---
When we arrived at the futures exchange, a substantial crowd had already gathered outside.
It was half past three in the afternoon — roughly thirty minutes before the third trading session was due to begin.
"Quite a turnout today as well, Your Highness." Adrian offered his hand as I stepped down from the carriage. "I'm worried the competition will be steep."
I took his arm and we made our way through the entrance hall. Near the door, a display stand held neat stacks of pamphlets — today's transaction listings, from the look of them.
I picked one up and flipped through it as we walked.
"For what I'm buying, there likely won't be much competition at all."
Adrian's composure cracked slightly.
"I beg your pardon? You're purchasing something... less sought after?"
I confirmed the relevant hall, passed the pamphlet to Adrian, and gave him a nod.
"That's the one."
He looked down at the page. Then he looked at me. Then back at the page.
"Hestia Hall." He read the words as though hoping they might rearrange themselves. "Your Highness — are you quite certain?"
"Quite."
"But the current public sentiment around that product is at an historic low—"
"I know."
"—and futures trading by its nature means that if the value falls after you've committed your bid price—"
"I know, Adrian."
He exhaled the breath of a man who wants very much to say more but is exercising considerable restraint.
I walked toward Hestia Hall without breaking stride.
The item in question was the special carriage — a vehicle developed using demon-world technology that cut standard travel time nearly in half. When it first appeared on the market, approximately a year after exchanges between the human and demon worlds resumed, enthusiasm had been enormous. People had lined up to purchase futures contracts on it.
Then the accidents began.
It turned out that technology native to the demon world could produce unforeseen side effects when introduced into the human world — something no one had thought to investigate in advance. The imperial family recalled every special carriage in circulation, and the market value of the product collapsed entirely. For five years, the name had been synonymous with failed investment.
Now a newly redesigned version was approaching release. The developers claimed the previous failures had been thoroughly studied and addressed.
"I've heard the same reports you have," I said. "The new model is meaningfully different. The previous accidents were taken seriously."
"Even so, Your Highness — the reputational damage alone makes this a considerable risk. Watching the trend for another season before committing seems prudent."
I glanced at him sideways.
"Just wait and see."
He gave me the look of a man quietly composing his thoughts for an *I told you so* that he hoped he would never have to deliver.
---
Hestia Hall sat at the rear of the exchange building. A staff member at the entrance guided us in.
I stepped through the doors — and stopped.
"I expected it to be quiet," I said. "Not quite *this* quiet."
Three people. In a hall that could accommodate two hundred.
Adrian's expression had taken on a mildly pained quality.
"Your Highness, there is truly still time to reconsider—"
But I wasn't looking at him anymore. I was looking at the two figures seated toward the front of the hall, heads close together, speaking in low voices.
The woman was Camilla. And beside her, the man she was conspiring with — hand half-hidden beneath the fold of a handkerchief, fingers nearly touching hers — was Henry Bart.
*There you are.*
I took a breath, arranged my expression into one of delighted surprise, and walked toward them.
"Oh my goodness! Fancy seeing you both here!"
They separated instantly, and not gracefully. Hands pulled back. Bodies shifted apart. Two faces turned toward me wearing entirely different versions of the same forced composure.
"Your Highness!"
Henry rose to his feet in one smooth motion, already smiling. Henry Bart: Lobelia's first husband, as written in the original story. Arguably the most decorative villain in the piece. Honey-colored hair, a face that somehow managed to look both wholesome and calculated at once, a smile engineered to put people at ease while his hands moved elsewhere.
*I used to shout at the pages whenever you appeared. Strange, meeting you in person.*
I extended my hand. He took it and inclined his head.
"Your Highness, this is quite an honor. I believe it's the first time we've spoken without His Highness the Grand Duke present."
"So it is. An honor for me as well, Count Bart."
*The ex-wife of the male lead, meeting the ex-husband of the female lead.* I felt a quiet, absurd amusement at the symmetry of it. *In any world, apparently, it all comes back around.*
Henry's gaze flicked to Camilla as though checking something.
"Countess Dmitri and I simply happened to find ourselves here at the same time," he offered pleasantly. "A happy coincidence."
"How lovely."
I turned to Camilla. She had risen from her seat the moment our eyes met, her smile already in place.
"Your Highness — I hope you've been well?"
"Wonderfully well, Camilla. Your banquet was such an enjoyable evening."
The word *enjoyable* landed precisely where I intended it to. Camilla's complexion shifted by a shade.
*It's almost endearing, watching her try to hold that smile.*
"But what brings you to Hestia Hall, Your Highness?" The question was posed lightly, but I could hear the edge beneath it. She already knew — she had made sure of it. This was her way of establishing that she considered me an easy mark.
Which suited me perfectly.
I widened my eyes and pressed a hand to my chest.
"Oh, you know how it is! Futures investing is all anyone talks about lately. I simply couldn't bear to be left out of the trend."
A beat of silence, during which Camilla managed not to laugh only through what appeared to be genuine physical effort.
"Of course," she said warmly. "How exciting for you."
*There it is.*
---
*She actually came here because she didn't want to fall behind the trends.*
Camilla turned back toward the front of the hall and allowed herself a private moment of satisfaction.
She had done everything right. She had obtained Rebecca's investment information through a carefully placed source. She had adjusted her own position accordingly, ensuring she would outbid whatever the Grand Duchess brought to the table. She had confirmed that the gap between their committed funds was large enough to be decisive.
The probability of losing to Rebecca today was, as far as Camilla could calculate, essentially zero.
And afterward — once Rebecca watched her funds go to Camilla and Henry, once the sting of it had settled in — there would be another opportunity. If the Grand Duchess grew rattled and moved her remaining capital into something less considered, Camilla could be nearby. Ready to offer sympathetic advice. Ready to guide that capital somewhere it would quietly disappear.
*And then the Grand Duke will see exactly what kind of woman he's chosen to reconcile with.*
Camilla permitted herself to imagine Rebecca's expression in that future moment and found it very satisfying.
She leaned toward Henry.
"Let me make the final call on the bid amount."
Henry turned his head slowly. "What?"
"I want to be the one to submit the number."
Before their arrival, they had agreed — with some difficulty — to pool their capital and submit a combined bid under Henry's name. Henry had invested considerable effort in that arrangement, including the diplomatic patience required to smooth things over after the tension at the banquet. He was not, his expression indicated, inclined to revisit it.
"We agreed on the terms, Camilla. Changing them now—"
"I changed my mind when I saw her." Her voice was quiet but absolute. "I want to beat that woman personally."
"The outcome is identical regardless of whose name—"
"Henry." She looked at him with the particular steadiness of a woman who knows exactly how much leverage she holds. "My share of our combined investment is larger than yours. I trust you haven't forgotten that."
Henry held her gaze for a moment. Then he looked away.
"Do whatever you want."
Camilla smiled.
---
The bell signaling the session's start rang through the hall. The facilitator stepped onto the stage and offered opening remarks before moving into the presentation of the day's featured item — the new special carriage, its specifications, its improved safety record, its projected value trajectory.
The presentation was detailed and, for those not specifically invested in the outcome, moderately tedious.
From somewhere behind her, a slow, unguarded yawn broke the silence.
Camilla turned around.
Rebecca, seated in the middle of the wide, empty hall, met her eyes and immediately looked mortified.
"Oh — forgive me. I'm afraid I got a little drowsy."
Camilla turned back to the front before the laughter could reach her face.
*Only you, Rebecca.* She composed herself. *Only you would fall asleep at your own investment.*
The facilitator reached the podium.
"With that," he announced, his voice filling the quiet hall, "let us begin." co ---