Chapter 5

Lisbeth leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed in that haughty way Ayra had come to despise.

She looked immaculate, of course, her dress tailored to perfection, every strand of hair in its rightful place.

Ayra, in her hastily thrown on clothes and with an aura of depression she couldn’t shake, felt a fresh wave of resentment.

Lisbeth had always been good at making her feel small without even trying - or maybe she was trying, all the time.

Anyway, the point stood; Ayra did not like Lisbeth one bit.

“I see captivity hasn’t done much for your style, little sis,” Lisbeth began, her tone dripping with mock sympathy.

"Honestly, I thought you’d at least attempt to look presentable. But I suppose it’s hard to care when you're only so so.”

Ayra clenched her fists, the nails biting into her palms. 

Don’t react, she chanted within her mind. Don’t give her anything. She’s waiting for you to snap. As she always did. 

But Lisbeth wasn’t one to settle for silence. She pushed off the doorframe and waltzed into the room like she owned it—like she owned everything—and cast her gaze around the space with exaggerated disgust that got under Ayra's skin.

“This room is… quaint,” she remarked, her tone grating. “I would’ve thought Daddy would give you something more, I don’t know, suitable.

But then again, this does suit you, doesn’t it? Plain room. Plain girl.”

She turned to Ayra. 

"Anyway, how do you like the room now? You'd gotten it in the end after all. Does it sooth your piddling little heart now?"

Ayra and Lisbeth had gotten into a huge spat concerning the room where Ayra stayed in now.

Lisbeth had thrown a truly epic tantrum when Ayra was given the room overlooking the lake but it was ages ago. Ayra didn't know Lisbeth still held a grudge over that. 

“Get to the point, Lisbeth,” Ayra said through gritted teeth, her fingers curling tightly around the bedsheet. “I’m not in the mood for your games.”

Lisbeth smiled, the ends of her eyes curling, and tilted her head as if she’d won something.

“Oh, but you are never in the mood for fun, are you? That’s what’s so tragic about you, Ayra. No spark, no flair. Just this… dull little existence, and yet somehow, you always manage to make a mess of things. Honestly, it’s a talent.”

She sauntered over to the window, peering through the bars as if inspecting the scenery.

“You have been a thorn in everyone’s side since you were old enough to talk, you know. It’s almost impressive, really. How does someone so, ah, how do I put this delicately, insignificant create so much... problems?”

Ayra’s jaw tightened. Her voice, when it came, was low and angry, her burgeoning despair giving way to rage under Lisbeth's prodding. “Maybe because I never learned how to stab people in the back.”

Lisbeth laughed, a sharp, condescending sound. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’ve never had the spine for stabbing anyone—figuratively or otherwise.”

She turned, her smirk widening as she caught Ayra’s glare. “Though I must say, you’re doing an impressive job of sulking. You’ve really made it an art form.”

The words were a direct hit, but Ayra refused to show it. Instead, she glared, letting her silence speak for her.

Yes, she'd sulked a lot when she was little. So what?

Lisbeth’s smirk only widened as she sauntered closer. “Why do you remain here, Lisbeth?” Ayra asked sharply. “Are you just bored of tormenting everyone else?”

“Tormenting? What a cruel thing to say. And no, I don't torment others. Only you,” Lisbeth replied, feigning hurt with a dramatic wave of her hand. And it was true.

Lisbeth was apparently an angel in the eyes of others. “Though I prefer to think of it as... enlightening. Someone has to give you a reality check since you clearly can’t do it yourself.”

Ayra’s patience snapped. “And what reality is that supposed to be?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” Lisbeth’s tone turned colder, her gaze sharper.

“You’ve always been the family’s weak link, Ayra. Too soft. Too naive. Too… expendable. Honestly, it’s a wonder you’ve lasted this long. The marriage with Lucian may be the singular most useful thing you've ever done, no?”

The words were a slap to the face and Ayra shot to her feet, her anger boiling over like an unstoppable tide.

“You don’t know the first thing about me, Lisbeth. All you’ve ever done is tear me down to make yourself feel bigger. What? You think that makes you strong?”

For a fleeting moment, Lisbeth’s mask slipped. Her smirk faltered, her eyes narrowing, but she recovered quickly, blinking rapidly, her expression sliding back into place like armor.

“Temper, temper,” she purred.

“You should work on that before you embarrass yourself further. Or do you think Lucian will find your little tantrums… endearing?”

Ayra froze at the mention of his name. That hesitation—barely a second long—was all Lisbeth needed.

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow worse than her taunts.

“You know, I think I like you better this way. Angry. Desperate. It’s so much more… entertaining.”

Ayra’s breathing was shallow, her fists trembling at her sides. She fought to rein in her fury, refusing to give Lisbeth the satisfaction of seeing her lose control.

“Are you done?” Ayra asked icily, trying to keep her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

“No, not really. I've barely had my fun in fact.” Lisbeth’s shrug was maddeningly casual as she turned.

"I've yet to congratulate you on your impending marriage. Never knew you'd be able to even get someone able to tolerate you."

"What in the world are you so smug about?" Ayra asked, genuinely bewildered. "That I'm finally leaving? What?"

“Oh, little sis,” she drawled, stepping away from the window. “I didn’t think you’d actually ask. Are you sure you want to know?”

Ayra fixed her with a stubborn, stolid look. 

Lisbeth’s smirk widened as she sauntered closer.

“Fine. Since you’re so curious... We can certainly say I’ve been involved in ensuring this little arrangement came to fruition. Do trust me; it wasn’t easy convincing Lucian that you were the perfect choice, but I managed.”