Lahat ng Kabanata ng REVENGE AFTER REBIRTH-THE LORD'S FORSAKEN BRIBE: Kabanata 81 - Kabanata 90

The city rose that morning bright and proud, as if it would not remember fire or blood. Market stalls bloomed along the avenues, banners snapped in a cold wind, and the central square swelled with people eager for celebration: food, music, proclamations of endurance. The duchess’s presence had become a promise the people could hold. Today, the crown of hope would be on display.I stood on the palace balcony, looking down at the square where tables had been laid for a feast in honor of the guards’ valor. Countless platters steamed, barrels gleamed, and children darted between adults like quicksilver. The air smelled of spice and roasting meat, a thousand small comforts wrapped into a single bright morning.“Careful,” Cassian said at my shoulder, his voice low. He had ridden with patrols before dawn, checking lines and watchmen, and now he wore the quiet gravity of a man who expected nothing to go smoothly.“I never thought peace would come without a bribe,” I said, though my eyes never

The night of poison still hung back in every corridor, servants with hollow eyes, nobles whispering over goblets they dared not to drink, the faint smell of herbs and sickness clinging to the air.I had not slept. The weight of it pressed against my ribs like a blade that refused to be sheathed.But Cassian… he was still there.He found me on the balcony, just as the first light cut through the fog. He wore no cloak, only the simple black tunic beneath his armor, his hair damp from a quick wash at the well. He looked tired, yes, but unbowed.For a moment, just a moment, the chaos of the world stilled.“You should rest,” he said, his voice low.I turned, staring at him. His eyes held clouds, but also that steady flame that had anchored me more times than I could count. “Rest?” I gave a humorless laugh. “When the city reeks of poison? When people look to me for answers I don’t have?”His mouth twitched, not a smile, exactly, but close. “You don’t need to have all the answers, Serina. So

Cassian remained on the pallet, his chest rising in shallow, erratic pulls. Each breath was a war his body was losing. I did not move from his side. My hand stayed locked with his, sweat drenched his skin, and his pulse fluttered like a dying moth beneath my fingers. His fingers twitched weakly against mine. Then they went still. The apothecaries muttered in panic, one reaching for another vial, another fumbling with dried roots. “His pulse fades. If the riders fail..” “They will not fail,” I cut in, my voice sharp as glass. “They cannot.” But even as I spoke, the air shifted, thickened with another presence. Damien. He entered the chamber with staggering steps, his face flushed, his eyes bloodshot. He reeked of wine, though his hand still clutched his sword. Behind him trailed two attendants, uneasy, unwilling. For a long moment, he stared at Cassian’s body on the pallet. Then he laughed. It was not mirth. It was jagged, broken. “So,” he said, voice cracking. “The

Aria sat in the half-light of her chamber, the veil damp against her lips where her breath had fogged it. The storm outside had long passed, but it remained inside her chest, restless. She had thought she would feel triumphant. Cassian’s collapse should have been her victory, the strike that tore Serina’s heart wide open. She had imagined her sister weeping, crumbling, begging the gods for mercy. She had pictured herself in control at last. But instead, anxiety munched her bones. Because Cassian lived and whispers spread, whispers that poison had entered the palace itself, whispers that pointed in too many directions. And if those whispers ever curved toward her… Her hand trembled against the bracelet she toyed with, the pearls clicking softly. Too loud in the quiet. The maid knelt by the hearth, her voice low. “They say the duchess never left his side. That she drew a blade on His Grace when he threatened the captain’s life.” Aria’s head snapped up. “What?” The girl nodded,

Each corner of the palace stank of blood and smoke. The assassin’s corpse still lay cooling on the floor, his mask torn away, his eyes staring sightless at the ceiling. Guards shifted uneasily, some crossing themselves, others muttering prayers against evil. But I had no time for fear. Cassian bled. The cut was shallow, yes, but every drop of his blood felt like it drained from my own veins. I pressed cloth to the wound, my hands trembling though I forced them steady. “You’ll not fall,” I whispered fiercely, as though my words alone could bar death from the room. “Not to poison. Not to knives. Not to them.” The apothecaries hovered, whispering of medicines and salves, but I silenced them with a glare sharp enough to cut. “He breathes because I demand it,” I said. “You will keep him breathing. If you fail, you will answer to me, not the gods.” They bowed, pale, scattering to fetch herbs and water. Outside, the palace lapped with chaos. Word spread fast, faster than truth, fas