The Cursed Extra-Chapter 54: [2.2] Goodbye to the House That Never Wanted Me

Chapter 54: [2.2] Goodbye to the House That Never Wanted Me

"Home is where the heart is. Mine apparently got lost in transit."

***

The servants would see a loyal maid reassuring her anxious master.

They had no idea they were watching a predator confirm her target.

Henrik pulled open the carriage door. The hinges creaked in the morning quiet. I climbed inside like a man ascending the steps to his own execution. Slowly. Reluctantly. With visible trepidation.

My hand found the brass railing. Fingers wrapped around the cold metal with excessive caution, as though I feared the very act of boarding might result in my immediate death.

I even hesitated on the step. One hand clutched the door frame like I needed it to keep from toppling backward. My face twisted into an expression of poorly concealed fear. Lower lip caught between my teeth.

The performance never stopped when servants were watching.

Especially when servants were watching.

They were the ones who carried tales to their masters. Who gossiped in market squares during their rare moments of freedom. Who spread reputation like seeds on the wind. Every lingering glance, every whispered word exchanged over washbasins and cooking fires, all of it contributed to what people believed about each noble house.

I needed them to believe a very specific story about the third son of House Leone.

Lyra entered after me. Her movements were economical and unremarkable. The perfect model of a servant who knew her place. She seated herself on the opposite bench with her hands folded primly in her lap. Fingers interlaced in the exact manner prescribed by whatever etiquette manual governed domestic service.

The door swung shut with a heavy thud. The latch clicked into place.

Sealed away from prying eyes.

The interior of the carriage smelled faintly of aged leather and the ghost of expensive perfume. Remnants of more illustrious passengers from years past, when House Leone still commanded enough respect to warrant such luxuries.

Now the velvet seats showed their wear. The brass fittings had lost their shine. The whole conveyance existed as a sort of mausoleum to faded glory.

"Ready when you are, Young Master," Henrik called down from his perch. His gravelly voice was muffled by the carriage walls.

I pressed my face to the small window. Assumed the countenance of an uncertain boy bound for an unfamiliar destination. Eyes widened. Shoulders hunched. Fingers tapped anxiously against the weathered wooden frame.

The glass was cool against my forehead.

Through it, I watched the Leone manor gradually shrink into the distance.

The limestone facade stood against the morning sky. Age had softened the decorative cornices. Patches of darker discoloration marked where acid rains had begun their slow work of erosion.

The great family crest still dominated the space above the main entrance. A roaring lion rampant against crimson and gold. Even from this distance I could see where the gilt had flaked away, leaving the underlying plaster exposed like old wounds.

Funny. I’d never noticed that before. Or maybe I had, and just hadn’t cared enough to really see it.

The gardens stretched outward like an emerald carpet. Carefully trimmed hedges formed intricate patterns visible only from above. Geometric designs that some long-dead Leone ancestor had commissioned to demonstrate the family’s dominion over nature itself.

Now those same hedges required constant attention from an understaffed grounds keeping team. Their perfect lines maintained more through desperate effort than adequate resources.

The fountain in the main courtyard caught the sunlight and scattered it in a thousand glittering fragments across the cobblestones. All of it shrinking. Becoming toy-sized and insignificant as we pulled farther from the estate.

Those marble lions had been carved by a master sculptor during House Leone’s golden age. When such extravagances seemed expected rather than foolish. Now they presided over a courtyard that saw fewer visitors each year. Their eternal vigilance wasted on an audience of gardeners and servants.

Lucius had already pivoted on his heel and walked away. His duty to see his pathetic stepbrother off was complete. Minimum required effort. A performance of familial obligation observed only for the servants’ benefit.

His posture had radiated barely contained impatience from the moment he’d emerged from the manor’s front doors. Every line of his body communicated profound distaste for this particular obligation.

He hadn’t looked back once. Hadn’t offered any final words.

Not that I’d expected or wanted such things. The absence of pretense between us was, in its own way, a form of honesty. Almost refreshing, really.

Lord Aldric remained at his post a moment longer. A solitary figure framed by the manor’s arched entrance like a portrait of aristocratic indifference. His tall silhouette was backlit by morning light filtering through the stained glass windows of the grand foyer.

He watched our departure with the clinical detachment one might display when observing an unwanted piece of furniture being carted off to storage.

His weathered hands remained clasped behind his back in that military stance he’d never quite abandoned. The grey at his temples had spread significantly since the original Kaelen’s earliest memories. But his eyes remained sharp and cold.

The eyes of a man who had learned to calculate value and dismiss that which failed to meet his standards.

I had never met those standards. The original Kaelen certainly hadn’t.

And the man who now wore Kaelen’s face had no intention of ever trying.

Then he, too, turned with deliberate slowness and vanished into the shadowed depths of the doorway. The darkness seemed to welcome him like an old friend.

Within those walls, generations of Leone history pressed down from every portrait. An accumulated weight of expectation that had crushed the original Kaelen’s spirit long before I’d arrived to inhabit his broken body.

Good riddance, to all of it.

The carriage lurched forward with a sudden jolt that nearly unseated me. Wheels crunched over the white gravel drive that had been raked to immaculate perfection just that morning.

I let myself settle back against the worn leather seat. Let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Lyra watched me from across the cramped space. Her mask was still in place. Tired. Resigned. The perfect long-suffering attendant.

But her eyes told a different story.

"It’s just us now," I said quietly. "You can drop the act."

The transformation was instant.

Her spine straightened. The dullness left her red eyes, replaced by something sharper. Hungrier. She looked like a completely different person.

"How long until we reach the academy, Master?"

"Six hours, give or take. Depends on the roads."

She nodded once. "Plenty of time to review our strategy, then."

"Plenty of time," I agreed.

Outside, the Leone estate disappeared behind a curve in the road. Gone. Like it had never existed at all.

I didn’t look back.

There was nothing behind me worth remembering.

Only what lay ahead mattered now.