The Manor Was Robbed

Helena wiped away the remnants of her emotional stand. Her posture straightened, the brief vulnerability vanishing as her matriarchal authority returned in full force. Survival required sharp focus, not tears.

"In that case, Kaelen and I will drop the matter," Helena declared, her voice ringing clear across the bedroom. "The most important thing now is to prepare ahead of time. If the king executes us all, we accept the blade. But if he sends us into exile, we will need funds. Without silver, we will freeze and starve on that long road north."

Cora stepped forward, wringing her hands. "Helena, I have three hundred silver coins saved up in my quarters. As long as we ration it on the road, it should keep us fed."

Penny, the eighth daughter-in-law, shifted her weight, looking hesitant. "You know how much I love my treats. I spent most of my monthly allowance on pastries and sugar candies. I lack coin, but I have several heavy gold hairpins and thick jade bracelets. I can pawn them for travel funds."

"I have valuables too," another widow chimed in, stepping closer to the bed. "I can sell my dowry chests and bring the silver scrip with us."

As the young women frantically listed the jewelry and silver pieces they had hoarded away in their respective courtyards, Kaelen exchanged a fleeting look with Liora. He pushed himself up against the headboard, wincing as the slight movement pulled at his fresh wounds.

"Ladies, I know you only want to help the family," Kaelen cut in, his tone brutal and unrelenting. "But there is zero time left to convert those bulky valuables into portable silver scrips. The king's ruthless enforcers will arrive at dawn. They will never allow you to walk out of the main gates carrying such items in plain sight."

His words hit the gathered widows like a sudden splash of icy water. The frantic energy drained from the room, replaced by a deep, suffocating anxiety.

Cora paced a tight circle at the foot of the bed. "Then what do you expect us to do, Kaelen? Our jewelry might not fetch a fortune, but I refuse to leave it behind for those royal bastards to plunder."

Kaelen tightened his jaw. He knew the risk, yet he had not formed a reliable countermeasure. If they walked out with exposed wealth, the guards would strip them bare on the front steps.

Liora observed the mounting panic. She stepped out of the shadows near the doorway, drawing the room’s attention with a practical solution. "Why don't we sew a hidden pocket directly into the lining of our underclothes?"

The women turned to her, blinking in surprise.

Liora met their gazes with calm pragmatism. "Take your silver scrips and wrap them tightly in soft cotton to muffle any crinkling sound. Tuck the wrapped bundles inside those hidden pockets. Even if the king deploys female officers to conduct a thorough body search at the gates, the padded cotton will prevent their hands from feeling the thin paper notes. The guards will assume it is just extra padding against the winter chill. Anything rigid, like your jade and gold, will have to be left behind."

Helena’s eyes brightened as she processed the suggestion. "Liora makes a brilliant point. The cotton trick will work." She turned to the worried women, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Return to your respective courtyards immediately. Gather your needles and begin sewing."

The widows hesitated, their eyes lingering on Kaelen’s pale face. The imperial physicians still had not arrived to treat the severe lacerations on his back.

Helena noticed their reluctance. Normally, she afforded her widowed daughters-in-law a gentle touch, but tonight required iron. "Stop standing around!" she ordered firmly. "Go get ready. We have no time to waste."

Guided by Helena’s command, the women filed out of the bedroom one by one, their footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Once the heavy wooden doors clicked shut, Helena sighed, turning her attention back to her son. "How long has it been since we dispatched the riders? It has been nearly an hour. Why hasn't a single imperial physician shown up?"

As if on cue, the bedroom doors opened again. Three estate servants shuffled inside, their heads bowed low, their expressions grim.

"Speak," Helena demanded.

The lead servant swallowed hard. "My Lady... we visited four different clinics. Every single imperial physician gave us an excuse. One claimed an emergency at the eastern palace. Another said he fell ill and could not leave his bed. None of them will come to treat the young master's injuries."

Liora’s mind raced as she listened to the flimsy excuses. The truth was glaringly obvious. King Osric had deliberately orchestrated this medical embargo. He wanted Kaelen to suffer the excruciating pain of fifty strokes, fester in his own blood, and die from a raging infection before ever crossing the city limits. This was a silent execution, disguised as royal negligence.

Anticipating this exact cruel maneuver, Kaelen remained unfazed. He offered his mother a faint, reassuring smile. "Mother, I will manage. It is just flesh wounds. Do not let this delay you."

Helena pressed her lips into a thin line. She possessed a practical mind. Fuming over absent doctors would not heal her son's back, nor would it pack her survival gear.

"In that case, I will go to my wing and secure my own belongings," Helena said, turning on her heel.

Liora walked Helena to the courtyard threshold, watching the older woman disappear into the night mist before closing the doors and returning to the bedside.

Now left alone with Kaelen, Liora moved toward the flickering candlelight. She reached into her sleeve, discreetly accessing her secret space. A second later, her fingers brushed against parchment. She pulled out two crisp servant contracts.

"What are those?" Kaelen asked, tracking her movements.

"Contracts," Liora said, smoothing the paper over the bedside table. "One for Tessa, the other for Nadia. They followed me from my family estate today. Since the king is exiling the Vane family, we cannot take servants on the road. If they stay, the enforcers will drag them to the auction block and sell them off as slaves."

She looked down at the names penned in dark ink. "I am going to cancel their contracts right now and set them free before the raid hits."

Kaelen rested his head against the pillows, a flicker of respect softening his features. "A merciful decision. I agree. Sever their ties tonight so they have a chance to escape."

Before Liora could tear the parchment in half, the heavy bedroom doors slammed open. A breathless estate guard burst into the room, his armor clanking, his face pale with panic.

"Your Grace!" the guard gasped, dropping to one knee. "The main storeroom!"

Kaelen propped himself up on his elbows. "Report."

"It has been robbed! Emptied! The heavy iron locks were left untouched, but every grain sack, every weapon crate, every bolt of fabric is gone. There is nothing left but dust and bare wooden shelves!"

Mere moments after the guard delivered his chaotic report, chaotic footsteps pounded down the hallway. Vera and Greta rushed into the bedroom, their mourning clothes disheveled, their faces masks of frantic disorientation.

"Kaelen!" Greta screamed, clutching the doorframe to steady herself. "Vera and I went to the main kitchen to pack dry rations for the road, but it is gone! Everything!"

"What do you mean, everything?" Kaelen asked, his brow furrowing.

Vera stepped forward, her chest heaving. "The sacks of flour, the cured meats hanging from the rafters, the root vegetables—even the heavy iron cooking pots! The entire kitchen has been stripped bare! We have been robbed blind!"

Hearing these frantic reports, Liora kept her expression carefully neutral, though her heart gave a sudden lurch. A fleeting pang of guilt twisted in her chest. She knew perfectly well who the phantom thief was. She had secretly vacuumed the estate’s entire stockpile into her space to ensure the family’s survival during the harsh exile. But she could not utter a single word about her abilities. She clamped her jaw shut and stared at the floorboards, forcing herself to maintain a steady breathing rhythm.

Kaelen’s eyes narrowed. His tactical mind immediately went to work, analyzing the impossible scenario. The manor was surrounded by the king's spies on the outside, and his elite Vane patrols guarded the interior walls. It was physically impossible for an ordinary band of thieves to bypass those veteran guards, infiltrate the heart of the estate unnoticed, and haul away tons of heavy goods and iron pots without making a single sound.

The logistics defied reality. Unless the culprit was someone already inside. Someone who moved with strange, inexplicable methods.

He glanced at Liora. Her silence was deafening. Her demeanor all evening had been an odd mix of calculating calm and bizarre foresight.

Maintaining a smooth facade, Kaelen looked back at the panicked guard. "Stand down and return to your post. I will handle this matter."

The guard hesitated, then bowed. "Yes, Your Grace."

Once the guard retreated, Vera stepped closer, wringing her hands. "But Kaelen, what about the kitchen? How will we eat on the road?"

Kaelen let out a long, controlled sigh, masking his racing thoughts. "Honestly, Vera, it is probably for the best. We could not lug giant iron pots and massive grain sacks with us into exile anyway. The royal enforcers would confiscate them at the gates. I would much rather a phantom thief take our supplies than let our political enemies profit from our downfall."

Vera blinked, the panic slowly draining from her eyes as his logic took hold. "That... makes sense. We could never carry it all." She nodded firmly. "In that case, Greta and I will go back and focus on sewing the hidden pockets Liora suggested."

"Good. Stay focused," Kaelen said gently.

Greta and Vera turned and hurried out of the room, shutting the heavy doors behind them.

The loud click of the latch echoed in the massive bedroom.

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on the space like a physical weight.

Liora stood near the bedside table, her fingers still resting near the servant contracts. She could feel Kaelen’s gaze burning into the side of her face.

Slowly, Kaelen turned his head. He fixed a sharp, unyielding, and deeply calculating stare on her. The gentle brother-in-law act he had played for Vera vanished, replaced by the hardened commander of the northern armies.

The suffocating quiet stretched on. The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows across his intense features.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, dangerous rumble that commanded the room and left no room for doubt. He confronted her directly.

"You had something to do with all this, right?"

The terrifying certainty in his tone caught Liora off guard. Her breath hitched. Her hand tightened on the edge of the wooden table.

She looked at him, staring into those piercing dark eyes. History books remembered Kaelen Vane as an honest, heroic general who bled for his people. But to her, he was still a stranger—a brilliant, perceptive stranger who had just seen right through an impossible crime.

Her heart sank as her mind spun for an excuse. She could not risk exposing the magical truth of her secret space to him just yet.