She was about to enact her Operation to delay the count when she noticed something strange.

A black lacquered carriage pulled up beside the Count’s. Its crest glinted under the sun: House Dorian.

From within stepped Marchioness Dorian herself, draped in obsidian lace like a spider descending from its web. The Count greeted her with a deep bow and an unctuous smile. Evelyn narrowed her eyes.

"Isn't that marquioness Dora...? Dori..? Urgh whatever her name was...why is she with the Count!?"

She watched as they spoke in hushed tones, their heads leaning close with unsettling familiarity, before climbing back into the carriage together. The coachman flicked the reins, heading down a narrow side street.

Oh, no, you don’t, Evelyn thought, her curiosity flaring dangerously. If they’re plotting something, I’m plotting to find out.

She took a common carriage and followed behind at a distance, until the carriage stopped outside a dimly painted tavern tucked between an apothecary and a blacksmith.

She hid behind stacked ale barrels as the Count and Marchioness entered, slipping through the smoky doorway like sinister shadows.

Inside, the tavern was dark and rank with stale beer and wet earth. Evelyn crept along the outer wall, peeking through a cracked window shutter. Their voices drifted clearly to her ears.

“—the duskroot arrives at dawn tomorrow,” Marchioness Dorian was saying smoothly. “The extract has been refined enough to pass as medicinal tonic. The Emperor’s decline will be blamed on his poor health, and Cassian will ascend seamlessly.”

Evelyn’s heart thundered in her chest. "Duskroot… poison… they’re actually going to kill His Majesty?!"

Count Edverard chuckled, the sound sending chills down her spine. “And House Wycliffe? They remain loyal?”

“They will be compensated handsomely,” Dorian replied with disdain. “Greed outweighs loyalty in their bloodline. Our only concern now is that little girl… what’s her name… Evelyn Brighton. Her marriage with the crown prince will earn him a great favour.”

Evelyn felt her stomach drop so fast she almost toppled over the barrel. "Excuse me? Me? Marrying that peace of junk? That will never happen! "

Edverard sneered. “She’s nothing but a sheltered little girl. His highness can break her spirit in a snap.”

Marquioness Dorian’s lips curled. “For her sake, I hope so. Otherwise… well. Accidents happen.”

A flicker of rage blazed in Evelyn’s chest, hot and fierce. "These wretched cockroaches…"

But just then, her foot slipped on a loose stone, knocking the barrel against the wall with a dull thud. Inside, silence fell.

“What was that?” Count Edverard barked, rising from his chair.

Evelyn’s eyes widened. "Oh no-" She spun on her heel and sprinted into the narrow alley.

Meanwhile at the same time at the tea shop, the awkward silence had finally come to an end when the carriage boy waved outside from the tea shop visible, through the big glass window.

"Ahem! I think the carriage is fixed." 

"Y-yes I will leave now. T-thank you very much my lord." Sylvia panicked and left hurriedly without wasting a second.

Before sitting in her carriage she stopped and looked behind for a moment. Leon had changed so much that everything that happened in the past felt like a fleeting dream. She clenched her fists and sit in the carriage. Her eyes unconsciously following his silhouette as the carriage kept moving forward.

----------

-The Imperial Palace- 

-Hidden Chamber- 

Deep within the Imperial Palace, under the grand moonlit dome of the private council chamber, Crown Prince Cassian sat with an easy smile. Around him, nobles whispered like rustling leaves, their silks brushing softly against marble floors as they leaned in.

“Your Highness,” murmured Viscount Greer, bowing low, “the duskroot extract is prepared. This time the formula is more effective and strong. Administered in tea over a week and his Majesty’s heart will stop permanently.”

Cassian tilted his head thoughtfully, golden hair gleaming under chandelier light. “Great. I will send a letter to the second prince of Renoa to prepare the troops for battle. It's finally time. And what about the Imperial physician?" 

Marchioness Dorian fanned herself idly, her black-lace veil trembling slightly. “Already compensated to declare it a natural passing.”

Cassian’s eyes gleamed dangerously, lips curving in a smile both charming and poisonous.

“Perfect,” he purred. “Once Father is gone, the nobles will need stability. They will see Evelyn by my side and know this Empire’s future is secure. And if anyone gets in the way of me taking Evelyn I will get rid of them.”

He rose from his seat gracefully, the nobles bowed deeply as he left, his footsteps echoing with silent victory.

----------

-Edverard Manor-

Sylvia stepped out of the carriage, the moonlight pooling around her like silver silk. The quiet of Edverard Manor's grand courtyard felt colder tonight.

She pressed her hand over her heart as she walked up the marble steps, Leon’s quiet gaze still burned into her memory.

Why does my chest ache like this…? she wondered, her lips trembling with a sadness too old for her young face. Just seeing him… it makes me feel warm… and yet it hurts so much I can’t breathe.

She shook her head softly, as if trying to cast away the thoughts, and entered the silent halls of the manor. Her maid approached to take her shawl, but Sylvia waved her away, wanting only solitude.

As she passed by the dimly lit study, she paused.

The heavy oak door was open, a single lamp flickering within. Her husband was never careless with his study—it was his throne, his fortress.

Curiosity tugged at her, quiet but persistent. Slowly, she stepped inside.

Papers lay scattered across the polished mahogany desk. Seals broken, letters half-read, piles of ledgers annotated with hasty black ink. Her eyes scanned them absently until familiar words snared her attention like thorns:

Duskroot extract shipment confirmed.

Administer to the Emperor over seven days for seamless transition.

Payment to House Wycliffe finalised.

Her blood ran cold.

Another letter lay beneath it:

Crown Prince's orders: Make sure there is no proof of duskroot trading left anywhere. Get rid of everyone who knows about this. 

Sylvia’s breath quickened as she clutched the papers, her chest tight with horror. They’re… they’re planning to kill His Majesty. Even the count is part of this.....

Her hands trembled so violently she nearly dropped the letters. What should I do? Should I tell someone? But who?

She reached for another document when a shadow fell across the desk.

Her heart froze.

Slowly, she turned.

There he stood, in the doorway. Count Edverard, his face unreadable in the flickering lamplight. His eyes dropped to the scattered papers clutched in her shaking hands before rising to meet her gaze with chilling calm.

“Snooping, are we?” he said softly, his voice slithering across her skin like oil. He shut the door behind him with a quiet click, the finality echoing in her bones.

She shook her head quickly, hiding the papers behind her back. “I-I just… the door was open… I wasn’t—”

His smile was slow, curling up like a snake uncoiling to strike. “My dear little wife,” he murmured, stepping forward. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

He moved faster than she could react, grabbing her by the wrist so hard she cried out, the papers dropping from her hand onto the carpet like fallen leaves. His other hand seized her jaw, his thumb pressing painfully into her cheek as he forced her face up to meet his.

“Do you understand what happens to traitors, Sylvia?” he whispered, his breath hot and rancid against her trembling lips. “They disappear. Quietly. Without a trace. And no one mourns them… because no one even knows they’re gone.”

Tears spilled from her wide eyes as she shook her head, her muffled sobs trapped behind his grip.

“But perhaps,” he mused darkly, leaning closer until his nose brushed hers, “it will be more effective if your dear mother… or your little sister… met with an unfortunate accident instead.”

She froze, her blood turning to ice.

“Please… don’t…” she whispered brokenly, her voice barely audible.

He released her face only to grab her hair, yanking her head back painfully as he looked down at her with cold, cruel satisfaction.

“Then keep your mouth shut,” he glared. “Stay silent. Be the obedient doll you were bought to be. Or you’ll regret ever drawing breath.”

He flung her away from him, and she stumbled backwards, hitting the edge of the desk hard enough to bruise. Tears blurred her vision as she fell to her knees, sobs shaking her delicate frame.

He stepped over the fallen papers, gathering them with methodical precision before turning to leave.

“Clean yourself up and go back to the room.” he said coldly.

The door closed behind him, leaving Sylvia kneeling alone in the silent study, her hands trembling over her chest where her heart screamed in pain.