Chapter 36 Chapter 36: Sera Witnesses the Fire of Elara’s Pride
I pushed the heavy door open slowly and stepped into Elara’s suite. The room greeted me with a thick cloud of cigarette smoke and a silence that felt heavier than the door itself. The curtains were half drawn, muting the afternoon sunlight into pale gray streaks across the polished floor. For a moment I could barely see her through the haze, but then my eyes adjusted. Elara was seated on the long ivory chaise near the window, one arm draped lazily along the backrest while the other held a cigarette between two elegant fingers. The ember glowed faintly every time she inhaled, smoke curling upward like a lazy serpent. She looked perfectly composed—too composed. The kind of calm that made the air feel dangerous. I stepped further inside, clutching the long garment case in my hands.
“Elara,” I said cautiously, my voice quieter than I intended. “I… brought the dress. As you requested.”
She didn’t answer.
For several seconds she simply continued smoking, her gaze fixed on the window as if the city beyond it was far more interesting than the servant standing in her room. The silence stretched long enough to make my chest tighten. Then, slowly—very slowly—she turned her head. Her eyes landed on me like the sharp edge of glass.
“Sera,” she said.
“Yes, Elara,” I replied quickly.
Her gaze slid past me toward the clock on the wall behind the door. She studied it briefly before looking back at me, her expression tightening slightly.
“Tell me something,” she said slowly, her voice deceptively calm. “Why are you three minutes and forty-five seconds late?”
My fingers tightened around the handle of the garment case.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I came as fast as I could.”
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
“That was not the question.”
She rose from the chaise in one sharp movement, the sudden motion sending cigarette ash scattering onto the marble floor. Her heels struck the ground with loud, deliberate clicks as she walked toward me.
“I asked,” she repeated, her voice rising slightly, “why you are three minutes and forty-five seconds late.”
“I was in the kitchen,” I admitted.
“In the kitchen,” she echoed slowly.
“Yes,” I continued nervously. “I was having lunch with the staff when Chef Lorenzo answered the intercom. As soon as he told me you called, I went straight to my room to get the dress and came here.”
“You were having lunch?” she interrupted.
The way she said the words made them sound almost obscene.
“Yes.”
For a moment she simply stared at me.
Then the explosion came.
“Lunch?” she burst out, her voice ricocheting through the room. “You kept me waiting upstairs because you were sitting downstairs stuffing your face with the kitchen staff?”
“No, Elara, I—”
“Oh don’t start stammering now,” she snapped, throwing one hand into the air. “Do you have any idea what the word immediately means, Sera? Or do I need to spell it out for you like you’re a child?”
“I understand what it means,” I said quietly.
“Clearly you don’t!” she barked.
Her voice rose enough that the walls seemed to echo it back. She began pacing in front of me, the sharp click of her heels matching the rising fury in her voice.
“When I call for someone, I expect them to move,” she continued harshly. “Not sit comfortably at a table gossiping with Rosa and Marco while chewing through half the kitchen.”
“I wasn’t gossiping—”
“Do not interrupt me,” she snapped, turning sharply toward me.
I fell silent immediately.
“You kept me waiting,” she continued, her voice dropping into something colder and more dangerous. “Do you have any idea how insulting that is? I summon you and you decide it can wait until after lunch?”
“I came as soon as Chef Lorenzo told me,” I said softly.
“As soon as he told you?” she repeated incredulously. “So if he hadn’t told you immediately, you’d still be down there enjoying dessert while I sit here wondering where the hell my staff has disappeared to?”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect, Elara.”
“Oh, spare me the polite servant act,” she scoffed. “If you respected my instruction, you would have run up those stairs the second the intercom rang.”
Her eyes flicked toward the garment case in my hands.
“And what’s this?” she added sharply. “You stand there holding it like a decoration?”
“I brought the dress,” I said quickly, stepping forward.
I placed the garment case carefully on the glass table beside the chaise. The faint rustle of silk sounded unusually loud in the tense silence.
Elara stared down at the box for a moment, her jaw still tight with anger. Then she looked back at me.
“Next time I call for you,” she said coldly, “you don’t finish lunch, you don’t chat, and you certainly don’t take your time.”
I nodded quickly.
“You move,” she finished. “You run.”
Without another word, she reached forward and lifted the lid of the case. My breath caught as the deep crimson silk of the Red Reign dress revealed itself once more, glowing under the muted light like liquid fire. For a brief second something unreadable flickered across her face—anger, pride, perhaps wounded vanity. Then her lips curled into a bitter smile. She slipped her hands beneath the folds and lifted the dress out carelessly, its long train spilling dramatically toward the floor.
“An apology gift,” she said with a mocking laugh. “From Auren.”
She held the dress up in front of her, the intricate embroidery shimmering faintly in the dim light. But there was nothing admiring in her gaze.
“Does he think a piece of expensive fabric fixes everything?” she said sharply. “Does he think I’m the kind of woman who melts because a man throws money at a problem?”
Her grip tightened, crumpling the perfect silk folds. Then she reached for the lighter resting on the small table beside the chaise.
The tiny flame sparked to life.
At first I thought she was simply lighting another cigarette.
Instead, she lowered the flame toward the flowing crimson hem.
“Madam—” I gasped.
The fire caught instantly.
A thin orange line raced along the silk, devouring the delicate fabric with frightening speed. The rich crimson darkened and curled as the flames spread upward. The sharp smell of burning silk filled the room. I stood frozen, staring as the dress—hours ago a masterpiece of embroidery and design—collapsed into blackened threads and glowing embers.
“Elara—!” I blurted instinctively.
But she didn’t move to stop it.
She simply watched the flames with cold satisfaction, the firelight flickering in her eyes like a reflection of the fury still burning inside her. When the burning silk began dropping glowing fragments onto the marble floor, she finally released it completely.
The ruined fabric crumpled into a smoking heap at her feet.
I could barely breathe as I stared at the destruction. Only minutes ago it had been a luxury gift worth a fortune.
Now it was nothing but fire and ash.