Malkov Estate, Russian Countryside
As he lay there, the soft fabric of the sheets cool against his skin, sunlight streamed through the partially open curtains, casting gentle rays across the room.
Severus had never woken up feeling so… at ease.
The bed in his room was luxurious—so much so that he couldn't imagine ever wanting to leave it. He stretched, relishing the unfamiliar comfort, and let his mind drift back to the dinner the night before.
The conversation had been tense, but there had been a strange kind of warmth in the room. Irina, though cold and commanding, had an air of undeniable authority that seemed to pull everything into place. His new family, however, were a mix of reactions—some welcoming, others less so. But there was something oddly comforting about knowing where he stood in the hierarchy now. The dinner had solidified it: he was the heir. He was important here. And for the first time in a long while, Severus didn't feel like he was just a ghost lingering in someone else's life.
Damon's outburst still echoed in his ears, but there was no regret in Severus's mind. It was necessary, wasn't it? He was simply doing what he had to do to survive here, to prove he was worthy of the position he'd been thrust into. The thought of Damon—still seething, still unable to comprehend his fall from grace—made Severus feel a twisted sense of satisfaction.
A sense of peace washed over him, but it was fleeting, as his mind shifted to the uncertainty that loomed. What did the future hold now that he was here? Would he truly belong to this family, or was he just a tool to be used until they no longer had need of him? He could feel the weight of their expectations already bearing down on him. They were all watching, waiting.
With a soft sigh, he pushed himself up, running a hand through his hair. Today would bring more challenges. There was no doubt about that. But for now, in the warmth of the morning light, he allowed himself a moment of calm.
After all, it wasn't every day a man found himself the heir to a family like this.
Before Severus could even swing his legs over the edge of the bed, the door opened with a soft creak. He froze in surprise as the same two maids from the day before entered the room. Without a word, they moved with practiced efficiency, one heading straight for the window. Severus barely had time to react before the curtains were yanked open with force, the bright sunlight flooding into the room. He hissed, his eyes squinting against the harsh rays.
The maids didn't seem to notice—or care—about his discomfort. One of them turned to him, her expression neutral as she gestured toward the bed. "It's time to get up, sir. Your schedule for the day has already been prepared," she said in a tone that left no room for argument.
Severus rubbed his eyes, still trying to shake off the drowsiness from a night of strange dreams. "I—" He cut himself off, not sure how to react. He had barely gotten any rest and now, they were treating him as if he'd been awake for hours. "I'm not quite ready yet," he muttered, but it was clear his protests were going unheard.
The other maid, who had been tidying up around the room, approached with a tray of neatly arranged clothes. She held them out with an efficiency that almost felt mechanical. "The bath will be prepared shortly, sir. Please, get dressed. The your grandmother is waiting."
Severus opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself. It didn't seem worth arguing. He wasn't the one in control here—he hadn't been since stepping foot into this house. Instead, he took a deep breath, his eyes flickering to the two maids, and nodded. "Fine," he said softly. "I'll be ready."
The maids exchanged a brief glance, their silence heavy with understanding, but neither spoke. They simply began to lay out his clothes on the bed, along with various other items—some he didn't recognize, and others that felt too formal for him to consider wearing. Severus rubbed his eyes, trying to fight the lingering grogginess from his interrupted sleep. As the soft rustle of fabric filled the room, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet meeting the cold floor.
"Why must I go through all this again?" he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. The thought of going through yet another day of unfamiliar customs, being prodded and nudged into a role he didn't feel he belonged in, weighed heavily on his chest. The house, the family, the rituals—it all felt so suffocating. He had no choice but to play along, but a part of him still yearned for the simplicity of his old life, even if it had been filled with nothing but pain.
The maids continued with their task, unfazed by his muttering. One of them, the older of the two, spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. "You are heir now, sir. It is your place to uphold the family's traditions. These things must be done."
Severus didn't bother responding. He had heard those words too many times already. Instead, he stood slowly, stretching out the tightness in his limbs as he gazed at the clothes laid out before him. They were fine, clearly made of high-quality materials, but nothing he would have chosen for himself. The shirt was a sharp, white fabric that felt stiff just by looking at it. The trousers were a deep black, the kind that would probably wrinkle the moment he sat down, and the jacket—a formal affair with gold embroidery along the sleeves—was far too extravagant for his taste.
Taking a deep breath, Severus began to change, the weight of his new reality sinking in with every movement. It was a process he had no choice but to endure, no matter how foreign it all felt. Once he was dressed, he glanced at the mirror, his reflection now a stark contrast to the boy who had entered this house just days ago. His face still held the same shadows, the same uncertainty, but now the clothes seemed to make him look more like the person they all expected him to be—a heir, a leader, someone deserving of respect. Yet, on the inside, Severus knew he was far from it.
He sighed, opting to go without the jacket as his gaze shifted to the door. It would be just a few more moments before he was summoned again, to face whatever was waiting for him next.
One of the maids had quietly left, returning moments later with a small tray. She set it down on the table with a soft click. "Your breakfast, sir. Your grandmother is waiting downstairs." Her voice was polite, yet there was a firmness to it, as if reminding him that the expectations were clear.
Severus walked over and picked up the tray, though he had no appetite. The feeling of being constantly watched, constantly judged, gnawed at him. But there was no escape from it. He had to play the part. He had to stay in this world that didn't feel like his own, no matter how much he resented it.
He glanced at the two maids through the mirror, his thoughts drifting back to his grandmother's words. Gathering information is the first step to playing the game. If he wanted to fit into this world, if he wanted to prove to these people that he belonged, then he would play the game, whether he liked it or not.
"I never did catch your names," Severus said, his voice steady but laced with an underlying curiosity. He turned to face them directly, watching as both women paused for a split second. They seemed caught off guard by the question, as though they weren't used to being asked about themselves, or perhaps they were simply accustomed to remaining invisible in the background.
The older one, the one who had spoken most often, seemed to be the more responsive of the two. Her lips pressed together for a moment, and then she nodded slightly, as if deciding how much to reveal. "I am Alina, sir," she said with a quiet, respectful tone, her eyes never fully meeting his. "And this is Kira."
The other maid, Kira, gave a small nod in acknowledgment, her expression neutral, but Severus noticed the slightest tremor in her hands as she adjusted a small item on the tray. It was subtle, but it was enough for him to catch it—Kira was nervous.
Severus tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity igniting within him. Why the nerves? Was it simply the weight of his presence, or was there something else? He had yet to get a proper read on these two, but his grandmother's advice echoed in his mind—Gathering information was the first step.
"Alina," Severus continued, his voice casual but laced with a quiet authority, "Would you mind going to ask my grandmother for my schedule in paper form?"
He watched closely as Alina's brows furrowed, her gaze flickering uneasily between him and Kira. The shift in her expression told him everything he needed to know. She was hesitant, unsure of his request, and possibly even suspicious of his intentions.
He knew the hesitation wasn't because of a simple request. No, it was the unspoken question hanging between them—Why the paper form? It wasn't a typical request. But Severus didn't need to explain. He could see how Alina's eyes darted toward Kira for a brief moment, as though seeking silent counsel.
The pressure to conform to the family's expectations was palpable. Alina wanted to remain in her safe position, to avoid stepping out of line, especially with Kira watching. But Severus could feel the opening—the crack in her armor, a chance to strike.
He leaned back slightly, maintaining eye contact with her in the mirror. His posture was relaxed, but the glint of calculation in his eyes was unmistakable. It's the weak who make the easiest targets.
"Go on, Alina," he added, his tone lowering just enough to hint at impatience. "It's a simple task. I'd prefer to have it in writing, if you don't mind."
Her hesitation turned into a brief but palpable moment of internal struggle. He could see her debating it, weighing whether to comply or assert some semblance of control. She glanced again at Kira, and this time the younger maid didn't meet her gaze, busy with some trivial task to avoid the tension.
Severus knew his advantage was small, but it was enough. He had no real power here yet, no true standing. But what he had learned in his years of torment under the Marauders was this: Always go for the weak.
Alina inhaled sharply and then nodded, though her discomfort remained visible. "Very well, sir," she said stiffly, clearly resigned to the command. Without another word, she turned and exited the room, her footsteps heavy with reluctance.
Kira remained silent, her eyes darting to Severus before quickly dropping to the floor. The tension between them grew thick as the seconds stretched on. It wasn't lost on Severus that Kira, unlike Alina, hadn't said a word. Her silence spoke volumes about the power dynamics in the room.
"You're nervous," Severus remarked, his voice low but sharp enough to make Kira look up at him. He hadn't meant to prod, but the opportunity was too obvious to ignore. She hadn't hidden her discomfort well enough. "About me."
Kira flinched, her posture stiffening before she quickly forced a neutral expression. But the brief flash of unease in her eyes was unmistakable. "I'm not nervous," she muttered, though her voice lacked the conviction that could have made the words believable.
Severus tilted his head slightly, his gaze intense as he studied her. "You are," he pressed, his voice smooth but firm. "Yet I'm not entirely sure why. Mind telling me?"
Kira hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face before she quickly masked it. She opened her mouth as if to respond but stopped herself, clearly unsure of how to handle the question. Her eyes darted around, as though searching for some form of escape, but there was none. Severus had cornered her with a simple, disarming observation.
"You seem," he continued, leaning forward ever so slightly, "uneasy. About... me. About what I'm capable of, who I am."
The words hung between them like a weight. Severus watched her carefully, waiting for a reaction. He was deliberate, taking his time, watching how her hands fidgeted with the hem of her apron, a tiny nervous tic that he couldn't help but notice. It was strange to him—this woman, seemingly so composed and efficient, unraveling so easily under the weight of a few pointed questions.
Kira's jaw tightened, and she swallowed, clearly trying to maintain her composure. "I don't know what you mean," she said quietly, her voice strained, but still attempting to sound calm.
Severus' eyes narrowed slightly. "No, you do," he replied, his tone turning more measured, more dangerous. "You've been in this house long enough to know how things work, haven't you? The power plays, the subtle games. You've seen it all."
Her breath caught, but she didn't respond immediately. Severus allowed the silence to stretch out, giving her time to think—or perhaps to second-guess herself. But he wasn't in a hurry. Let her squirm. Let her feel the pressure of the situation.
Finally, she let out a shaky sigh, barely audible. "How am I supposed to know you won't be just like him?" She muttered under her breath, but Severus caught it, his fingers freezing as he adjusted his collar.
"Who?" he asked, his voice hard, the words sharp and laced with a quiet menace. His eyes locked onto hers through the mirror. She flinched, the flicker of fear in her eyes not lost on him. "Who, Kira?"
Her gaze snapped to his, wide and unblinking. For a moment, it seemed as though the air between them thickened, the tension palpable. Kira's breath caught in her throat, and she visibly recoiled from the question, her shoulders tense as if preparing to retreat. But she didn't.
Severus kept his eyes steady on her, unwilling to break the silence. He saw the way her hands fidgeted, how her lips pressed into a tight line, and how her expression danced between defiance and something far darker. The moment stretched on, and the silence between them grew heavier with each passing second.
Kira swallowed hard, her voice low and hesitant when she finally spoke. "You're all the same. Every single one of you," she said, her tone carrying a mix of frustration and raw vulnerability. "I've seen it before. Men like you, like him... you'll wear that mask for as long as you need, but it'll slip eventually. And when it does, we'll all see the same thing. The same monster."
Severus felt a chill crawl up his spine at the weight of her words. His grip on the collar of his robe tightened involuntarily, but he didn't let the impulse to defend himself show. He kept his face neutral, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Monster?" he repeated, his voice a low growl. His mind raced—who could she possibly be talking about? Who had caused her to view him in this way, to make such an accusation? But even as the question lingered in the air, a suspicion gnawed at him, dark and creeping.
"Who? Damon?" Severus asked, his voice colder than he'd intended. He didn't like the way she reacted to his name. It was the same way his mother used to react when the neighbors mentioned his father. Her entire body would freeze, her eyes would glaze over, and she'd stare into nothingness, haunted by memories that no one spoke of.
The moment Kira's eyes flickered with that same flash of terror, it clicked. The pieces fell into place like a jarring revelation. He understood now. What she had meant by "monster." Damon was the monster.
Severus felt a wave of unease wash over him, and his fingers clenched involuntarily. He had seen that look too many times before, but never aimed at him, never so raw, so vulnerable.
"What did he do to you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of the question.
Kira's eyes widened as if the question itself was a weight too heavy to bear. She took a step back, shaking her head almost imperceptibly as though she were trying to distance herself from the words. But Severus could see it—the way her shoulders slumped slightly, how her breath hitched in her chest. She was fighting something, trying to keep it buried, but the fear was there, clear in the tremble of her hands, the guarded expression on her face.
Severus took a step toward her, his gaze never leaving hers, demanding the answer.
"I... I shouldn't have said anything," she stammered, the words coming out too quickly, a desperate attempt to cover what had slipped. But it was too late—Severus knew now. And the fact that she was trying to avoid it only made his suspicions grow.
"Don't avoid the question," Severus pressed, his tone low but unyielding. "You can't just drop something like that and expect me to forget it. What did he do?"
Kira shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the side as if seeking an escape. Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Severus could practically hear the inner conflict raging inside her. She didn't want to say it. And yet, she was on the verge of breaking.
His hand froze mid-air, just inches away from her shoulder. Severus could feel the weight of the moment, the tension that filled the air between them. She wasn't just scared of Damon—she was scared of him. That much was clear. Kira had been retreating into herself, the way he once had, when he feared that a stray bottle or slap might be coming his way. The same instinct to shrink, to brace for something that never came, but still had to be feared.
His eyes darted quickly over her body, searching for any visible signs of harm, any evidence that Damon had done more than just leave scars on her mind. He didn't see anything obvious, but it didn't matter. It was the way her body was rigid, the way she was pressing her nails into her palm—deep enough to leave pale crescents. That told him everything he needed to know.
"I won't hurt you." His voice was quiet, but there was a firm assurance in it that he hadn't intended to put there. He wasn't trying to soften his tone for her sake, but the words had come out with more care than he'd expected. He kept his gaze fixed on her hand, watching the small tremors run through her fingers as she clenched tighter.
She didn't look at him at first, and Severus was beginning to regret even reaching out. But then, slowly, her eyes met his, and he could see the flicker of uncertainty in them. She was caught between what he was offering and what she feared.
"I care not how Damon acted," he continued, his voice a little sharper now, as if the words needed to cut through the silence. "He is no longer heir, I am. And I would never…" His sentence hung in the air, unfinished, as the weight of how much she looked like his mother in that moment pressed on him.
"I would never treat you like that," he finally finished, the words heavier than he expected.
Kira stiffened at the sound of the door opening, her posture snapping back to a more guarded stance. Severus didn't need to turn to know it was Alina; the cool, efficient tone of her voice gave it away instantly. The interruption was both a relief and an annoyance—he had been so close to breaking through, but now, the moment had shattered like glass.
"Is everything alright here, sir?" Alina repeated, her eyes flicking briefly to Kira before settling back on Severus with a professional calmness. She hadn't missed the tension in the room, but she was careful not to acknowledge it directly.
Severus exhaled, briefly closing his eyes before meeting her gaze. He could feel Kira's presence beside him, the tension still lingering, but he straightened himself, determined not to let Alina's arrival break his resolve.
"It's fine," he said, his voice even, but there was a quiet edge to it—one that suggested he was trying to maintain control of the situation. "We were just... talking."
Alina seemed to accept this without question, but Severus saw the way her eyes darted back to Kira for a fraction of a second. The maid was perceptive; she always had been. But she was also trained not to pry, and for that, he was thankful.
"Of course, sir," Alina responded, her tone softening slightly. "The schedule you requested is ready, and your grandmother is waiting for you in the study."
Severus gave a small nod, his mind already shifting gears as he prepared to leave the room. He glanced at Kira once more, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked. He didn't say anything; there was nothing more to say for now. The conversation had taken a turn he hadn't anticipated, and he knew Kira wasn't ready for any further steps.
Still, a quiet understanding lingered between them.
"Thank you, Alina," Severus said, his voice calmer now, more authoritative, as he pushed himself to his feet.
Kira didn't move, and Severus didn't expect her to. She remained still, her posture still taut, but there was something different in the way she held herself. He wasn't sure if it was the weight of their conversation or the promise of something less obvious, but he didn't push. He had learned enough in his life to understand when to back off and when to wait for someone to come to terms with their own demons.
As he moved toward the door, Alina stepping aside to let him pass, Severus glanced back at Kira one last time, his voice steady, but with a quiet undercurrent of sincerity.
"And both of you remember, Damon is no longer heir."
And with that, he left the room, the door closing softly behind him, leaving both maids to their thoughts.