“Are you serious? She’s your daughter!”
The Marchioness’s voice was a shrill, desperate thing, but the Marquis of Arguin only let out a heavy, weary sigh.
“Yes, it is unfortunate that she was so foolish,” he said, his voice as cold as a mountain stream. “If one is going to eliminate a member of the Imperial family, one should at least have the decency to do it without leaving a trail of breadcrumbs leading back to the family jewelry store.”
He looked at his wife, his green eyes devoid of any fatherly warmth. “I will not tolerate actions that threaten the status of House Arguin. The Emperor is looking for an excuse to dismantle our power, and Madeleine handed him the leash. If she dies in the Tower, she dies. I have already begun vetting candidates from the branch families to name as my successor.”
The Marchioness collapsed into a chair, her face buried in her hands. She knew her husband—he was a man who had abandoned his own sister, the Empress, when the political winds shifted. Madeleine was just another pawn to be sacrificed to save the king.
***
In the salon, the gossip had moved on to the Duke of Brant.
“They say he hasn't even submitted a petition for his mother,” a lady whispered, her eyes wide with scandal. “He’s abandoned the Dowager to the Ministry of Justice.”
“And the Duchess? Still no body?”
“The river is deep this time of year. They say the stones at the bottom would have shredded a body in days. There’s likely nothing left to find.”
“It’s a fittingly miserable end for an 'evil woman', isn't it? Disappeared into the mud without even a grave to mark her passage.”
I sat in the corner, the black veil of my "Frontier Widow" disguise pulled low. I listened to them discuss my death with the same casual interest they might use for the price of silk.
*A miserable end,* I thought, a ghost of a smile touching my lips. *Yes. The end of Cornelia Brant is indeed miserable. But the life of Countess Hurd is just beginning.*
I stood up, signaling to Janet. It was time to leave. I had picked up the final reagents from Barakiel, and the carriage was loaded with enough gold and supplies to see us to the Eastern ports.
As I reached the door, Baroness Caden blocked my path. She looked at me with a mix of curiosity and awe.
“Countess Hurd?” she whispered. “I recognized the bag. You carry it every time you visit.”
“Ah, Baroness. You have a sharp eye,” I said, my voice steady. “As a woman recently arrived from the provinces, I find it difficult to trust the locks on a city residence. I keep my valuables close.”
“I understand. And... I heard you were leaving the capital?”
“I have business in the East,” I said. “My late husband’s estates require my attention.”
The Baroness nodded, her gaze lingering on my mourning robes. “It’s a pity you have to travel through the mountains. They say the Duke is still there, searching. People say... he must have loved her so much.”
I felt a surge of pure, acidic disgust. *Love?* I wanted to laugh in her face. I wanted to tell her about the cold nights, the ignored letters, and the way he’d looked at me as if I were a stain on his boot.
“People see what they want to see, Baroness,” I said, my voice like iron. “A man who searches for a ghost is usually just trying to find a way to quiet his own conscience. I wish you a pleasant afternoon.”
***
On our way out of the city, I ordered Sardin to take the long road—the one that overlooked the riverbank downstream from the cliff.
“My lady?” Sardin asked, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”
“I need to see the result of my work, Sardin. Just once.”
As the carriage reached the crest of the hill, I looked out the window. Down by the water, amidst the gray stones and the churning foam, I saw a solitary figure.
He was unrecognizable. The polished, golden Hero of the Frontier was gone. In his place was a man in tattered, mud-stained clothes, his hair a wild mess and his face gaunted by starvation. He was moving a massive stone with his bare hands, his movements slow and agonizing.
“Why?” I whispered, staring at the ruin of the man I had once loved.
For a moment, I felt a flicker of confusion. Was it possible? Had I been wrong? Did he truly—
Then, the cold, cynical logic of my second life returned. I remembered the Imperial Law of Succession. *If a spouse is missing without a body, the remaining spouse cannot remarry for five years.*
I let out a hollow, jagged laugh. *Of course. He isn't searching for me. He’s searching for a death certificate. He needs my body so he can marry Madeleine Arguin—or some other Noble Faction puppet—without waiting half a decade.*
He was desperate for the freedom my "missing" status denied him.
“Stop the carriage,” I commanded.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the black lace hat I’d worn at *Twinkle*. It was a recognizable item, unique to the Duchess. I took my dagger and slashed the fabric, tearing the delicate lace and fraying the edges until it looked as if it had been snagged on sharp rocks and dragged through a violent current.
I handed the ruined hat to Sardin.
“Go down there,” I whispered. “Wait until the knights are patrolling the downstream bend. Plant this among the reeds near the sandbar. Make sure it looks like it washed up after the last storm.”
Sardin looked at the ruined lace, then at me. He saw the cold, murderous efficiency in my eyes and nodded slowly.
“Give him the 'body' he’s looking for, Sardin,” I said, leaning back into the shadows of the carriage. “Give him his death certificate, so I can finally be free of him.”