— The Proposal — Medea placed both hands flat on the table and spoke with quiet finality.
"I intend to establish a residence for retired soldiers within the royal castle."
"A proper home where they may live with their families in dignity."
Gilliforth stared at her, certain his ears had betrayed him.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Why such surprise? You delayed my carriage deliberately, did you not? You wished me to witness their suffering firsthand."
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips.
She remembered what would come. What had already happened, in another life.
In her previous life, the rebels who had stormed the capital had been these very men—retired soldiers, discarded and forgotten.
Peleus had been forced to crush them.
And the kingdom had branded him a monster.
"A king drunk on slaughter, who butchers even his own people—even his former comrades."
This time, Medea would remove the fuel before any spark could catch.
By sheltering these veterans within the castle walls, she would dissolve the very foundation of their future grievance.
— Entrusting the Task — "I hadn't anticipated you would recognize that some near you would prefer you remained blind."
"Closing one's eyes does not guarantee ignorance. The royal treasury is barren. The nobles dismiss this as impractical. And the Prince Regent permits their resentment to fester because it serves his purposes."
Her gaze held his without wavering.
"There is no one I can entrust with this task save the Marquis."
Gilliforth's eyelids flickered with surprise.
"Why attempt what you yourself acknowledge is neither practical nor feasible?"
"As you observed, I am Princess of Valdina. I am merely fulfilling what that title demands."
Gilliforth found himself startled by the depth of her understanding—of Valdina's fractures, its politics, its rot.
"I trust you will not dismiss me simply because I arrive late to this duty."
In truth, the fate of these veterans was a burden even Gilliforth could not properly shoulder.
Most were destitute beyond recovery. Finding sustainable livelihoods consumed tremendous resources. And their anger—the anger of men spurned by their own kingdom—continued to grow.
A retired Marquis could offer only temporary relief—food, clothing, shelter. Nothing permanent.
But the Princess would voluntarily establish a permanent residence?
"When funds grow scarce, inform me through Neril. I shall provide what assistance I can."
"Have you any treasures remaining to give?"
He alluded to the rumors circulating about her desperate circumstances.
"That need not concern the Marquis. Your focus should be on managing these soldiers without inciting further unrest."
— The Prime Minister — "For such matters, the Prime Minister would prove more useful."
Cissere Emile Legges.
Valdina's deity of administrative efficiency. The man who had methodically organized chaotic state affairs with mechanical precision throughout a decade of war.
"Lord Cissere does not regard soldiers as you do, Marquis. As someone who prizes efficiency above all, he will first calculate whether bringing veterans—men who have exhausted their usefulness—into the castle justifies the expense."
"Even if I moved forward, Cissere would block it. An order from Your Highness? He would be even more inclined to refuse. What will you do when the Prime Minister denies approval?"
"As always, Lord Cissere and I shall reach a compromise."
Medea placed the golden seal upon the table.
👑 THUD.
Gilliforth could not suppress his laughter.
"That is not a compromise, Your Highness. That is a command the Prime Minister cannot refuse."
But the amusement faded quickly into his beard, replaced by careful thought.
— The Chains — "Your Highness, why do you place such trust in me?"
Gilliforth's voice grew sharp with genuine curiosity.
"What would you do if I simply absconded with all your assets? You have no family or subordinates to recover stolen property. Perhaps Neril might be different—but if even she were compromised..."
"No. I trust no one."
Even his provocation could not disturb her composure.
"But I have faith in the Marquis's devotion to his people."
She tapped the stack of papers.
Tap. Tap.
The crisp sound resonated deeper than its volume suggested.
"So long as their lives depend upon this fortune, you will fulfill my request more faithfully than any man alive."
"Am I mistaken?"
The Marquis stood speechless for a long moment.
Tick. Tock.
The clock's rhythm seemed unusually pronounced. Medea waited in patient silence.
Finally, Gilliforth shook his head—not in refusal, but in surrender.
"You read the situation with perfect clarity."
His rough voice—the kind that seemed to scrape against stone—emerged hoarse, as though dragged from prolonged darkness.
"You have bound me with the heaviest, most inescapable chains—the lives of my people. How could I possibly refuse?"
Large hands—wrinkled but still powerful—pulled the documents toward him.
"No additional funding shall be necessary."
He met her gaze with something like respect.
"If the Princess gives everything she has, a Marquis of this realm cannot remain idle."
Medea inclined her head rather than answering.
Success. She had secured him.
He valued honor above life itself. Once he accepted a task, he would complete it regardless of obstacles. Neither the Regent nor the Prime Minister could match his persistence.
— Theo — "There is one more matter."
Medea paused before departing, her business concluded. Her eyes shifted—sharpening with an intensity that had not been there before.
"Determine whether any of the veterans' families include a man named Theo."
Momentary confusion crossed Gilliforth's weathered face. He quickly concealed it.
"Is this man of particular importance to Your Highness?"
"He is critically important."
Memories from her previous life surfaced with crystalline clarity.
Theo had been second-in-command of the rebel army that would storm the capital—the strategist who had actually commanded their forces.
He had mentioned once that his father was a retired soldier.
"You killed them! My father, my brother—all because of Valdina and you royals!"
Those blood-curdling screams still echoed in her memory.
And yet—Theo had not pursued her when she had fled at the final moment.
"Princess. I am not releasing you because I forgive you, or Valdina. Do not mistake my meaning."
His grey-brown eyes, wild with turmoil. His voice fracturing under the weight of complex emotions.
The rebel leader had discovered her escape and flown into a rage—murdering Theo with a blade through the heart.
Shortly after, Peleus had returned from the battlefield, crushed the rebellion, and rescued Medea.
Without Theo, the rebel army had lost all cohesion and disintegrated.
Proof that he had been the lynchpin holding their disparate factions together.
"Yes. You must find him."
Her voice remained perfectly calm.
He was the person she needed most—to prevent the imminent rebellion, and for everything that would follow.
Her eyes gleamed with predatory focus.
— Departure — "Your Highness!"
Neril hurried forward as Medea emerged from the private chambers. She glanced past her, noting that the Marquis had not followed.
Concern shadowed her features.
"Did things not proceed well?"
Medea permitted herself the smallest smile.
"On the contrary."
She walked past Neril toward the exit.
"He has committed."
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