John went quiet for a few seconds before asking in a playful tone, "Then are we leaving tomorrow? I want to stay until the end of the week."
Alistair locked eyes with him, his gaze serious and unwavering. John’s playful expression faltered, an eyebrow rising in confusion.
"You can choose for yourself," Alistair said simply, putting down his teacup as if preparing to leave. "Though I doubt she will allow you to stay once I’m gone."
The grisly image of Elena hanging John over the sun deck by his legs, ready to drop him into the wake, crossed Alistair’s mind. He didn't offer a warning.
Alistair began to stand as a figure approached, unsure of how to react, he wasted a golden opportunity to run away. The moment he realized the identity of the woman in red, he sat back down abruptly. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as she drew closer, her gaze burning through him.
The sharp click of heels made John raise his head. Coincidentally, the woman turned to him and offered a wink. John’s lips twitched. Pretending to blow on his tea, he whispered to Alistair, "Don't pay her any attention." He glanced around, wondering where Elena had gone; she was usually watching like a hawk, yet now, when she was actually needed, she was nowhere to be found.
The woman stopped two paces away. She smiled brightly, but her smile lines were drawn so deep into her skin it looked as though she wore a permanent mask.
"I hope I am not disturbing you gentlemen," she said. "I heard Ms. Elena is not around, so I took the liberty of coming here to relax." She scanned the panoramic lounge, her eyebrows knitting together as if dissatisfied with every other seat in the room. She continued, "You don't oppose me joining you, do you?"
Before they could offer a confirmation, she had already claimed the remaining seat at their table. Her gaze flickered between them before finally settling on Alistair.
"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself," she said warmly. "I am Margaret Johnson, Secretary to the Minister of Fine Arts."
She extended her hand. Alistair ignored it, his mind racing as he wondered if it was too late to simply get up and leave. Seeing Margaret's smile diminish by the millisecond, John began to reach out to shake her hand—but he stopped abruptly, snapping back into a relaxed, detached posture. He had spotted the "hawk" almost sprinting toward them.
Margaret retrieved her hand, her expression souring. "It seems I am unwelcome here—" she began, but the words died in her throat. She nearly jumped out of her seat as a hand clamped firmly onto the back of her collar. The fabric tightened dangerously around her throat; it was clear that if any more strength were applied to the hold, she would be choked into silence.
Feeling those cold fingers against her nape, Margaret turned and met a pair of eyes that seemed to peer directly into her soul. Before she could utter a word, Elena cut her off.
"I was looking for you. I need you urgently."
She then turned to the two men, dropping a curt, "Enjoy your tea," before hauling Margaret to her feet. She released the collar only to seize Margaret’s wrist, dragging her toward the nearby dining salon while refusing to listen to a single word of protest.
Elena stopped by the drawn-back glass panels and closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath after the effort she had made to Margaret.
Margaret stared at her, clearly incensed. She cleared her throat and snapped, "Is this how you treat your guests? You’re lucky I even stepped foot in your gathering after how you..." She caught herself, refusing to utter the words threw me out . Unable to accept the humiliation of that night, she finished, "...sent me away last time."
Elena let out a cold, hollow laugh. "And what can you do about it? You can try to get back at me, provided you keep the cost clearly in mind."
Margaret bit her tongue, her hatred fluctuating. The provocation was a warning that drenched her anger in cold water. She wished she could slap her then and there, but she had to hold back. Being one of the "Prominent Seven," she had the unfortunate destiny of crossing paths with Elena; they all had to swallow their opinions and follow Elena's lead.
Elena extended her hand. "Hand it over."
Margaret retreated a step. "What?"
Feeling her feet ache and her mouth go dry, Elena signaled to a steward standing silently on the other side of the salon to bring water. She sat in a nearby chair and signaled for Margaret to do the same. She waited until she had gulped down the cold water and the steward had left them alone before speaking.
"The necklace," Elena said. "I saw it when I pulled your collar."
Margaret sighed deeply. She had worn a dress with heavy ruffles in the front specifically to hide it, but "The Watcher" was far too cautious to let anything slip by.
"Give it back when I am leaving," Margaret muttered, unfastening the clasp. She placed it on the table with a sharp clink . The heavy cross ornament—palm—tall and as slender as a finger—was encrusted in diamonds that shimmered in the light.
Elena picked it up, hearing the dry clicking of small pieces tumbling inside. A look of pure disgust crossed her face. Sick old hag, she thought.
She followed Margaret’s line of sight as it drifted toward Alistair, who was passing by. Her voice dropped to a predatory low. "Don’t even think about laying your claws on anyone this time—especially not him. He is my brother. If you so much as brush against him 'accidentally,' I am chopping your hands off."
The tone sent a genuine shiver down Margaret’s spine. She nodded quickly to show she understood.
Elena stood and walked toward the open panels, taking a deep breath of the evening air. She let her arm dangle in the breeze, the diamond cross dancing in the wind as she toyed with the chain.
"How is it you’re here so early?" Elena asked, looking back. "I wasn’t even sure you’d show up. I never received a confirmation. In fact, I heard rumors..." She let the end of the sentence hang, ambiguously unfinished.
Margaret, who had been trying to sneak away, froze in her tracks. "I wasn't sure I was coming. I decided to attend after a meeting in a neighboring city yesterday. I thought, why not? After all, you haven't invited me to the last three gatherings. As for the rumors," she chuckled nervously, "well, you could say I had an unfortunate miscarriage last—"
Her eyes widened in shock. Elena’s fingers had simply opened, letting the necklace plummet into the water below. The sinister look Elena gave her was a mirror of that night, a reminder of the true humiliation that wasn't just being sent away, but what had happened before.
Even now, Margaret could feel the roots of her hair being pulled as her nose dripped with blood. She’d had to withdraw from public life for a week, and even now, the ones from the Prominent Seven that were present then, meet her gaze with amused smirks.
Her own husband hadn't even bothered to knock on the door of that closed room to defend her.
Her blood boiled as Elena’s words cut through the air: "Jump for it. I won't stop you."