Marquis Arguin’s hands trembled as he stared at the young Archduke.
*How?* he thought, the blood draining from his face. *How long has he known?*
When he’d heard that his daughter Madeleine had poisoned Cornelia, he’d thought her a fool for being so clumsy. He had handled his own poisoning of the Emperor with the precision of a master alchemist—tiny, undetectable doses of arsenic disguised as a tonic. He had been so sure his tracks were covered, but looking at the man across from him, the Marquis realized he had been playing a game he didn't understand.
“Archduke, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Marquis whispered, trying to summon a shred of his former dignity.
Reinhardt stood up from his desk and walked slowly around the room, his smile as delicate and sharp as a glass shard.
“You gave the Empress a tonic to 'revitalize' her husband,” Reinhardt said, his voice a melodic purr. “She, in her infinite, bovine stupidity, administered it daily. Small doses. Just enough to cause a slow, systematic failure of the internal organs. Clever. But arrogance, Marquis, is a luxury only the truly powerful can afford. You? You’re just a fool with a vial.”
Reinhardt sat on the edge of the desk, leaning forward to stare into the Marquis’s eyes.
“Has he always been like this?” the Marquis wondered.
Archduke Reinhardt was the "Perfect Royal"—humble, intelligent, kind to the weak, and seemingly indifferent to power. He had declined every position the Emperor had offered him, preferring to live a quiet life of scholarship and charity. But the man in front of him now was a monster, a weaver of shadows who looked at human beings as if they were nothing more than ink on a ledger.
“Get on your knees, Marquis,” Reinhardt commanded.
The Marquis hesitated, his pride flaring for one final, pathetic moment. But the cold, golden light in Reinhardt’s eyes told him that a refusal meant he would never leave this room alive. He slid off the sofa and knelt on the plush rug.
“Good,” Reinhardt said, patting him on the head as if he were a hound. “Now you’re at the correct eye level.”
The insult was staggering, but Arguin said nothing. He was fully aware of the dominance Reinhardt possessed. If the Archduke whispered a word to the Imperial physicians, the Marquis would be executed before dawn.
“From this day forward, you are my dog,” Reinhardt said. “A loyal hound that obeys only my voice. Do you understand?”
“My nephew is the Crown Prince,” the Marquis whispered, his voice cracking. “Franz will be Emperor. Why should I serve an Archduke when I can rule through a King?”
Reinhardt let out a short, melodic laugh. “Franz? How long do you think the Empire would last under that idiot? Ten years? Five? He has the backbone of a jellyfish and the intellect of a turnip. He wouldn't even defy the Emperor’s decree of banishment. He let you be exiled without a single protest. No, Marquis. Franz is a dead end. But I? I am the future.”
The Marquis stared up at him, his eyes widening. “You... you intend to commit treason? You want the throne?”
“Treason is such a messy word,” Reinhardt said, his eyes flashing with a sudden, crazed excitement. “I won't usurp the throne. I’ll inherit it. I intend to become the Emperor’s son-in-law and the true successor to the Imperial bloodline.”
“But... the Emperor only has one daughter,” the Marquis stammered. “And Cornelia is dead.”
Reinhardt moved with the speed of a strike, his boot connecting with the Marquis’s stomach.
“GAH!”
The Marquis collapsed, gasping for air. Reinhardt leaned over him, his voice a low, terrifying hiss.
“Never speak that name as if it were a past tense. And never call her 'Cornelia'. Her name belongs to me. It is the only thing in this wretched Empire worth owning.”
The Marquis choked on his own breath, the madness in Reinhardt’s gaze making his skin crawl. “I... I understand. I will keep it in mind.”
Reinhardt returned to his seat, his smile returning as if nothing had happened. “You’re curious how she’s still alive, aren't you?”
“No,” the Marquis said quickly.
“You should be. It was a masterpiece of political theater, Marquis. The Emperor knew exactly what you and the Brants were doing. He orchestrated the 'disappearance' himself. He used his own daughter as bait to purge the Noble Faction, clearing the board so Franz wouldn't have any competition. He wanted you exiled, and he wanted the Brant assets seized. And he got both.”
The Marquis laughed, a hollow, broken sound. He’d thought himself a master of the court, only to realize he had been a piece on the board all along.
“But the Emperor forgot one variable,” Reinhardt continued. “Me. I know where she is. I’ve placed a helpful little dog by her side to keep her safe... and to keep her isolated.”
***
In the East, the sun was setting over a quiet, coastal village.
Sardin walked toward the small cottage where Cornelia was staying, but stopped when he saw Janet standing by the garden wall. A white bird was fluttering away from her, disappearing into the twilight.
“Janet?” Sardin asked, his hand resting on his sword hilt. “Were you sending a message?”
Janet turned, her face a mask of innocent confusion. She pointed to the bird’s empty legs. “What? No. It was just a gull looking for scraps. Look at his legs, Sardin. There’s no tube.”
Sardin relaxed his posture, though his eyes remained suspicious. “My apologies. I’m sensitive. My lady’s term is approaching, and I cannot afford a single mistake.”
“I understand,” Janet said, offering him a warm, sisterly smile. “It’s only natural. We all want her to be safe.”
“Thank you for your understanding,” Sardin said, nodding to her before heading toward the house.
Janet watched him go, her smile fading as soon as his back was turned. Her eyes became cold and clinical—the eyes of a professional who had been trained by the Archduke himself.
“Janet! Can you come in for a moment?” Cornelia’s voice called from inside.
“Coming, my lady,” Janet said, her voice smooth and obedient. She smoothed her apron and stepped into the house, the "loyal dog" returning to its master’s side.