“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood the situation, Mother,” I said, my voice smooth and practiced.
The Dowager Duchess’s brow furrowed. “Misunderstood? I heard clearly enough that it was a gift.”
“It was a gift in name only,” I said, stifling a small, mocking laugh. “As you know, my brother, the Crown Prince, has a... expensive gambling habit. If the Empress had kept the mine in her own name, Franz would have bled it dry within a month. She 'gifted' it to me so that I could sell it on her behalf and secure the funds where he couldn't touch them.”
The mention of Franz’s degeneracy immediately shifted the Dowager’s expression from greed to a simmering, resentful acceptance. She knew the Crown Prince’s reputation only too well. She also knew she couldn't openly complain about the Empress’s strategic maneuvers.
“I see,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing. “Madeleine must have misinterpreted the details.”
“Well, she is young,” I said, my voice dripping with false sweetness. “She likely didn't understand the complexities of such a transaction.”
The Dowager’s gaze sharpened. She had favored Madeleine since the girl was a child, grooming her as the "ideal" daughter-in-law. Any slight against her protégé was a slight against her own judgment.
“You seem to take a great deal of pleasure in these 'complexities,' Cornelia,” she said, standing up. “Don't let it go to your head. Status is a fleeting thing in this court.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied, offering her a shallow, mocking smile. “Thank you for the visit, Mother. I’m sorry it had to be so brief.”
She swept out of the room without another word, her silk skirts hushing against the floor. As soon as she was gone, I looked over at Sardin, who was still standing by the door.
“Sit on the couch, Sardin. You look like a gargoyle standing there.”
He hesitated, then heeded my command, settling onto the plush velvet sofa with a look of intense discomfort. He placed his plate on the low table and began to eat, his movements careful and measured. Seeing him eat like a human being instead of a dog on the floor brought me a strange sense of comfort.
*I’m not the monster they think I am,* I thought, taking a bite of my sandwich.
The crunch of the fresh vegetables, the saltiness of the pork, and the sharp, tangy bite of the mustard sauce was heaven. It was exactly what my body had been craving. I’d spent my first pregnancy nauseous and weak; this time, the child seemed determined to make me eat everything in sight.
*I’ll have to find the right moment to tell Eric,* I thought. *But not yet. Not until I have the mine transfer in my hand.*
I remembered Randon then. The way he’d stepped in front of the Dowager, even knowing he’d likely be slapped for it. It was a surprising show of backbone from a man I’d considered a spineless sycophant.
*He’s desperate,* I realized. *And desperation is a powerful tool.*
“Sardin,” I said as he finished his meal. “Find Randon. Tell him I wish to speak with him.”
***
Randon entered the room a few minutes later, his steps hesitant. He took one look at me—sitting by the window in a white lace morning gown—and I saw his breath catch. For all his faults, Randon was a man who respected the "aura" of the imperial family. To him, I wasn't just the Duchess; I was a princess of the blood.
“My lady,” he said, offering a deep, respectful bow. “You called for me?”
“I think you know why you’re here, Randon.”
“I... I am a simple man, my lady. I would not presume to guess your intentions.”
I laughed softly. “Sit down. This is going to be a long conversation.”
Randon sat, his back as straight as a board. I could see the sweat beading on his forehead. He was caught between a rock and a hard place—terrified of the Dowager, yet clearly sensing that I was his only path back to his former glory.
“What I want from you is simple,” I said. “I want you to be my eyes and ears in this house.”
“You want me to... spy for you?”
“Let’s call it 'monitoring,'” I said. “And no, I’m not asking you to spy on my mother-in-law. I’m interested in the man who took your place.”
Randon’s eyes widened. “Master Zenon?”
“Specifically, Zenon. He’s been handling the household accounts, hasn't he? Doing the job you used to do?”
“Yes, but... Zenon is the Duke’s right hand. He’s a knight, and I’m just a servant. How could I possibly monitor him?”
“You were the butler for ten years, Randon. You know every corner of this estate. You know the rhythm of the staff, the timing of the deliveries, and the secrets of the ledger. Who better to notice when things are... out of sync?”
Randon hesitated. Zenon was a powerful man, second only to the Duke himself. Getting on his bad side was a death sentence.
“I was truly grateful for what you did earlier,” I said, my voice softening into a tone of gentle, manipulative warmth. “To see a servant risk a slap from the Grand Lady to protect my peace... it touched me, Randon.”
I saw the pride flare in his eyes. For a man like him, a word of genuine thanks from a member of the imperial family was worth more than a bag of gold.
“I was planning on reinstating you as butler,” I continued, watching his expression carefully. “But it seems Zenon has other plans. I heard him speaking with the head maid yesterday. He’s very impressed with her son, Ruban.”
Randon’s jaw tightened. Ruban was the son of a kitchen maid, a boy with no training but a great deal of ambition. The idea of being replaced by a child of no standing clearly rankled him.
“He intends to keep you in the scullery, Randon. He finds you 'unreliable.' He wants someone he can control completely.”
“Unreliable?” Randon whispered, his face turning a mottled red. “I’ve served this house for thirty years!”
“Then don't let him take it from you,” I said, leaning forward. “Go to him. Offer to 'assist' him with the household management. Be so helpful, so indispensable, that he has no choice but to let you into his inner circle. And while you’re there... keep a record of everything he does. Every meeting, every document, and every visitor.”
Randon stared at me, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I could see the moment he made his choice. The fear of Zenon was finally outweighed by his resentment and his need for revenge.
“I’ll do it, my lady,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I won't let that upstart take my place.”
I offered him a bright, encouraging smile. “I knew I could count on you, Randon. Go now. Show him your 'honest' side.”
As the door closed behind him, I sat back and picked up my tea.
*I knew you’d fall for it,* I thought, a cold, satisfied smile touching my lips. *The world doesn't care about your loyalty, Randon. It only cares about what you’re willing to do to keep your pride.*