The Archduke's Songbird-Chapter 267: Manipulated Manipulator

"You didn’t have to kill the baby to get back at Jerrick," Jessamyn’s voice was calm, yet laced with an undercurrent of sadness as she turned to face Imogen.

The revelation had shaken her to the core. Despite the anger she harbored toward Imogen, Jessamyn couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity. Jerrick’s actions, however misguided, seemed cruel now that she knew the full extent of what had transpired. Imogen’s pain, her desperation, was real, and Jessamyn found herself softening, if only for a moment.

But that moment passed as quickly as it came. She knew better than to be swayed by Imogen’s tears, especially when she could see the faint glimmer of manipulation behind them. Imogen’s sudden vulnerability, her confession, wasn’t born out of a desire for redemption; it was a ploy, a carefully crafted performance designed to garner sympathy.

The moment Jessamyn challenged her, Imogen’s façade crumbled. The tears that had been streaming down her cheeks dried up almost instantly, replaced by a look of disbelief and anger.

"I knew you hadn’t changed, Jessamyn," Imogen spat, her voice trembling with emotion. "You never cared about what I felt. All you ever wanted was to be with Jerrick."

"What?" Jessamyn furrowed her brows, confusion and irritation flashing across her face.

"Growing up, I had nothing," Imogen continued, her voice rising with each word, her bitterness laid bare. "And you never cared for me. You never once wanted to know what I wanted. I needed a friend, a supporter, but all you cared about was being somewhere else, somewhere far away from me."

Jessamyn’s frown deepened, the line between her brows becoming more pronounced as she tried to process Imogen’s words. How could Imogen twist the truth so completely? Jessamyn had spent years enduring Imogen’s cruelty, the constant bullying, and manipulation. Imogen had always surrounded herself with friends, using them as pawns in her little games, while Jessamyn had been the outcast, the one who bore the brunt of their cruelty.

Did Imogen really expect her to believe that she had been the one in need of friendship, that she had been the one suffering all along?

"Are you telling me," Jessamyn began slowly, her voice dripping with incredulity, "that you got me punished by that woman because I didn’t give you the attention you expected? And you did the same to... Ah, now I see..." Her voice trailed off as a new understanding dawned on her.

"You saw the love in Jerrick’s eyes when he looked at his son. You couldn’t bear it, could you? The idea that he could love someone more than you, that he could love that child more. You gave birth to him, and yet Jerrick’s love for his son was more than you could ever handle. Your attention-seeking heart couldn’t stand it, could it, Imogen?"

Imogen’s lips trembled, her eyes flashing with a mixture of rage and sorrow. "You never understood me, Jessamyn," she hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "You sit on your high horse and judge me, but you have no idea what I’ve been through. I don’t care what you think of me. I have people who believe in me, who stand by me."

Jessamyn could only scoff, the sound harsh and dismissive. "Who said you did right by killing your son? Do you belong to some cult? Was that old woman who treated your imaginary burn scars part of your imaginary cult? Do you all sit around a fire in the moonlight, reminiscing about how you killed your children for your own selfish needs?"

Imogen’s face contorted with rage, her entire body trembling as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. "Yes! That old woman was my biggest support," she cried out, her voice raw with pain.

"I knew her even before I left. You might look down on me, Jessamyn, but I did what any mother would do to protect her son. I knew he would suffer with me, that staying here wouldn’t be good for him. You, of all people, should understand that. You talk all high and mighty, but would you have taken good care of my son if he were alive, knowing he was my son? I did him a favor, and no one can convince me otherwise."

Jessamyn was stunned, the weight of Imogen’s words settling over her like a heavy blanket. She had guessed right—someone else had manipulated Imogen into killing her son. But the question was, why? What possible motive could there be for driving a mother to such a desperate, horrific act?

"You knew he would marry me once you left?" Jessamyn asked, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

Imogen’s certainty was unnerving. She had rationalized her actions, convinced herself that killing her son was an act of mercy, a way to spare him from the abuses she believed Jessamyn would inflict upon him. But was that delusion, or had she been manipulated into thinking so? Jessamyn herself had never imagined she would end up in Theodulf Castle. Had everyone else seen it coming except her?

"Was that old lady wearing widow’s weeds and had one bad eye?" Jessamyn asked, her voice trembling slightly as she thought of the old seer. Could it be the same woman who manipulated Imogen? But it didn’t make sense.

That woman didn’t want her to get together with Jerrick. She tried to kill her. If so, who else could it be?

Imogen glared at Jessamyn, her lips pressing into a thin line as she turned her face away, refusing to answer.

"How did you know I’d end up here when I myself didn’t know?" Jessamyn pressed, her voice gaining strength as her anger began to build once more.

"Are you trying to rub salt in my wounds?" Imogen shouted, her voice breaking with emotion. Jessamyn clicked her tongue in frustration and turned to leave. This conversation was going nowhere, and she was done trying to get through to Imogen. But just as she began to walk away, she felt a rush of air behind her.

Imogen, in a fit of desperation, lunged at Jessamyn, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. But before she could even reach her, Jostein, who had been standing guard, reacted instinctively. With a swift, powerful kick, he struck Imogen hard in the head, sending her crashing to the ground.

Imogen lay there, motionless, her eyes wide with shock as she stared up at the sky, her breathing shallow. Jessamyn turned to look at her, her face a mask of cold indifference as she noticed the dagger in her hand.

The pity she had felt earlier had evaporated, replaced by a deep, simmering anger. This woman, who had caused so much pain, who had twisted the truth to fit her own narrative, was no longer worth her time.

Jessamyn turned to leave, but...