“What are you doing here?”
Bianca stared at the man standing outside her bars. Zenon—the Duke’s ever-reliable assistant—offered her a thin, practiced smile. He gestured to the guard, who nodded and retreated into the shadows of the corridor.
“I came to settle our accounts, Grand Madam,” Zenon said, his voice devoid of its usual subservient tone.
Bianca looked him up and down. His posture was different; he stood with the casual, dangerous grace of a predator. “You don't look like yourself, Zenon. Or should I say... Ivan?”
Zenon chuckled. His real name was Ivan, and he was the former commander of the **Blue Wolves**, the most ruthless mercenary guild in the Empire. Bianca had hired him years ago, ostensibly to protect Eric, but secretly to track the "Real Eric"—the son she had abandoned.
She had poured millions of gold coins into Ivan’s pockets, believing his reports of "last traces" and "spotted witnesses."
“So, what's the news, mercenary?” Bianca asked, her voice trembling with a desperate hope. “Have you found him? Is he coming to the capital?”
“We need more money,” Ivan said simply.
“More? I’ve already given you enough to buy a small kingdom!”
Ivan shrugged. “Finding a dead man is cheap. Bringing a 'ghost' back to life is expensive. The transport alone... the bribes for the Northern border guards... it adds up. When can I expect the payment?”
Bianca bit her lip, her eyes darting around the cell. “I am a prisoner, you fool! I have no access to the Brant vaults!”
“A pity,” Ivan mused. “But perhaps we can take a mortgage on your future?”
“A mortgage? On what?”
“The Brant Family Seal,” Ivan whispered, his eyes narrowing. “The platinum sachet that holds the keys to the secret armories and the offshore accounts. Hand it over, and I’ll ensure your 'real' son is on the next carriage to the capital.”
Bianca’s face hardened. She realized, with a sudden, sickening clarity, that she’d been a fool. “I never told you the Duke was a 'fake'. I only told you I was looking for my son. How do you know about the seal? How do you know about the twins?”
Ivan’s laughter was a low, jagged sound. “Oh, Bianca. You’re finally catching on. I didn't find your son. I *created* him. I manipulated the reports, fed you the 'traces', and watched as you bled your family dry to fund my retirement.”
He reached through the bars and clamped a hand onto her throat.
“Ugh! You... you bastard!” Bianca gasped, her fingers clawing at his armored gauntlet. “My son... where is he?”
“Your son?” Ivan grinned. “He died in a gutter in the North ten years ago. The 'Fake Duke' knew it, too. He’s been searching for years, trying to find a body to bring back to you so you’d finally look at him with something other than hate. He failed. So I succeeded.”
Bianca’s eyes filled with tears—not for herself, but for the son she had abused. The "Soul Reaper" had been trying to save her from her own grief, and she had rewarded him with poison.
“But don't worry,” Ivan said, pulling a small vial from his belt. “I’m not going to kill you. I need you quiet, not dead.”
He forced the vial between her lips. A colorless, bitter liquid flowed down her throat.
“Kh! Kh-!”
Bianca tried to vomit, but it was too late. Her vision began to swirl. Her memories fractured, the faces of her two sons blending into a single, agonizing blur.
“It’s a specialized neurotoxin,” Ivan whispered as she collapsed to the floor. “A 'madness' draught. When you wake up, the world will be a beautiful, senseless fog. You’ll forget the twins. You’ll forget the Blue Wolves. You’ll just be another crazy old woman in a cage.”
Ivan searched her body, his movements clinical and quick. He frowned when he found nothing. *Where is it?* he thought. *She had it at the trial. Did she give it to the Duke?*
He clicked his tongue and adjusted his hood. “Unexpected. I’ll have to stay at the manor a little longer.”
***
Across the city, in a private villa on the outskirts of the capital, Marquis Arguin was pacing his study like a caged wolf.
“Permanent exile,” he hissed, slamming his fist onto a mahogany desk. “The Emperor dared to banish me? To strip the Arguin name of its seat in the capital over the 'tantrums' of a girl?”
The Marquis was ruined. Exile meant the end of his influence over Prince Franz. It meant the end of his tax exemptions. It meant the end of his life as he knew it.
“And the jade,” he muttered, his eyes red with rage. “That Crow took the mines... the demand is skyrocketing, and I’m sitting on a mountain of worthless emeralds.”
The door to the study opened without a knock. Ivan entered, still disguised as Zenon. The Marquis looked at him with a mix of confusion and hope.
“Why is the Duke’s assistant here?”
“I am not the Duke’s assistant today,” Ivan said.
He stepped aside to reveal a man standing in the doorway. It was **Archduke Reinhardt**—the Emperor’s cousin and the most dangerous man in the Imperial court.
The Marquis froze. “Your Highness... Reinhardt? What is the meaning of this?”
Reinhardt didn't answer. He looked at Ivan. “Did you get the seal?”
“There were... complications, my lord,” Ivan said, kneeling. “The woman didn't have it. I believe she gave it to the Duke before I arrived.”
Reinhardt moved with a speed that belied his age. He caught Ivan with a backhanded strike that sent the mercenary sprawling across the floor.
“I hate inefficiency, Ivan,” Reinhardt said, his voice a cold, terrifying rasp. “The next time you come to me empty-handed, I’ll have your tongue. Go back to the manor and find that seal. It is the key to the Brant armory, and I will have it.”
Ivan scrambled to his feet and vanished into the night.
Reinhardt turned to the trembling Marquis. He stepped into the room and placed a heavy hand on the older man’s shoulder.
“You want to return to the capital, don't you, Marquis?” Reinhardt asked, his smile a thin, predatory line. “You want to see Franz on the throne, with you as his puppet master?”
“I... I do,” the Marquis whispered.
“Then you will do exactly as I say. Because I know about the 'medicine' you’ve been feeding the Emperor, Marquis. I know about the slow-acting arsenic in his nightly tea. One word from me, and your daughter won't be the only Arguin in the dungeon.”