The Minister's Estate
The chaotic scrawl upon the parchment concealed passwords beneath its apparent disorder.
[ Cease your pursuit of me, Lord of Kensington. ]
[ The revelation you seek shall not expose me— it shall unmask you. ]
The cipher bore the unmistakable architecture of Katzen script. While the sender's mastery of cryptography proved impressive, another detail struck Umberto with far greater force.
Lord of Kensington.
They have pierced the veil of my identity!
The epithet "Red Fox" had been no careless coincidence.
By what sorcery did they divine this? Where did my mask slip?
That final encoded message shattered Umberto's resolve like glass beneath a hammer.
At any price, he must prevent his true nature from bleeding into the light. Their continued contact could only signify one thing: they required something from him as desperately as he required their silence.
[ Name your price. ]
He etched his reply in cipher and suspended the note from the window frame.
Half a day passed before his message vanished, replaced by a modest pouch.
[ Deliver this to your master. ]
When he unsealed the container, a verdant fragrance kissed his nostrils.
"A scented candle?"
Umberto froze.
The intoxicating perfume clinging to his senses carried an undercurrent of menace—dark as poison in honeyed wine.
Etienne collects scented candles like a miser hoards gold. That festering swine burns them exclusively during his nocturnal... labors.
Recently, Etienne had been condemned to involuntary abstinence, tempering his rage and appetites with flickering wax and fragrance alone.
They mean to transform me into their instrument of assassination?
He shook his head and scratched out a refusal.
[ Impossible. The danger is too profound. ]
The response that materialized was ice wrapped in ink.
[ Would it not prove simpler than opening the throats of your comrades at Ossoff? ]
"Ossoff...! How did they excavate that secret?!"
Umberto's fingers trembled like leaves before a storm.
His operatives were scattered across the continent like seeds in wind. Some had even embedded themselves among the nomadic peoples currently locked in war with Valdina.
Ossoff stood as the capital of the Lasai people—renowned throughout the realm as the most vicious and merciless of all the tribes.
They possessed knowledge of foreign enemies and the byzantine machinations of domestic officials alike. The breadth of their intelligence network inspired not admiration, but a visceral, bone-deep dread.
Better to sacrifice one rutting pig than watch all of Ossoff's operatives dangle from nooses.
Not long past, the order to return home had been issued. His superiors had declared Etienne a depleted resource, wrung dry of value.
He acquiesced as though the leash had already settled around his throat.
The Following Dawn — Etienne's Bedchamber
Shafts of aggressive sunlight pierced the curtains like golden spears. Etienne, entombed beneath his bedclothes, grimaced with theatrical suffering.
"Forgive me, Master. Your appointment at the palace draws near."
"Silence, you worm. What manner of vermin are you..."
Etienne unleashed a torrent of unrestrained profanity upon his attendant. The previous night's indulgences— interminable prattle sustained until the small hours—had left his skull pounding like a war drum.
Then a beguiling fragrance drifted past his awareness.
"...Hmm?"
Etienne cracked his eyes open, drawn by the sophisticated and mollifying scent. Through his hazy vision, he discerned a servant hovering near the candlestick.
"Is this a fresh acquisition?"
"Ah, no, Master. It arrived among the gifts Baron Girion dispatched—a petition for favorable appointment, if you recall."
Umberto delivered his prepared explanation with the smoothness of oiled silk.
Should I introduce new elements without precaution, suspicion would fall upon me first. I cannot permit such exposure.
Should catastrophe befall Etienne through that scented candle, offering Baron Girion as scapegoat will purchase sufficient time for escape.
"...Insects deserving to be crushed beneath one's boot...!"
An ashtray suddenly arced through the air and struck Umberto's chest with brutal force.
Etienne spat, his yellowed teeth gleaming like tarnished ivory.
"Did I not command you to present only items of quality and worth? Do not hesitate—ignite it with vigor!"
The irritation temporarily subdued by sweet fragrance appeared to be resurging like flood waters.
"You witless swine, remember that your prosperity exists solely through my benevolence. When shall I encounter such exquisite scent again, save in your presence?"
His pallid belly undulated with self-satisfaction, rendering him yet more repugnant to behold. Umberto gripped the serpent-shaped candle with white-knuckled intensity.
"Indeed, Master. This humble servant's glory springs entirely from your magnificence. With each step I take, I offer prayers while contemplating your august bearing and sculptural countenance."
The smooth, frigid texture of the candle felt strangely gratifying against his palm. No tremor of hesitation remained in the hand that struck the flame.
"I possess discerning eyes..."
An entrancing perfume flooded the chamber.
Etienne buried his face into the pillow once more, satisfaction radiating from his corpulent form. The quivering flesh vanished beneath ivory sheets.
Umberto retreated to his quarters and affixed a hastily scrawled message to the window frame.
[ The deed is initiated. ]
District Three — The Vegetable Market
In the early morning hours, an ox-drawn cart departed Count Etienne's estate after delivering provisions.
A youth crowned with a straw hat perched before the cart, guiding the oxen. The wheels carved dull groans from the cobblestones.
As the beast lumbered into the third district, where vegetable vendors congregated—
"Tom. Was the delivery successful?"
At the stranger's inquiry from within the cart, the boy tilted back his straw hat. His freckled face split into a grin.
"Please. Have you ever witnessed this indomitable Tom bungle anything?"
He produced a fragment of parchment.
"But what game is that valet playing? His movements suggest either relocation or the careful erasure of traces."
"That knowledge exceeds your purview."
"Does Her Highness still withhold her trust after employing me thus?"
Tom's lips compressed into a petulant line.
"It is not Her Highness who distrusts you—it is I."
"Master instructed me to become Her Highness's hands and feet. By that logic, I am your subordinate as well. Neril, do you fear I shall plant a knife in your back?"
"Her Highness commanded me to compensate you. I am departing."
Neril remained unmoved, merely hurling a pouch at Tom before vaulting from the cart.
The purse overflowed with gold coin. Tom's smile turned bitter.
No master pays their subordinates so generously. This was the Princess's carefully drawn boundary.
Had I foreseen this outcome, I would have dispatched another in that moment.
He suspected his very existence provoked her displeasure.
An uncharacteristic regret had taken root within him—perhaps because he had personally witnessed the daily transformation in the countenances of those inhabiting the military settlement the Princess had constructed.
The Princess's Palace
"Your Highness. Etienne's servant has moved."
Neril surrendered Umberto's note.
"Exemplary work. Neril, your gifts for concealment proved invaluable this time."
Neril's lips curved faintly at Medea's commendation. It was a diffident smile that stood in stark contrast to her formidable talents—skills so refined they had evaded even the vigilant guards' detection.
"You honor me excessively. But Your Highness... how did you divine his identity as an imperial operative?"
"Ah, regarding that..."
Medea's initial encounter with Umberto had transpired during her punishment by the Queen Mother within the chapel.
"You must not approach."
"Nonsense. It requires but a moment."
"Minister! What manner of insolence is this?"
A cacophonous confrontation had erupted as the Queen Mother's ladies clashed with the Minister's retinue.
One of the minister's attendants, grappling with a maid, had captured her attention. As she studied that strangely familiar countenance, the man's tunic tore during the violent struggle.
Conviction crystallized when she observed the diminutive fox-shaped badge that tumbled forth and settled before Medea's feet.
Why does the Count of Kensington's operative lurk within Valdina?
It bore the unmistakable mark of the "Red Fox"—an espionage network orchestrated by the Count of Kensington, known only to the empire's innermost circle.
Louisa, Countess of Kensington, had served as the Katzen Empire's clandestine hand. She had nurtured the current Emperor of Katzen, Perdiccas II, since his days as merely a prince among many.
Kensington had poured her private fortune into establishing an intelligence apparatus throughout the empire—a spider's web of loyalty and information.
It was the Count of Kensington's machinations that enabled Perdiccas II to eliminate his formidable brothers and ascend the throne. Her network of concealed operatives had granted advance knowledge of assassination plots and rebellions, transforming potential disasters into calculated victories.
Yet perhaps such devotion burned too brightly—Perdiccas II, having secured his crown, moved to murder her and seize control of her network.
In the end, Kensington perished from starvation while hunted by the Emperor's shadows. The "Red Foxes" fragmented and dissolved into obscurity.
It was Jason's tutelage that had trained Medea to recognize these operatives at first glance.
"Medea, I must absorb the deceased Count of Kensington's network before my uncle devours it entirely. What strategy do you propose? I beseech you, assist me."
"Do not trouble yourself, beloved."
Leveraging her former station as Valdina's Princess, she had excavated scattered connections and deployed agents to locate those who had vanished into shadow.
She had weaponized their seething hatred toward the current Emperor, transforming fury into fealty.
Ultimately, they became Jason's hidden instruments and the most potent force in eliminating his rivals for succession.
All of it had been Medea's orchestration.
What monumental foolishness.
Yet her previous loyalties now appeared no different from the Count of Kensington's fatal devotion.
Jason. You shall receive no aid from them in this existence.
There would be no opportunity for the Count or the Red Foxes to transform into Jason's weapons.
First, she would maneuver Umberto to eliminate Minister Etienne.
Her ultimate objective extended far beyond—through this connection, she would eventually draw the Count of Kensington herself into her web.
Medea's lips curved upward like a blade finding its sheath.
"I forged an Emperor—therefore I must be the one to dismantle him."
Neril recoiled slightly at the venomous satisfaction so uncharacteristic of her mistress.
"No matter. Let us prepare for departure."
The trap had been baited to ensnare Etienne. Now the time had arrived to meet the hunter who would deliver the killing blow.
The Master Returns She built their network.
She knows their secrets.
Reclaims Them
To Be Continued
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