IS LOVE OR REGRET ?

Isabella had finished administering the final dose of the treatment with swift precision. Without delay, she gently scooped little Ann into her arms, preparing to lay her down for rest. But the child was inconsolable, her cries sharp and insistent, echoing off the chamber walls with a desperation that made even the stone seem to ache.

Across the room, Olivia sat in silence, her mind adrift—adrift not in thought, but in memory, in the fractured haze of something recent and raw. She watched the scene with dimmed eyes, as though seeing it through the glassy veil of exhaustion. At last, her arm extended, trembling slightly.

"Give her to me," she said, barely above a whisper.

Isabella turned, blinking. "What?"

"The child," Olivia repeated with a sigh. "Give her to me. I don't think she recognizes you… and I need her to stop screaming—for a little while, at least."

Still uncertain, Isabella handed Anne over, the baby squirming gently in her arms. Yet the moment Olivia's hands closed around the small bundle and their eyes met—something changed. The crying ceased, as if a spell had broken. Ann nestled into Olivia's chest as though she belonged there, as though she had always been there. Peaceful. Quiet. Safe.

For a time, no one spoke. Olivia began to hum a lullaby, soft and foreign, its melody like smoke curling in the hush of the room. Isabella, who had always known Olivia to be a woman of icy composure and unshakable restraint, felt something stir within her. She had never seen Olivia smile so gently, so sincerely, and certainly never for anyone. It was… disarming.

Even Isabella, who prided herself on discipline and energy, felt sleep tugging at the corners of her mind.

"You look like you're about to fall asleep," Olivia said quietly, her voice smooth like silk worn thin from use.

Isabella yawned, stretching slightly. "A little," she admitted.

"Then rest here," Olivia offered, shifting Lisa gently to one side of the bed. "If the child wakes again while the medicine works, I'll need someone at hand."

Isabella hesitated. The invitation surprised her, but so did the ease with which it was given.

"But… what about your husband?" she asked, brow furrowed.

Olivia arched one elegant eyebrow, her hand absently stroking Lisa's hair. "What does Matthias have to do with my bedchamber?"

"Well, it's just—he slept here last night, didn't he? I assumed he—"

"That was last night," Olivia interrupted smoothly. "Exceptions don't make rules. He won't be returning tonight."

"Oh," Isabella said, not knowing what else to say. "I see…"

Olivia's lips curved into something between a smirk and a sigh. "Come now, lie on the other side of the bed. Let's pretend, for a moment, that we are like those noble ladies in stories, sharing secrets by candlelight."

She turned slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. "Though I must ask… what about your husband? Won't he wonder where you've disappeared to?"

Isabella gave her a look of mock offense. "Really, Olivia? Trying to get under my skin like that?"

"I'm only curious," Olivia said innocently.

"You know very well that our marriage is of politics, not passion. We rarely even sleep in the same wing, let alone the same room."

"So you are like me," Olivia mused. "Only without the familial drama."

"Exactly," Isabella replied with a soft laugh. "A quiet, uncomplicated arrangement. Not like your tangled web."

They lay there a moment, the child between them, finally asleep. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, and in that shared silence, the two women—so different in temper and in name—found a rare and fleeting moment of calm.

"You're right," Olivia murmured, her voice carrying a quiet bitterness. "Having no family at all is probably better than having one like mine."

There was a pause. Isabella arched an eyebrow in the dim light, her tone laced with wry amusement. "So… are we going to spend the entire night taking jabs at each other?"

Neither of them responded immediately. Instead, both women turned in silence, shifting onto their sides, backs to one another in wordless protest—as if the very conversation had drained the air between them.

Yet sleep did not come easily to Isabella. The quiet pressed in around her, thick and restless. Her eyes remained open, flickering across the faint outlines in the room. After several minutes of stillness, she whispered into the darkness.

"Hey… are you asleep?"

Olivia didn't answer.

"I know you're awake," Isabella continued, undeterred. "I just… I wanted to ask you something."

Still, Olivia said nothing. But her breath caught—just barely—as if bracing herself.

"If Elvira is truly your sister… then why would she do such things to you?"

A long silence followed. Olivia clenched her jaw, her teeth pressing into her bottom lip until the skin nearly broke. She didn't move. But Isabella, shifting slightly, caught a glimpse of her back—scarred, healing, marked with old cruelty and recent pain.

Finally, Olivia's voice emerged, low and tired, like something pulled from the bottom of a well.

"The current queen," she began slowly, "was once married to Duke Tharon. She bore me while she was still his duchess. When she married the current king, she left me behind. My father would not allow me to be raised in the royal household. He reclaimed me through legal means—not out of affection, mind you, but to spite her. I was just another pawn in their endless war of pride."

She exhaled, bitter.

"It didn't take long before he remarried. And then came Elvira—his perfect little daughter. Unlike me, she was loved, celebrated, spoiled like porcelain. I, on the other hand…" She gave a dry laugh. "I was treated like something dragged in from the dirt. A pest."

Her voice faltered for a moment, but then she continued.

"You know, the difference between Elvira and me… it's like the distance between the earth and the sky. She was the cherished star; I was the forgotten shadow. She could eat when she pleased, wear what she pleased, and command the world like it owed her joy. I, however, was her toy."

Isabella didn't dare breathe too loud.

"My father would bring her gifts—dolls, silks, all that glittering nonsense—and she'd say, 'I want to play with Olivia instead.' And so I was made into her doll. Literally. She'd strip me naked in front of the servants, dress me in whatever she liked, humiliate me for fun. She'd dunk me in freezing water until I gasped for air, shove dirt in my mouth and laugh. Honestly… that was kinder than the beatings from my father."

Olivia fell silent for a moment, the weight of memory pressing heavily on her shoulders. Then she continued, voice quieter now.

"I remember once—perhaps I was fourteen—I refused to undress. I'd had enough. She locked me in the cellar with her maids… for three days. No light. No food. Nothing but the cold and the dark. I would have died there, I think, had the head steward not taken pity on me."

A faint, humorless smile crossed her lips.

"She used to command my father to punish me. And he obeyed—always. That's why I keep ointments with me at all times now. Cuts, bruises, burns… they've all become part of my skin. She once threw burning coal at my face—because I attended a ball and was prettier than she was. Took a month before the wounds healed."

Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper.

"She's mad. Utterly, savagely mad. My relationship with that whore—pardon the word—was the worst part of my life. And you know what, Isabella? I think she may be the reason your father died, too."

There was a soft intake of breath.

Olivia turned, expecting a scoff or an argument. Instead, she found Isabella still lying on her side—but her face had changed. Her eyes were wide, glistening, and tears spilled freely down her cheeks. Silent. Unbidden.

Olivia blinked, surprised. "What's the matter now? Don't tell me I've made two people cry tonight. I managed to quiet Ann—"

Isabella turned her face away, hastily wiping at her eyes. Her voice was small. "It's nothing. Just… something got into my eye, that's all."

Olivia regarded her for a moment, then gave a soft, ironic smile. "Very well. Let's sleep then. We'll pick up the rest of this misery tomorrow."