The silence in the VIP lounge was short-lived. As the door clicked shut behind me, the room erupted into a frenzy of low-voiced, electrified speculation.
“Did you see her face? She looked absolutely devastated.”
“And the necklace! To physically destroy a gift from a princess... the Dowager has truly lost her mind. It’s one thing to be a difficult mother-in-law, but this is a diplomatic insult.”
“I’m not surprised,” another voice chimed in. “Have you noticed how often Lady Arguin is at the Brant estate lately? The Dowager is clearly trying to push the Duchess out to make room for her favorite niece. It’s scandalous.”
The gossipers began to pick apart every detail of my appearance. They noted my "modest" dress—a sign that I was no longer being supported by the household budget—and the fact that I was repairing jewelry instead of simply buying new pieces.
“She’s a princess of the blood, and she’s living like a pauper in her own husband’s house,” a countess whispered, her fan trembling. “It’s a disgrace.”
Madame Vane, the manager, watched the room with a look of mounting dread. It was her job to maintain the peace, but the fire I’d lit was already out of her control. The Pro-Imperial faction was already sharpening their pens to write to the palace, while the Neutral nobles were starting to look at the Brant name with a new, cold suspicion.
***
As the carriage pulled away from the boutique, I leaned back against the cushions, a feeling of cold, dark satisfaction warming my chest.
*The play is set,* I thought. *The Empress wanted a justification to bring the Brants to heel. I’ve given her a martyr’s story that the entire capital will be talking about by tomorrow morning.*
I was no longer the "Obsessive Crow." I was the tragic victim of a tyrannical mother-in-law and a backstabbing cousin. Every social transgression Bianca committed from now on would be filtered through the lens of my "unmerited suffering."
“My lady?”
Janet’s voice was soft, hesitant. I looked at her and saw a look of genuine worry in her brown eyes.
“Why did you call me, Janet?”
“I... I was watching you in the store. I saw the way you looked at the necklace. You seemed... deeply upset.”
I looked away, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. Upset? The moment I’d seen the mangled gold, I’d felt a wave of nausea, not because of the jewelry, but because of the memory it triggered. In my past life, I had been that necklace—a thing of value that had been systematically broken and discarded because it didn't fit the Dowager’s "taste."
“I’m fine, Janet. Don't worry about me.”
***
When I returned to the estate, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of an impending storm. Bianca was waiting for me in the foyer, her face a mask of purple, vibrating rage.
“You,” she hissed. “Come here.”
I offered her a shallow, perfect bow. “Mother. You seem distressed. Did the seafood not agree with you?”
“Are you mocking me? You made me wait for over an hour! You ignored my summons and fled the house like a common thief!”
“I didn't flee,” I said, my voice calm and polite. “I simply realized that the smell in the dining room was... unappetizing. I thought it best to dine elsewhere rather than offend you with my lack of appetite.”
“Shut your mouth!” Bianca shrieked.
I smiled internally. She was losing control. In this house, I was still the daughter of the Emperor. She couldn't publicly strike me without inviting a royal investigation, but in the privacy of the estate, she clearly thought she could get away with a "domestic correction."
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” I said, taking a step toward the stairs. “If you’re finished, I’d like to go to my room.”
Bianca moved with a speed born of pure, unadulterated spite. She lunged forward, her hand raised, her eyes shining with the light of a woman who had finally found her breaking point.
Janet moved faster. She stepped in front of me, her body acting as a human shield. “Please, madam. Control yourself.”
“Step aside, you gutter-born slut!” Bianca screamed, her voice cracking. “How dare you stand in my way! You receive your salary from *me*!”
“I am the Duchess’s escort,” Janet said, her voice steady. “I cannot allow you to harm her.”
*Slap!*
The sound echoed through the foyer. Bianca’s hand, heavy with sharp, jeweled rings, caught Janet across the cheek. Janet’s head snapped to the side, a thin line of blood immediately appearing where a ruby had cut into her skin.
I felt a surge of rage that made my vision blur. *How dare you?*
Bianca raised her hand again, this time aiming for me as I tried to pull Janet back. She was swinging wild, clearly intending to claim it was an accident—that she’d been aiming for the servant and "missed."
I didn't move. I stood my ground, my chin tilted up. I was healthy, and a single blow wouldn't harm the child, but the sight of a bruised princess would be the final nail in the Brant family’s coffin. My father would have the perfect excuse to seize the duchy’s assets.
*Go on,* I thought, gritting my teeth. *Hit me. Give me the injury I need to finish you.*
But the blow never landed.
A hand shot out of the shadows, grabbing Bianca’s wrist mid-swing with a force that made her bones creak.
“What do you think you’re doing, Mother?”
It was Eric. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying fury—the same look he’d given Prince Franz in the office.
Bianca froze, her eyes wide with shock. “Eric! This woman... she’s being insolent! She’s mocking me!”
Eric didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on me, his blue eyes hard and unreadable. “Go to your room. Now.”
“I’m not the one who started this,” I said, my heart hammering. “She struck Janet. She was trying to strike me.”
“I said go to your room,” Eric repeated, his voice dropping into a register of dangerous, vibrating command. “You are not responsible for this situation. My mother just attempted to strike *my knight*.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
The sudden hope that had flared in my chest—the tiny, foolish part of me that thought he was protecting *me*—died in an instant.
I looked at Janet, who was holding her bleeding cheek, and then back at Eric. Of course. He wasn't angry because I was in danger. He was angry because his property—his loyal subordinate—had been damaged because of the trouble I’d brought into his house.
I didn't say another word. I turned and walked up the stairs, my face a mask of cold, indifferent pride.
*Don't be a fool, Cornelia,* I reminded myself as I reached the safety of my room. *He doesn't care about the wife. He only cares about the tools he uses to keep his house in order.*