“False accusation? As Commander of the Central Knights, surely you know the penalty for such a reach, Marquis Philippe.”
Madeleine Arguin stood her ground, her voice steady and her gaze defiant. *He has nothing,* she thought. *The driver is dead, the carriage is at the bottom of a ravine, and the Dowager will never talk. He’s just fishing for a reaction.*
“I am well aware of the law, Miss Arguin,” Philippe said, stepping closer. “Which is why I’ve already secured the evidence from your boutique. My investigation team examined the remains of the grand chandelier at *Twinkle*. The silk support rope didn't snap due to weight. It was partially severed with a jeweler’s blade—the kind used for fine detailing. And who was it that directed the Duchess to walk down that specific hallway at that specific time?”
Madeleine’s heart skipped a beat, but she didn't flinch. “I told her to go to the powder room because she said she felt ill! Am I now a murderer for being a concerned cousin? If I wanted to kill her, I wouldn't do it in my own store and ruin my family’s reputation!”
“A valid point,” Philippe admitted. “But while the Duchess was away from her table...”
“Grand Madam! What is this?”
A sharp, shrill voice interrupted the standoff. Everyone turned to see Gisèle Schulz—the quiet, merchant’s daughter—clutching the Dowager’s wrist. Bianca was struggling to pull her hand away, her fingers wrapped around a small glass vial.
“Release me, you impudent girl!” Bianca screamed. “This is my personal medicine!”
“I saw you,” Gisèle said, her voice trembling with a sudden, fierce courage. “At the boutique. I saw you pour this into Cornelia’s cup while she was out of the room. You thought no one was looking, but I saw the reflection in the jewelry case!”
Gisèle turned to Philippe, her eyes wide. “Marquis! My family trades in medicinal herbs. Please, let me examine this!”
Bianca’s eyes flashed with a panicked, animalistic light. *Not this girl. Not a Schulz.* She knew that if a member of the Schulz family tasted the liquid, her life was over.
“Fine! Look at it, if you’re so obsessed with my health!” Bianca shouted. She made as if to hand the vial to Gisèle, but at the last second, her fingers "slipped."
*CRASH.*
The vial shattered against the rocky soil of the mountain pass. Bianca let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Oh, how clumsy of me. My nerves are simply shattered.”
But her smug expression vanished in an instant. As the colorless, water-like liquid soaked into the dry earth, the soil began to smoke and turn a deep, bruised crimson.
“What... what is this?” Bianca whispered, her voice failing.
“It’s Taisalchu sap,” Gisèle said, her voice ringing with a cold, scientific certainty. “To the naked eye, it looks like water. But when it touches soil rich in iron—like the red clay of this mountain—it reacts and turns the color of blood. It’s a powerful abortifacient. Taken in high doses, it’s a death sentence for a fetus.”
Gisèle looked at the Dowager, her disgust plain. “Why were you carrying a concentrated poison for pregnant women, Grand Madam? Why were you trying to dispose of it the moment the Marquis mentioned an investigation?”
Philippe’s gaze was like a blade. “I think you’ll need to cooperate with us, Grand Madam. We’re currently analyzing the remains of the tea from the boutique. If the chemical signature matches...”
“You won’t find anything!” Bianca shrieked. “I... I take it for my menopause! It’s a common treatment!”
“Is it?” Gisèle asked. “Taisalchu must be taken for five days to be effective. If you’re telling the truth, there will be no more of it in the palace. But if we find a stash...”
Bianca’s lips curled into a confident, ugly smile. *Search all you want, you little brat. I had the head maid burn every last tea bag this morning.*
“Search the manor, Marquis,” Bianca challenged, her voice cold. “I have nothing to hide.”
***
It was late at night when the search of the Brant manor was completed.
Bianca and Madeleine stood in the foyer, their expressions arrogant and bored. They were waiting for the Marquis to apologize for the "unnecessary" intrusion.
But when Philippe emerged from Cornelia’s wing, he wasn't holding an apology. He was holding a silk sachet and a bundle of letters.
“We found a hidden cache of Taisalchu tea bags in the Duchess’s room,” Philippe said, his voice flat. “And we found these.”
He held up a series of letters—the correspondence between the Dowager and Madeleine Arguin, detailing the plan to "ease the burden" of the child and replace Cornelia as the mistress of House Brant.
Bianca’s face went the color of ash. “How? I... I ordered Martha to burn those!”
“Where is the head maid?” Philippe asked.
A nearby maid stepped back, her voice trembling. “She’s... she’s been missing since this morning, sir. She took her son and left before the search began.”
The truth hit Bianca like a physical blow. Martha—the woman who had been her shadow for thirty years—had betrayed her. She had saved the evidence and fled, leaving her mistress to burn.
“Arrest them,” Philippe commanded.
The knights stepped forward. Bianca tried to draw herself up, to invoke the power of her son’s name. “How dare you! When my son returns from the North, he will have your heads! He is the Duke of Brant!”
But even as she spoke, her voice faltered. She looked around the grand hall, at the silent servants and the cold stone walls, and realized for the first time that Eric wasn't coming to save her. He was at the river, and she was alone.
***
One week passed.
The news of the Dowager’s arrest and Madeleine’s imprisonment had sent shockwaves through the Empire. The Noble Faction was in ruins, and the Emperor had declared a state of mourning.
But at the base of the mountain ravine, none of that mattered.
Eric stood knee-deep in the freezing mountain river, his clothes tattered and his hands raw from moving stones. He hadn't slept or eaten in seven days. He looked like a specter—his eyes hollow, his skin gaunt, his aura flickering like a dying candle.
“Your Highness,” Chester said, his voice breaking. The knight commander was standing on the bank, his own face lined with a week of grief. “Please. The search team has covered five miles of the river. The current... it was too strong. We have to face the reality.”
Eric didn't look at him. He shoved a massive boulder aside, his Transcendent strength the only thing keeping him standing.
“She’s not here,” Eric whispered, his voice a dry, rasping croak. “If she were dead, I’d have found her body. She’s just... she’s hiding. She’s doing this to punish me.”
He let out a short, jagged laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“She’s so stubborn, Chester. She’s just waiting for me to apologize. I’ll find her. I just have to keep looking.”
He plunged his hands back into the water, his obsession bordering on madness. Behind him, the knights lowered their heads in silence. They were no longer searching for a Duchess. They were watching a Duke lose his mind.