Falls
"The hunter becomes the hunted when the prey reveals its fangs."
The reading of the decree continued, each name falling like a death knell.
"What a remarkable coincidence—every conspirator gathered in one place. L'Arc Etienne. Aprius Edain. Salieri Paken. Aksim Lajoma—"
With every name that left Medea's lips, another face drained of color, as though struck by a northern wind turned to ice.
Why does she have that document?
How is this possible? The decree should have been reduced to ash!
The assembled nobles shifted uneasily, whispers rippling through the crowd like wind through dead leaves. Not one among the accused could fathom how a document meant for the flames had found its way into the princess's hands.
And there it was—the Claudio family crest, pressed into wax as clear as a confession. No amount of rhetoric could explain away such damning evidence.
"Medea, you..."
The Regent's voice emerged strangled, barely recognizable. His complexion had gone the color of parchment left too long in the sun.
He stared at his niece as though seeing a stranger.
The document clutched in her steady hands. The frost in her voice as she enumerated his crimes. The expression on her face—serene as a winter lake, and just as cold.
This woman bore no resemblance to the foolish, malleable niece he had so carefully cultivated.
"You've been concealing your true nature this entire time? Deceiving me like some—some rat in the walls?"
Medea's lips curved, though her eyes remained glacial.
"Deception? That seems an odd accusation coming from my uncle—a man who has spent decades hiding his true intentions behind smiles and familial devotion."
Samon's trembling gaze darted between Medea and the decree in her grasp. Understanding struck him like a physical blow.
"It was you! You've been sabotaging our family all along!"
The veil of ignorance finally lifted from his mind.
The chief maid's sudden downfall. Etienne's disgrace. The diplomatic duel. The relief mission. The hunting competition. This very rebellion.
At every critical juncture where House Claudio's carefully laid plans had crumbled to dust, Medea had been present. Watching. Waiting. *Acting.*
Samon's jaw clenched until his teeth ached.
I should never have dismissed my instincts. Never should have looked upon her as nothing more than a dull-witted simpleton.
All this time, she wore that mask—and we never saw the predator beneath.
"Joaquin."
The Queen Dowager's voice cut through the chaos—quiet, yet sharp as shattered glass.
She had swallowed her despair, buried her grief. When she looked upon her son now, her eyes held no trace of maternal warmth. Only the cold assessment of an enemy.
"You truly did reach for what was never meant to be yours."
"Imprison them. Every name on this decree—including the Regent. The charge is high treason."
"Mother!"
"Do not address me so. I have never called a traitor my son."
The old queen's voice cracked with pain she could not fully conceal.
"Claudio, you hypocrite! You orchestrated this rebellion and then presumed to play savior?"
"What manner of regent conspires against his own kingdom? You have no right to that title!"
The enraged ministers and assembled nobles pressed forward, their accusations driving the Regent further into a corner. His remaining allies stood frozen, paralyzed by indecision.
How? How did it come to this?
The Regent's expression twisted into something inhuman.
No more excuses. No path of retreat. The grand ambition that had consumed his every waking thought now lay exposed and bleeding before the world.
Like Icarus plummeting from the heavens, the reputation he had spent a lifetime constructing crumbled around him. His throne—so close he could taste it—was turning to ash.
No. Joaquin Claudio will not fall. Not here. Not like this.
The Regent's hand tightened on his sword hilt. Cornered animals, after all, are the most dangerous.
"Your Majesty the Queen—!"
Madame Pinatelli's scream pierced the air.
In one savage motion, the Regent kicked the lady-in-waiting aside and pressed his blade to the Queen Dowager's throat.
No one had anticipated this. A son threatening his own mother—the thought was so monstrous it hadn't occurred to anyone as a possibility.
"Since my mother has chosen to turn against me, I find myself... without options."
At their lord's signal, the knights of House Claudio moved with brutal efficiency, subduing the Queen Dowager's escort before they could react.
Hidden soldiers emerged from the shadows, weapons trained on the crowd from every angle.
"Your Highness! What is the meaning of this?"
"Joaquin... how could you wear human skin and still commit such acts..."
The Queen Dowager's eyes swam with disbelief. Only the last threads of her composure kept her from collapsing entirely.
Her son paid her suffering no heed.
Bloodshot eyes swept across the assembly as the Regent bellowed at his forces.
"What are you waiting for? Do you intend to let it end like this?"
The nobles of his faction stirred at last, drawing blades and leveling them at the crowd.
"One more step, and I'll take your head. Stay still—still as corpses."
"You treacherous—!"
Montega lunged forward, only to find the Regent's knights blocking his path.
"Make a move—any of you—and the Queen Dowager dies. Along with everyone else in this room."
The Regent pressed the blade deeper, drawing a thin line of crimson against his mother's pale throat.
"You think eliminating a few rebels will resolve this? My private soldiers are positioned throughout the castle. One signal from me, and this entire fortress burns to the ground."
What did it matter now—playing the hero, wearing virtue like a mask?
Once he sat upon the throne, the means could be buried. History could be rewritten. Why should he surrender? Why should he fall here, when the sky remained clear and his ambition still blazed?
If they would not come willingly—he would drag them.
The Regent withdrew a scroll from his robes and hurled it at Medea's feet.
"Affix the seal, Medea."
"And what, precisely, is this?"
Even with steel at her grandmother's throat, Medea's composure remained unshaken.
"Asking questions when you already know the answers. How delightfully serpentine of you."
The mere thought of how thoroughly he'd been deceived by that lovely, innocent face made bile rise in his throat.
"A letter of abdication. It transfers the throne of Valdina to me, Joaquin Claudio. The kingdom faces a national crisis brought about by rebels—and you have graciously requested my intervention."
The original scheme had been elegant: rescue the"kidnapped" princess from the rebels' clutches and secure her signature in the chaos of gratitude.
"No, Medea! You must not yield to this man's threats. My life has nearly run its course regardless!"
The Queen Dowager's cry was hoarse with desperation.
She understood perfectly. If Joaquin claimed the throne through this forced abdication, where would the people's fury turn? He meant to heap every sin upon Medea's shoulders—to make her the scapegoat for his treason.
"Mother. *Please.*"
The Regent's teeth ground together audibly.
"Hold your tongue. Surely you can see I'm exercising what little restraint I have left?"
"Now, Medea. The seal."
The moment she signs as the King's agent, she becomes my accomplice.
Even if Peleus returns to reclaim the throne, he would have to punish his own sister. Could that boy—who loves her more than reason—truly condemn her alongside me?
Never. As long as Medea lives, I hold his leash.
Medea bent gracefully and retrieved the scroll from the floor.
Not a flicker of distress crossed her features. When she spoke, her voice was almost conversational.
"At last, Uncle, you reveal your true face. The pretense was growing tedious. Now I have seen what you truly are."
"Silence! Affix the seal!"
That serene, unblinking face—it made him want to scream.
Samon wiped the sweat from his pallid brow and approached Medea with measured steps. He knelt, spreading the abdication papers before her with the practiced ease of a devoted servant.
If she can feign stupidity, so can I.
"Medea. I require only your hand bearing the royal seal. Continue this obstinance, and I shall be forced to... relieve you of that hand entirely."
His tone was silk; his meaning was steel.
"We are family, after all. Let us not resort to bloodshed between kin. Consider how devastated dear Peleus would be, seeing his sister maimed."
The corner of Medea's mouth lifted—a subtle, knowing curve.
"Samon."
She gazed down into his narrow, calculating eyes.
"Have you truly the leisure to worry about me? Should you not be more concerned with your little sister—the one you've left all alone over there?"
Her smile sharpened.
"Tell me, Samon. Why do you linger here, when poor Birna waits unprotected?"
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