Chapter 555: Chapter-555
When the second nanny lifted the girl’s limp, trembling hand, she finally let out an angry sigh.
Several of the girl’s fingernails had been completely torn off during her frantic, helpless struggle against the floorboards. The raw, bloody nail beds were exposed. To the nanny, this wasn’t a horrific injury—it was a deeply irritating destruction of their hard work.
The nanny left the room again, returning twenty-seven minutes later with a small, lacquered wooden box.
Inside were perfectly shaped, artificial fake nails and a small vial of specialized medicinal glue.
The nanny grabbed the girl’s hand, holding it in an iron grip. She applied the glue directly to the exposed, bleeding nerve endings of the torn nail beds, pressing the fake nails firmly down.
The third wife shrieked—a high, pure sound of unadulterated torment. The glue was highly acidic, designed to bind to raw flesh instantly. It stung like boiling oil poured directly into her veins. Her entire body thrashed in the chair, but the nanny held her hand down with practiced, terrifying strength, completely unfazed.
It was a normal Tuesday for them. They had done this dozens of times.
After an hour of agonizing reconstruction, the girl’s throat was drier than bone. She was desperately, pitifully parched, her lips parting as she silently begged for just a single drop of clean water.
Instead, Sanaya stepped forward holding a small jade cup filled with a thick, foul-smelling black liquid.
It was a highly potent, military-grade tonic.
Sanaya grabbed the girl’s jaw, forcing her mouth open, and ruthlessly poured the bitter liquid down her throat. The girl choked and gagged, tears streaming down her perfectly powdered cheeks, but the nanny forced her to swallow every last drop.
The tonic was an incredibly dark piece of the Prime Minister’s design. It acted as an instant, artificial stimulant. It would forcefully kickstart her nervous system, giving her the strength to sit up straight, walk, and smile for the servants the next morning. But it came with a terrifying cost.
Taken regularly, the tonic aggressively cannibalized the drinker’s own internal organs. It literally drained a person’s life force to provide a temporary illusion of health. It was slowly, methodically killing her from the inside out.
But the nannies didn’t care. It was the Prime Minister’s order, and they were loyal dogs.
Slowly, the nannies stood back to admire their handiwork.
They had sprayed heavy, expensive floral perfumes throughout the pavilion, completely eradicating the stench of sweat, fear, and blood. The wooden floors were spotless.
Sitting in the carved wooden chair was the third wife. She was dressed in immaculate dark blue silk, her hair perfectly styled, her makeup flawless, and her long, beautiful nails resting gently on her lap. Looking at her, absolutely no one in the capital could ever guess that this woman had just survived a descent into pure, unadulterated hell.
She looked exactly like a normal, breathtakingly beautiful noblewoman.
But behind the thick foundation, her blank, empty eyes stared into the darkness, silent tears continuously spilling over her lashes as the poison burned in her veins, trapped forever in a pristine, perfectly perfumed nightmare.
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.
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On the other side of capital ,in the marcuset Estate.
In the eastern courtyard, the massive willow tree swayed gently in the wind. The towering stacks of cedarwood crates sat silently against the outer wall, completely unguarded, just as Samuel had ordered. The heavy scent of Aurawood and bitter roots masked all other smells in the air.
Rustle.
A shadow detached itself from the top of the high stone wall.
A figure dressed entirely in black, moving with the absolute silence of a highly trained operative, dropped down into the courtyard. The thief landed without making a single sound, their boots absorbing the impact flawlessly.
The thief pressed their back against the stone wall, waiting for a full minute to see if any patrol guards had heard them. Nothing. The courtyard was dead silent. The eccentric fiancé had truly just dumped the inventory outside and gone to sleep.
Moving swiftly, the thief approached the specific cluster of crates holding the medicinal herbs.
They reached the top crate and pulled out a thin, curved iron lockpick. They inserted it into the heavy iron padlock Samuel had placed there hours ago.
The thief applied a small amount of pressure, expecting to spend at least a few minutes cracking the mechanism. But to their absolute shock, the internal tumblers immediately gave way.
Click.
The lock popped open effortlessly. The thief paused, a brief flash of suspicion crossing their mind. But the scent of the Aurawood was right there, and the deadline to deliver the poison ingredients was rapidly closing. Assuming the spoiled fiancé had simply bought a cheap, defective lock, the thief opened the lid.
Working rapidly by the faint moonlight, the thief measured out exactly two jins of Aurawood and the corresponding toxic roots, tying them tightly into a dark cloth bundle.
Within three minutes, the thief had closed the crate, re-latched the broken lock to make it look untouched, and silently scaled the wall, vanishing back into the dark alleyways of the capital.
Inside the luxurious, unlit bedroom of the eastern pavilion, standing completely still beside the carved wooden window lattice, was Samuel.
He hadn’t been asleep. He hadn’t even taken off his outer robes.
He stood in the pitch black, his hands clasped casually behind his back, his sharp, predatory eyes tracking the thief’s every single movement through the slats of the window.
He had watched the thief drop from the wall. He had watched them pick the sabotaged lock. And he had watched them perfectly extract the exact measurements needed for the treasonous poison.
"Perfect," Samuel whispered into the dark, his voice smooth as silk and cold as ice.
He didn’t yell for the guards. He didn’t rush out to catch the thief. Catching a low-level operative was a waste of time; a pawn would just bite a poison capsule and die before revealing their master.
No, Samuel wanted the king.
He turned away from the window, walking over to his desk. He lit a single, small candle. Under the flickering golden light, he pulled out a small, rolled piece of parchment and uncapped his calligraphy brush.
He had coated the inside of that specific iron lock with a highly rare, invisible, phosphorus-based powder that he had brought from the South. The thief couldn’t see it or smell it, but it was now permanently stained onto their leather gloves. And wherever those gloves went, they would leave an invisible, glowing trail that Samuel’s personal hounds could track perfectly once the sun went down tomorrow.
Samuel smiled, a brilliant, terrifying expression that completely rivaled Heena’s own ruthlessness.
"Let’s see where you deliver my goods, little rat," Samuel murmured, elegantly writing a coded message to his shadow operatives. "The game has finally begun."
The thief in black moved through the sleeping capital like a ghost.
Leaping seamlessly from roof tile to roof tile, the operative navigated the twisting, narrow alleyways with the practiced ease of a master. They clutched the dark cloth bundle tightly to their chest, completely confident in their stealth.
But they were unaware of two things: the invisible, glowing green phosphorus powder permanently stained on their gloves, and the sudden, dark rainclouds rolling in from the east.
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