— The Retired Hero — After the late King's death, Marquess Gilliforth had quietly withdrawn from public life.
From that day on, he refused every political overture, devoting himself entirely to training the next generation of knights.
He remained a living legend; across Valdina, his name still stood for incorruptible loyalty and iron discipline.
A soft, rhythmic tap, tap of fingers against the table was the only sound in Medea's chambers.
"I need to meet him," she said at last. Her voice was quiet, but it left no room for refusal. "Without anyone knowing."
"Is that… possible?"
Neril fell silent for a heartbeat, then nodded with absolute conviction. "I'll arrange it."
Medea's gaze drifted past her, beyond stone and glass, to the pale flag of Valdina hanging from the distant ramparts.
Tear down that flag! Destroy the corrupt Valdina royal family!
In this life, the rebels shouting beneath those walls would never live long enough to touch that banner.
— An Untimely Visit — A series of tentative knocks broke the stillness.
"Your Highness."
A maid slipped inside, fingers twisting nervously at the hem of her apron. Every movement screamed caution, as though she feared even breathing too loudly in Medea's presence.
"Your Highness, Duchess Claudio has arrived."
Medea's eyes lifted.
Claudio.
A name that tasted familiar and poisonous in equal measure.
How curious that, when the head maid had her beaten in the dungeon, no word had come from the Claudio family. When her palace was isolated in retaliation, not a single note of concern was sent.
Yet now, at sunrise, the Duchess appeared in person.
"Show her in."
Let's see which mask she has chosen today.
Duchess Catherine Claudio Catherine entered in a sweep of silk and perfume, her make-up immaculate, her beauty undimmed by time.
Once the jewel of Valdina's salons, she'd been raised in a marquess' household and had left a trail of broken hearts in her wake.
Her gown clung perfectly to a waist improbably slender for a woman with adult children—a feat of tailoring, vanity, and perhaps corsetry bordering on cruelty.
"I meant to come the moment you woke," she exclaimed, eyes glossy with rehearsed emotion. "But I collapsed from exhaustion myself. When I finally opened my eyes, so much time had passed. Please forgive this wretched delay."
She had not collapsed. She had watched. Waited. Calculated.
"You couldn't help it, Mother." The girl behind her chimed in sweetly. "Surely my generous sister understands?"
Birna Claudio Birna's soft pink hair tumbled down her back, cheeks tinted the same rosy hue. In Medea's past life, she had been hailed as the Flower of Valdina.
"I came too, sister. I missed you terribly—I begged Mother to let me enter the palace. You'll forgive me, won't you?"
Medea regarded the two of them—her beautiful aunt, her sparkling cousin—and another set of images rose unbidden behind her eyes:
Ahaha! You call yourself a Princess and act so proud, but look at you now! Valdina destroyed, your brother torn apart by demonic beasts—all because of one stupid girl like you!
The enemies standing in her chambers were carved into her bones. They had not only helped raze her country, but driven her children to their deaths.
Her nails bit crescents into her own palms beneath the table, but her face did not flicker.
"Princess."
Medea smoothed her hands over her skirt and gave no sign of the tempest roiling beneath her calm.
She would not shatter her plans for the sake of a moment's rage. Slowly, methodically, she would bind them—until begging for death seemed merciful.
"Don't be so formal with me," Catherine chided gently.
Delicate hands reached for Medea's, drawing her into an embrace that smelled of flowers and wealth and something sour underneath.
Once, Medea had wondered if this was what a mother's arms felt like.
Now she recognized the rot in every carefully measured gesture.
"Does your head still ache, Your Highness? Even minor falls can have terrible aftereffects. One must never be careless."
"I brought a physician to see you. From the Katzen Empire. They say he is practically divine—capable of restoring even the crippled."
A Katzen physician.
How generous of the Empire to send a miracle worker to the northern kingdom its policies were slowly strangling.
The same Empire whose granaries overflowed while Valdina bartered its pride for scraps.
"Mother was frantic about you," Birna chimed in. "She spared no expense. He's imperial-born, you know. He swore he'd never come this far north. I don't even want to imagine how many chests of gold she spent."
"Birna, mind your tongue. If you speak so loosely and make Her Highness uncomfortable, I shall be very cross."
"It's only because you hardly know who your real daughter is anymore," Birna pouted, then turned to Medea with a practiced, adoring look. "Isn't that right, sister?"
Medea answered with a mild smile, the kind that neither confirmed nor denied anything.
Once, she had drunk these lines like water.
Now she could see every string being pulled. They had wrapped their manipulation in the trappings of "family," had leaned on her longing for love to steer her exactly where they wanted.
Katzen lay across the southern border, rich with fertile fields and overflowing warehouses.
Valdina lay in the mountains' shadow, soil thin and winters cruel. When harvests failed, they turned to Katzen for grain.
Each time, the Empire had demanded more—tribute dressed as "assistance"—leaving deep scars of resentment.
Last time, they demanded three hundred of Valdina's young knights as "escorts."
Peleus had gone west to carve new land for Valdina, to loosen that imperial noose.
And in that climate, an imperial physician had been brought in to tend Valdina's Princess.
It was not kindness.
It was leverage.
"Since he is an imperial subject, he cannot enter without royal permission. He's waiting outside the palace gates. If you consent, I'll have him brought in at once. You there—"
Though her words framed the decision as Medea's, Catherine had already turned to issue orders to the maids.
"No, Aunt."
Medea lifted a hand, the movement gentle but absolute. Maid and Duchess both stilled.
"Thanks to Neril, I escaped with nothing more than bruises. The palace physicians have already assured me I'm fine."
"If this doctor is truly so miraculous that he can mend even the crippled, wouldn't it be wiser to present him to Grandmother first?"
"Grandmother? You mean the Queen Mother?"
Catherine's tone wavered for the first time.
"The maids say her knees have been tormenting her. Gout, they think. No matter how many famous physicians attend her, nothing improves."
The Dowager Queen was the embodiment of Valdina's pride. Having spent her youth watching Katzen strip the kingdom bare, she loathed the Empire with a depth Medea almost admired.
She would rather drag herself on bleeding knees than accept an imperial hand.
"Your Highness, your heart is too kind. The Queen Mother already has excellent doctors. You need not trouble yourself so."
"No matter how excellent they are, they cannot compare to someone called *divine*. I was simply grateful that you found such a treasure and brought him all this way."
"I would arrange it personally, but Grandmother becomes upset the moment she sees me. Perhaps you could escort him instead, Aunt?"
With a few gentle words, Medea placed the choice squarely in Catherine's hands—and in the Dowager's line of sight.
"And there's another concern."
"Even though you showed such faith in me, wouldn't it seem vulgar for me to accept treatment while my grandmother suffers? People might say I let my brother break his back carrying Valdina while I fuss over my own bruises."
That was precisely the impression Claudio had once crafted for her: a foolish Princess who squandered support while her brother shouldered the kingdom alone.
"So while I am deeply grateful for your kindness, I cannot possibly accept it right now. I'm sure you understand."
Her eyes were wide and guileless. Her words were not.
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