Madeleine Arguin arrived at *Twinkle* an hour early. She paced the velvet-lined waiting room of her family’s flagship boutique, her excitement so palpable she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
Last night, she’d received a coded message from the Dowager: the Princess had consumed every drop of the alchemical tea.
*Four days,* Madeleine thought, her eyes shining with a dark, predatory glee. *The alchemist said that after four days of movement, the fetus would be fragile enough to shatter at the slightest jar. And with the carriage I’ve prepared... it’s only a matter of hours.*
She had personally seen to the tampering of Cornelia’s carriage. The shock absorbers had been drained of their fluid, and the wooden wheels had been weakened with hidden vertical fractures. On the cobblestones of the merchant district, it would be a bone-jarring ride.
But Madeleine’s plan didn't stop at a miscarriage. She had already bribed the royal physician who would be "on call" for the emergency. After the baby was lost, the doctor would administer a second dose of poison—one that would scar Cornelia’s womb and ensure she could never conceive again.
*A barren duchess is a useless duchess,* Madeleine mused. *Once the Emperor sees his daughter is a failure, he’ll have no choice but to let Eric divorce her. And then... the Brant crown will finally be mine.*
Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of a guest she hadn't invited.
“Miss Arguin. It’s been a while.”
Madeleine turned to see Marchioness Philippe, the elegant but formidable assistant to Duchess Lenheim. She was accompanied by a gaggle of Emperor Faction ladies, all of whom looked at the *Twinkle* display cases with a mix of curiosity and disdain.
“Marchioness Philippe,” Madeleine said, her voice dripping with an icy politeness. “I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you preferred the... less refined... selections at *The Gilded Solitaire*.”
“I do,” the Marchioness replied, her golden eyes scanning the room. “But I heard *Twinkle* was struggling to keep up with the latest market shifts, so I thought I’d come and see the 'obsolete' stock for myself.”
Madeleine’s jaw tightened. “Obsolete? We have the most exclusive mining contracts in the Empire.”
“Is that so? Then why do I see no jade in your windows? I’ve heard that the demand for high-quality jade has tripled in the last forty-eight hours. It seems the new Imperial fashion is leaning toward the 'common' stone. You really should try to keep up with the news, Madeleine. It’s embarrassing for a daughter of Arguin to be so... behind.”
Before Madeleine could respond to the insult, the Marchioness turned and swept out of the room, her entourage following like a fleet of colorful ships.
Madeleine stood frozen, her blood boiling. *Jade? A trend? She’s lying. She just wants to rattle me.*
“Miss Madeleine!” a clerk whispered, rushing into the room. “The Duke’s carriage has arrived. The Duchess and the Dowager are at the gate.”
Madeleine shoved the thought of jade aside and hurried to the entrance. She prepared her most sympathetic, "grieving friend" expression, expecting to see a pale, sickly Cornelia stumbling from the tampered carriage.
But the woman who stepped onto the pavement looked as radiant as the morning sun.
“Madeleine! Good morning,” Cornelia said, her voice clear and resonant.
Madeleine’s mask nearly cracked. Cornelia looked perfectly healthy. Her skin was glowing, her eyes were bright, and she moved with a vigor that suggested she hadn't felt a single bump on the road.
Behind her, Dowager Duchess Bianca looked as if she’d been forced to eat glass. She stared at the carriage, then at Cornelia, her confusion bordering on panic.
*Why is she walking?* the Dowager’s expression screamed. *The wheels should have shattered. She should be bleeding.*
I caught Madeleine’s eye and offered her a small, knowing smile. *You forgot one thing, Maddy,* I thought. *Randon was the best head butler in the Empire for a reason. He spotted your 'adjustments' within minutes and had the carriage rebuilt by midnight. It was the smoothest ride of my life.*
***
Inside the boutique, the "harmonious" trio was the center of attention. Madeleine had gathered nearly a dozen noblewomen to witness Cornelia’s "collapse."
“Is it true the Dowager gave you a special tea, Your Highness?” a countess asked.
“It is,” Cornelia said, patting her stomach. “It’s been so beneficial. I feel... transformed.”
Madeleine watched Cornelia, her frustration mounting. *Wait for it,* she told herself. *The shopping trip has only just begun. The poison is still in her system.*
“Madeleine,” Cornelia said, standing up. “Could you point me to the powder room? I need to adjust my corset. I’m starting to feel a bit... heavy.”
Madeleine’s heart leaped. *Finally. A symptom.*
“Of course, dear. Through the hall, to the right. The room at the far end is the most private.”
As soon as Cornelia left the room, Bianca pulled a small silver flask from her muff. She leaned over Cornelia’s discarded teacup and poured a thick, colorless liquid into the remains.
“If the first dose wasn't enough,” Bianca hissed, “this one will finish it.”
Madeleine nodded, her eyes fixed on the door. *Come back and drink your death, Cornelia.*
Then, a sound like a thunderclap shook the building.
*CRASH.*
The entire shop rattled. Dust puffed from the ceiling, and the screams of panicked customers echoed from the main hall.
“What was that?” Madeleine shouted, springing to her feet.
A clerk burst into the room, his face white. “The grand chandelier! The central support snapped! It’s fallen in the hallway!”
Madeleine didn't wait. She ran into the hall, her mind racing with a single, desperate hope. *If she was under it... if she’s dead... my problems are solved.*
She reached the wreckage and stopped.
The massive crystal chandelier lay in a million shards across the marble floor. And standing just inches from the jagged edge was a woman in a green velvet dress.
Cornelia stood perfectly still, her black lace veil fluttering in the draft. She looked like a ghost amidst the ruin.
“Cornelia!” Madeleine screamed, her voice a mix of feigned horror and genuine, frantic excitement. “Are you hurt? Speak to me!”
I looked at Madeleine through the lace of my veil, my heart beating with a cold, rhythmic precision. *I told you I was bringing a 'guest' to the party, Madeleine,* I thought, looking up at the frayed cable. *And my guest is the truth.*