“Grand Madam. Madeleine. I apologize for the delay.”
Cornelia entered the drawing room with a grace that made the air seem to chill. She sat in the velvet armchair, her back perfectly straight, and offered them a smile that was just a fraction too wide.
“So,” she said, her golden eyes darting between the two women. “What were you discussing? Besides me, of course.”
Madeleine’s heart hammered against her ribs. *Did she hear?* she wondered, her mind racing to recall if they’d used any specific names. But she forced herself to maintain a look of wide-eyed innocence.
“We were just admiring the garden, Cornelia,” Madeleine said, her voice a pitch too high.
Cornelia’s smile vanished. Her face went cold and hard, her gaze piercing through them both. “From your expressions, it seemed you were discussing something far more... sensitive... than topiary. Something I shouldn't have heard.”
The silence in the room became a physical weight. Bianca and Madeleine both swallowed hard, their minds racing to come up with a lie that wouldn't catch fire.
Then, just as the tension reached the breaking point, Cornelia laughed. It was a light, melodic sound that didn't reach her eyes.
“Oh my, look at your faces! I was only kidding.”
Madeleine let out a shaky, embarrassed laugh, but her hands were still trembling beneath the table. *She’s playing with us,* she realized. *She knows something is wrong, and she’s enjoying the panic.*
“Madeleine,” Cornelia said, turning her focus to the younger woman. “You must have been curious why I invited you here today.”
“Oh, well... yes,” Madeleine stammered. “Given the... unfortunate rumors... I wasn't sure if a meeting was wise.”
“The rumors are exactly why I invited you,” Cornelia said. “I’m tired of being pitied by the commoners and whispered about by the court. It’s exhausting to be the 'Tragic Duchess' every time I leave the house.”
Madeleine’s lip curled in a secret, ugly satisfaction. *She thinks she’s above our pity,* she thought. *Even in the face of ruin, she still clutches her pride like a dying bird.*
“I agree,” Madeleine said, her voice full of simulated warmth. “I wanted to reach out to you, but with the scandal at the boutique... I was afraid my presence would only make things worse for you.”
“Which is why we’re going to end the scandal,” Cornelia said. “I’m hosting a tea party in three days. I’ve already sent invitations to the young ladies of the Emperor’s faction. I want you to bring your own acquaintances—the daughters of the Noble faction. We shall show the capital that there is no 'feud' between us.”
Madeleine’s eyes lit up. *She’s inviting the Noble faction into her own home? She’s giving me a stage to destroy her.*
“Thank you, Cornelia,” Madeleine said, taking the Princess’s hand. “It’s a wonderful idea. I’ll make sure everyone understands the truth.”
Cornelia withdrew her hand slowly, a look of sudden, feigned realization crossing her face. “Oh! I’ve been so caught up in the planning that I haven't even offered you tea.”
She gestured for a maid, but Bianca stepped in, her voice smooth and practiced.
“Wait, Cornelia. Before we have the standard brew, I wanted to present you with a gift.”
The Dowager gestured to Martha, who brought forward a small, ornate cedar box. Bianca opened it to reveal a collection of silk sachets, the scent of lavender and dried herbs filling the air.
“I may be your mother-in-law in name only,” Bianca said, her voice soft and maternal, “but I cannot ignore the fact that you are carrying a child of House Brant. I’ve had this alchemical herbal blend prepared specifically for you. It’s designed to 'strengthen the foundations' and ensure the child is healthy.”
Cornelia looked at the box, her eyes welling with tears. It was a masterpiece of acting. “Grand Madam... I... I didn't expect such kindness.”
“Think nothing of it,” Bianca said, her internal monologue a scream of mocking laughter. *Yes, cry, you little fool. Drink the tonic that will tear that brat from your womb.*
“Emily,” Cornelia said to her maid. “Brew a pot of this immediately. I want to share this 'joy' with our guest.”
As the tea was served, Bianca watched with the intensity of a hawk. She watched Cornelia lift the cup, watched the steam rise against her pale skin, and watched as the Princess took a long, deep sip.
“It’s delicious,” Cornelia said, smiling at the Dowager. “It tastes... exactly as I expected.”
***
Miles away, on the road to the Northern border, Eric felt a sudden, sharp snap against his thigh. He looked down to see that the heavy leather belt holding his sword sheath had frayed and broken, the steel clattering against his armor.
“Sir?” Hyatt asked, pulling his horse alongside him.
Eric stared at the broken leather. He’d checked his gear that morning; the belt had been in perfect condition. In the language of the frontier, a broken sword belt before a battle was an omen of the worst kind.
A sudden, cold pang of anxiety bloomed in his chest. *Cornelia.*
“It’s nothing,” Eric said, handed the broken strap to his squire. “Keep the column moving. We reach the first outpost by sundown.”
He turned his gaze back to the horizon, but the image of the golden-haired boy from his dream flashed before his eyes. *“Don't leave us, Dad.”*
***
As soon as the carriage doors closed on Madeleine and the Dowager returned to her annex, the mask fell from my face.
“Obnoxious,” I whispered, my voice cold and hard.
I strode into my bedroom, my skin crawling from the "affection" they’d showered me with. “Emily! Bring water to wash my hands. And bring a basin of cold salt water. I need to rinse my mouth.”
I scrubbed my skin until it was red, the scent of their flowery perfumes making me nauseous. I’d only taken a single sip of the tea, and I’d kept the liquid against the roof of my mouth before "swallowing" into a handkerchief I’d tucked into my sleeve, but the metallic tang of the alchemy still lingered.
Sardin stepped from the shadows of the balcony, his expression grim. “Is everything ready, my lady?”
“Everything is perfect,” I said, drying my hands. “The Dowager thinks I’m a naive child, and Madeleine thinks she’s found her stage. They have four days before the catalyst reaches its peak.”
I looked at my reflection in the mirror, my hand resting on my stomach.
“Just a little more endurance, Damian,” I whispered. “Just a little more, and we’ll be free of this house forever.”