael finds out, he’ll kill you!”
Ignoring her pleas, Athena continued to hurl dirt onto Willow, burying her up to the waist. Only then did Willow realize with a chill that Athena was deadly serious. “I’ll talk! It was Nicolas! He’s behind all of this!”
Athena’s hand froze mid-motion. Fixing Willow with an icy glare, she demanded, “Why did Nicolas kill Macy and Thalia?”
Her hair a tangled mess, Willow’s voice was choked with desperation. “They overheard Mother planning to expose General Perkins, so they tried to warn him. I swear I had nothing to do with it!”