Gerhard straightened himself. The profound shock of finding a person he had considered dead to be alive was replaced by a swarm of questions that he wished to pose, but he resolved to hold them back until a more propitious setting presentation.

“Azalea Rosenthal,” he pronounced calmly. “To be perfectly honest, I thought I would witness anyone but you. I heard that the head of the house was a woman, and I was not surprised. In the Eastern Empire, such a thing is possible, though here in the Kingdom, it will definitively provoke an immense controversy. I was racking my brain over how to comport myself with people regarding whose motives I know negligibly little. But since it is you... I shall ask directly: toward what purpose have you arrived here?”

Azalea offered a slight smile. Gerhard, though he had matured, remained at the bottom of his soul the exact same person she remembered. And this was strictly to her advantage.

“Your Majesty, why, you are aware that the trading house of 'Rosenthal' commands influence,” her voice rang out evenly and businesslike. “However, the growth of our enterprise is currently obstructed by a mundane barrier, above which we are incapable of leaping. Rosenthal is a lineage of the baronial rank. Our entire enterprise is bound to this name. And precisely for this reason, we are still ignored by the truly major players of the political arena. We returned to raise our status, Your Majesty. In order to secure what is granted solely by a recognized title. Not merely a paper one, but one that is historically weighty.”

“Why then did you not request a title from Emperor Claudius?” Gerhard squinted slightly, attempting to discern a catch. “I am more than confident that he would have gladly bound your gathering-strength lineage to his crown.”

“You are correct; one could have taken the easy path,” Azalea moved her shoulder smoothly, “but that precise path would have become a snare. Why, you know perfectly well: the old nobility recognizes solely those titles acquired through the traditional path. Had we accepted the Emperor’s mercy, the local aristocracy would have deemed us purchased upstarts. Had we altered the origins of our nobility, we would have forfeited respect as an old family. Furthermore, though the Empire currently commands immense influence, Aden is a country far more ancient. Its roots and historical heritage are weightier. Your recognition is worth more than the imperial one.”

Gerhard scarcely checked a smirk. Azalea was striking precisely on target. Among the conservative and stubborn representatives of the nobility, they still paid more attention to foolish formalities brought into usage by people whose bones had long since been covered by a thick layer of dust inside ancestral crypts.

“And how do you intend to secure this promotion? Even if I advance your family, it is necessary to command the consent of three dukes out of the five who head the Council. And that will not be so easy. These people are traditionalists to the marrow of their bones, who will visibly not be pleased by the leadership of a woman, not to mention by what method your family amassed its fortune.”

Azalea smiled once more, but there was something within her smile that caused a chill to run down the spine of Sebastian, who had been observing the conversation wordlessly this entire time.

“I shall purchase those people,” she responded calmly. “All of them piece by piece, but I shall purchase them.”

When the doors closed behind Azalea Rosenthal, Gerhard stood for a long time, gazing in her wake. This was not the Lia he remembered. Not at all. But his feelings toward her did not alter because of this. On the contrary, once suppressed by grief, they resolved to bloom anew.

“Inform Queen Ingrid that we shall attend the reception at the Rosenthals as soon as the date is appointed,” he said to Sebastian.

Turning on his heel, the king headed toward the exit.

“And take a cough remedy from the physician,” he added without turning around. “It appears that by virtue of your age, you have set about falling ill far too much.”

Azalea stepped outside the heavy oak doors, where Ophelia awaited her, and alongside her - dozens of curious, greedy eyes of the high nobility of Aden, lurking within the corridors of the palace.

“You appear content,” Ophelia pronounced with a barely perceptible smile, draping a jacket over her mistress’s shoulders. “It appears everything transpired well.”

“One might speak so, though it is still too early to draw conclusions,” Azalea responded calmly.

They directed their steps along the corridor toward the exit, but their path was obstructed by a woman whose eyes did not conceal cunning and naked venom. Azalea remembered her: Marquise Bernadette d’Est, sister to the former lady-in-waiting to Queen Valeria. This woman never omitted an occasion to torment "poor" Azalea, and her sharp, squeaky voice used to compel the girl to shrink back.

“What is this?” the marquise exclaimed, her voice echoing beneath the vaults of the corridor. “Is this wench inside the palace once more?! Furthermore, arm-in-arm with personal servants, like the head of some house? Nonsense!”

The nobility around quieted down with interest, awaiting the customary reaction: tears, excuses, or a hasty flight. However, Azalea did not even slow her pace. She stopped directly opposite the marquise, sweeping her with a glance so icy and detached, it was as though a tiresome speck of dust lay before her on an expensive carpet rather than a noble lady. She remembered perfectly well how she used to react to everything emanating from such people, but that remained within the past.

“Marquise d’Est,” Azalea’s voice rang out evenly and masterfully, devoid of any trepidation. “Evidently, the years have done you good. How have you been presiding all this time? Still banishing housemaids who are even a iota more beautiful than a gremlin?”

Azalea smirked, looking expressively at the maid hiding behind the marquise’s back.

Bernadette was taken aback. Her face went in red splotches, and her lips trembled with indignation.

“How dare you... How dare you?!” she gasped out, taking a step forward. “You are merely a baseborn upstart! Or must I remind you of that pair of fine strikes with a whip?”

Azalea tilted her head slightly, a dangerous, almost predatory smile playing upon her lips. She leaned forward and lowered her voice to an icy whisper.

“Would you dare execute such a thing inside the palace? Naturally not. Why, you know perfectly well that for such a transgression, you could be banished from the country. You had better expend your threats upon your spouse's women. I heard that the marquise recently became a father. At his age, nonetheless...”

Azalea straightened herself and stepped forward resolutely, compelling the stunned Bernadette to recoil. The marquise opened her mouth, attempting to forage for a worthy response, but Azalea, not even deigning her with a parting glance, moved along gracefully.

Passing by the Duke of Werden, Azalea bowed slightly, to which he responded with a sparse yet respectful nod. Ophelia followed in her wake, with difficulty restraining a smile. The palace corridor, which had formerly appeared to Azalea as a cage, currently looked like a decorative set for a movie regarding vengeance.

Already inside the carriage, once the vehicle set into motion, Azalea leaned back against the back of the seat and laughed.

“Does this always yield such pleasure?” she asked Ophelia with a broad smile. “I have never experienced such enjoyment. It appears I must not be given power into my hands. It spoils me.”

Ophelia laughed quietly in response.