Strings
"The greatest trap is the one the prey believes they set themselves."
The Regent emerged from the Princess's palace, his niece successfully dispatched into the jaws of his trap. But the report that awaited him turned his blood to ice.
"They still haven't breached the walls? What in God's name are those fools doing—have they been eating maggots instead of fighting?"
Duke Claudio's fury erupted at his subordinate's words.
"The defenses have proven stronger than anticipated, Your Grace. They cannot find a weakness to exploit. And now Marquis Gilliforth himself has joined the defenders..."
The subordinate's voice trembled with barely concealed anxiety.
"Your Grace, what are your orders? If our momentum falters any further—"
By now, the rebels should have swept over the ramparts and flooded into the royal palace. Instead, he received word that the garrison and Gilliforth had pinned them before the walls with a ferocious counterattack.
"Such arrogance—after all the gold I've poured into their coffers!"
The Regent swallowed the rage boiling in his chest.
Now was the hour for cold calculation, not hot-blooded fury. With the throne mere steps away, he could not afford to let base emotions cloud his judgment.
"No matter. Medea has been removed from the board—that was always the crucial piece."
Though momentarily shaken, he forced himself to regain composure. Regardless of these minor setbacks, the plan would proceed as designed.
"Instruct them to advance as close to the walls as possible. Once they're in position, we shall present our captured prize for all to witness—the fleeing Princess Medea herself."
Beyond this, another certainty bolstered his confidence.
"The castle's resistance will crumble soon enough. The Shadows—the Grand Duke of Castullo's forces—have pledged to strike from within."
"The Shadows, Your Grace?"
The subordinate tilted his head, unfamiliar with the term.
"The specifics elude even me. The Grand Duke claims they are the former Emperor's secret guard—an elite force operating beyond even Katzen's current Emperor's knowledge. They will prove... invaluable."
When the rebels breach the walls and threaten the palace, panic will consume the populace.
Then they will behold Medea—captured while attempting to flee—and despair will take root in their hearts.
What hope remains for a kingdom abandoned by its own royalty?
When the Queen Mother and nobles stand paralyzed with indecision, I shall emerge as their savior—the one who crushed the rebellion and preserved the realm.
And to rescue Valdina from destruction, I shall graciously accept the burden of the crown.
While the Grand Duke's forces extracted Medea from rebel hands—a theatrical rescue, nothing more—his private army would annihilate the insurgents.
All of them. Horrols. The mercenaries. Every soul who knew the truth.
No one who knows my designs can be permitted to survive.
Once those who had sought to claim the throne on his behalf were silenced forever, his ascension would be beyond reproach—immaculate in its perfection.
"And my mother? Where is the Queen Mother?"
The subordinate shifted uncomfortably.
"She has departed for the castle walls, Your Grace. She declared she could not remain idle while rebels threatened the realm."
"Of course she has..."
The Regent suppressed an irritated sigh.
"No matter. One more witness changes nothing. Perhaps it's fitting that she observe with her own eyes."
The true nature of her precious granddaughter. The depth of Medea's fall.
"Forward! We ride!"
Regent Claudio spurred his mount onward, absolute certainty blazing in his eyes.
Before the sun descended below the horizon, this kingdom—this sky—this very air—would belong to him.
❧The Secret Passage — Royal Palace of Valdina
Having parted ways with Birna, Medea pressed onward alone.
The return journey through absolute darkness held no terror for her. Her steps were steady, unhurried—the measured pace of one who had already seen the path's end.
At last, the door groaned open, and Medea emerged through the same entrance she had used with Birna—alone now, as she had always intended.
"Your Highness."
Neril and Saya materialized from the shadows, moving swiftly to her side.
"Lady Claudio has not returned. She kept the knight, naturally."
Neril's voice carried a brittle edge as she observed Medea's solitary figure.
She had anticipated this outcome, yet witnessing it firsthand was another matter entirely. Fresh disgust coiled in her chest at Birna's selfishness—sending the Princess back defenseless, knowing full well the rebels would hunt her first.
"Don't trouble yourself over it. Birna was gracious enough to spare me a torch and promised to dispatch a rescue party once she reached safety."
"Ha! A rescue party—after Your Highness had already been captured and slain, no doubt?"
Saya's snort dripped with contempt.
"Birna gave precisely what she was capable of giving. And so it is only fitting that I 'save' her in return."
Medea's gaze drifted toward the distant walls beyond the palace grounds.
"Her Majesty the Queen Mother has already departed for the ramparts. Madame Pinatelli and Sir Sissair attempted to escort her to safety, but she refused to hear of it."
That was entirely in keeping with the Queen Mother's character. She was not the sort of woman to seek refuge while her kingdom teetered on the brink—she would sooner watch it crumble with her own eyes than cower in some distant chamber.
Medea could almost hear her grandmother's imperious voice, sharp with reproach.
"Grandmother must have been searching for me."
"Indeed. After Your Highness departed and the remaining staff were sent away, attendants from the Queen Mother's palace arrived. We concealed ourselves as you instructed. In the end, they found only empty chambers."
"Good."
Medea nodded with quiet satisfaction.
Her eyes returned to the walls.
"My uncle is likely already weaving his tale of my disappearance. We should depart."
"At once, Your Highness. I shall prepare a horse and armor."
As her attendants withdrew to make ready, Medea tilted her face toward the heavens.
Pillars of black smoke coiled upward from every corner of the palace grounds.
Servants hurried past in panicked disarray, their movements frantic with the terror the Regent had so carefully cultivated. Most had already fled toward the castle walls or scattered into the city; those who remained wandered aimlessly, paralyzed by indecision.
Ash drifted on the wind. Trampled grass lay crushed beneath fleeing feet. The hastily abandoned palace exhaled an aura of impending catastrophe.
Medea observed each detail with detached calm—until the soft rustle of grass behind her made her spine stiffen.
Someone remains in the palace?
Her hand moved toward the dagger concealed in her bodice—but before her fingers could close around the hilt, a firm grip caught her wrist and spun her around.
A sharp intake of breath escaped her, swiftly stifled.
She recognized the broad silhouette looming over her.
"Cesare?"
The mercenary of Facade stood before her.
His complexion seemed paler than she remembered, shadows pooling beneath his eyes, yet his angular jaw and sensuous mouth remained visible beneath the white half-mask he wore.
Nothing else appeared amiss.
Thank goodness.
The thought surfaced unbidden, surprising her with its sincerity.
"Princess, the rebels will breach the castle at any moment. This place is far from safe."
His hand remained closed around her arm.
Medea shifted her sleeve slightly, testing his grip, but he showed no intention of releasing her—as though waiting for her to ask the obvious question.
Where, then, is safe?
Surprise flickered across her features before the corners of her lips curved upward in a faint, knowing smile.
"You're quite right—the timing could hardly be worse. The rebels may storm the castle at any moment. You and the Facade should find shelter."
Silence stretched between them.
A heartbeat passed—neither confirming nor denying. Then Cesare's eyes widened with sudden comprehension.
The Princess's solicitous tone had not deceived him for an instant.
His gaze dropped to the weapon still clutched in her hand, then lifted to the concealed door at her back.
Understanding dawned, and a low, hollow laugh escaped him.
"This was your doing."
A rebel force materializing from nowhere, swelling in strength as if by magic.
Did they comprehend—the insurgents, the Regent, all of them—that their every action had been detected, anticipated, guided by this slender Princess before him?
"I thought it strange when Gilliforth suddenly withdrew, abandoning certain victory... That too was by design, wasn't it? To draw the rebels to the walls."
Cesare released her arm, his laughter trailing into something almost rueful.
Medea offered no reply. Her silence was confirmation enough—her opponent required no validation.
A wry smile played at the corners of the mercenary's mouth as he stepped back.
"I don't imagine you need anyone to caution you about danger."
"..."
"Will you be requiring the Facade's services as well?"
He extended his hand toward her.
A platinum dagger rested upon his palm.
The same blade he had once sent to her as a gift—the same blade she had returned.
Now it was offered again.
The pieces were moving exactly as she had arranged them.
The Regent believed himself the master of this drama.
He had not yet realized that he was merely another puppet—and that the strings had never been in his hands at all.
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