“My lady, are we returning to the estate?”
I shook my head at the coachman's query, my gaze fixed on the bustling streets of the capital. “No. Take us to the Alchemists’ Quarter. I have an errand to run.”
Sardin, who had been acting as my silent shadow and porter, frowned. “The Alchemists’ Quarter? I thought you were finished for the day.”
“I’m never finished, Sardin. I just need to check on a... special project.”
Sardin’s expression shifted into one of deep, uneasy concern. “A special project? My lady, you wouldn't be... looking for a particular kind of elixir, would you?”
I looked at him, amusement dancing in my violet eyes. I knew exactly what he was thinking. In this neighborhood, "alchemy" was often shorthand for poisons and untraceable draft. Given my reputation and my recent declaration of war against Eric, it was a logical conclusion.
*You think I’m going to poison him?* I thought. *As satisfying as that would be, I’m not foolish enough to risk a treason charge. Not when I’m this close to freedom.*
I didn't answer. Instead, I pressed my index finger to my lips and glanced toward the front of the carriage.
“Have you forgotten who pays the driver’s salary, Sardin?” I whispered. “ Walls have ears, and carriages have floorboards.”
Sardin immediately went silent, his jaw tightening as he realized his mistake. I offered him a small, reassuring pat on the arm.
“Alchemists don't just make potions. Some of them make tools. Things that can change the world.”
The carriage eventually slowed to a crawl in a narrow, soot-stained alley. The driver opened the door, his face a mask of professional boredom. “We’ve arrived, my lady.”
I stepped out and looked up at the weathered sign hanging over a particularly dilapidated shop.
*[Miracle Cosmetics & Chemical Wonders! Say goodbye to wrinkles, spots, and the march of time!]*
I entered the shop, the bell over the door letting out a lonely, tinny chime. The interior was cramped, smelling of sulfur and cheap rosewater. A cheerful young woman in a stained apron hurried forward.
“Good afternoon, my lady! What can I do for you today? For wrinkles, we have the Black Bottle; for blemishes, the White Bottle; and if you’re looking for a youthful glow, our Green Bottle is second to none!”
I offered her a knowing smile. “I’m looking for the Red Bottle.”
The woman’s smile faltered, her eyes darting to Sardin. “The Red Bottle? I’m afraid we don't have such a thing in stock...”
“But you have the Red Flower,” I said, my voice dropping an octave.
The woman let out a long, shaky sigh. The cheerful mask vanished, replaced by the look of a woman who knew she was dealing with someone who had walked through the back door of the world.
She went to the entrance and flipped the sign to *'Closed.'* “It seems you know exactly what you’re looking for.”
I nodded and turned to Sardin. “Wait here. This won't take long.”
“But my lady—”
“Wait here,” I repeated, my tone leaving no room for argument.
The woman gestured toward a curtained doorway at the back of the shop. “Follow me. The Master is in the lower level.”
***
Back at the Brant estate, Eric was staring at a short, coded message from Janet.
*[The Duchess has left the jewelry store. She is currently at 'The Flower Workshop' in the Alchemists’ Quarter.]*
Eric’s eyes darkened. *The Flower Workshop.* To the uninitiated, it was a failing cosmetics shop. But the military intelligence reports he’d read during the war told a different story. It was a front for a renegade alchemist specializing in "kinetic energy"—explosives and experimental weaponry.
*Cornelia, what are you doing there?*
A wave of guilt washed over him. He knew he shouldn't be tracking her every move. He’d promised to give her space, to let her be her own woman. But the fear for her safety—and the safety of the child she carried—was a constant, gnawing presence in his mind.
“Your Excellency, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince has arrived,” a servant announced, their voice trembling. “He’s... he’s demanding to see the Duchess.”
Eric rose from his desk, his expression turning to stone. He headed toward the front hall, the sound of breaking pottery echoing through the corridors before he even reached the entrance.
Prince Franz was standing in the foyer, his face a mottled red. He had just smashed a priceless vase and was currently screaming at the head maid.
*Yesterday, she threatened me,* Franz thought, his mind racing with a mix of fury and fear. *She blackmailed me, she stole my mine, and she dared to humiliate me in front of those insects! I won't let her get away with it.*
He knew Cornelia was pregnant. He was convinced that if he threatened the child, she would crumble. She’d always been a soft target for his bullying, after all.
“Where is she?” Franz shrieked. “Bring her out here right now!”
“Your Highness.”
The voice was low, polite, and vibrated with a suppressed lethal intent. Franz shivered involuntarily, turning to see Eric standing at the top of the stairs.
“Duke Brant!”
Franz tried to puff out his chest. *He’s just a noble. I’m the future Emperor. He wouldn't dare touch me.* He remembered the rumors that Eric loathed his wife. *Surely he won't care if I put the Crow in her place.*
“Is there something I can help you with, Prince Franz?” Eric asked, descending the stairs with a slow, predatory grace.
“I have business with my sister,” Franz snapped. “She’s hiding from me, and I want her found!”
Eric offered a thin, mirthless smile. “My wife is currently away on business. But please, don't let that stop you. Why don't we discuss this in my office? I’m sure it’s a matter of state importance.”
Franz hesitated, then followed Eric into the office, his arrogance returning as the door clicked shut. He sat on the sofa without waiting for an invitation, a smug look on his face.
*See? He’s terrified of me. He can't even offer a rebuke.*
“Would you like some tea?” a servant asked, hovering near the door.
“I’ll take a milk tea,” Franz said, his voice loud and entitled.
“There will be no need for tea,” Eric said, dismissing the servant and locking the door.
Franz’s brow furrowed. “Wait, I didn't say I was leaving. I want to see Cornelia, and—”
His words were cut off as Eric moved. It was a blur of motion that Franz’s eyes couldn't even track. Before he could react, Eric’s hands were clamped onto his shoulders, his fingers digging into the muscle with a bruising, terrifying force.
Franz screamed in pain, his legs buckling beneath him. “What are you doing! Let go of me!”
Eric leaned down, his face inches from the Prince’s. His blue eyes weren't those of a "hero"—they were the eyes of a beast that had spent years in the dirt and blood of the front lines.
“Do you have any idea where you are, Franz?” Eric asked, his voice a low, vibrating growl.
“You... you bastard! I’m the Crown Prince! I’ll have your head for this!”
Eric’s grip tightened, the sound of popping joints filling the small room. Franz let out a pathetic whimper, his eyes filling with tears.
“You came into my home like a stray dog,” Eric said. “You smashed my property. You threatened my household. Do you truly think your title will protect you within these walls?”
“I... I was only...”
“This is my duchy,” Eric interrupted. “And in this room, there is only you and me. Who do you think the Emperor will believe? The 'foolish prince' who can't stay out of the gambling dens, or the 'War Hero' who has saved this Empire three times over?”
Franz stared at him, the realization of his helplessness finally sinking in. He had thought Eric was a puppet, a man bound by duty and social standing. He hadn't realized he was dealing with a monster who had simply decided to wear a human mask.
“Do not come back here,” Eric said, releasing him with a shove that sent him sprawling onto the floor. “Do not speak to my wife. Do not even look in her direction. If you do, I will ensure that the Emperor finds out exactly where you’ve been spending his personal treasury.”
Franz scrambled to his feet, his shoulders aching, his eyes full of a coward’s hatred. He didn't say another word. He practically fell out of the room, fleeing the estate as if the devil himself were at his heels.
Eric watched him go, then slowly unclenched his fists. His hands were shaking—not from fear, but from the effort it had taken not to kill the boy where he stood.
*I have to find her,* he thought. *Before she gets herself into something even more dangerous.*