Conspiracy
"Fighting alone doesn't make you innocent."
The Observer
"It's funny," Cesare murmured, eyes lingering on the ruined banquet hall beyond the open doors.
Gallo slid his dagger back into its sheath with a click.
"What is?"
"Out of everyone in there," Cesare said, "not a single one is truly protecting that girl."
He replayed the moment Etienne had charged.
Medea hadn't screamed.
Hadn't looked around for a savior.
She had simply adjusted her grip on the fan, calculating the angle of a killing strike.
Like a fledgling bird
standing against a storm,
wings broken, eyes painfully clear.
She knows no one is coming for her, Cesare thought. Just like I did.
The Imperial Palace came back to him—long corridors full of polite smiles and hidden blades, tutors who watched him like a beast on a leash.
Powerless. Isolated. Forced to survive with nothing but brutality and instinct.
That same raw awareness lived behind Medea's calm gaze.
The Objection
Gallo snorted.
"Boss, you've got a twisted sense of pity. You do remember she's the one who planned that whole mess, right?"
Etienne's breakdown at the banquet hadn't been a coincidence.
Nor had the Claudio siblings being dragged down with him.
"Now we know exactly who that 'impotent poisonous plant' poem was really about," Gallo continued. "It was all her trick."
"And that doesn't make her any less pitiable."
He sighed, almost amused at himself.
It was pathetic, the way she had to lay each stone by hand, straining all her strength to move pieces she barely had.
Gallo shook his head, baffled.
"Our sympathy scales are completely different. I'd understand if you said you fell for her because she's pretty. But this?"
"Anyway, next time, hold back even if you feel bad for her. The Princess didn't falter even when she was alone. You charged in for once, and we got called wild dogs. She even turned Facade into a dog house in one sentence."
Should I kill him?
Cesare's fingers twitched, as if his irritation needed somewhere to go.
The Shadow Reports
Zeta dropped lightly from a higher branch, landing without a sound.
"My lord."
"Report," Cesare said.
"The Book of the Sage isn't in the Royal Library. Intelligence indicates Regent Claudio took it with him when he left the palace."
"We tried to dig deeper, but the knights suddenly returned. The banquet seems to have… ended early."
Earlier than anyone had planned.
"Of course it did," Cesare said lightly.
Gallo opened his mouth, face still twisted with indignation.
"First of all, our noble lord—the most exalted person in the Empire—lets me get called a mutt—"
He leapt sideways mid-sentence.
A silver dagger quivered in the trunk where his cheek had been a heartbeat earlier.
"No matter that I couldn't hold my tongue—this is abuse, Boss! Are you going to kill your sworn brother like this?"
Cesare's voice dropped, almost thoughtful.
"Fighting alone doesn't make you innocent,"
"it just makes you lonely."
Gallo clicked his tongue.
"Next time keep your loneliness to yourself. I don't like being called a wild dog. My pride took real damage."
"Shall I kill you to restore it?"
"My lord!"
"Move," Cesare said. "We're going to steal a book."
The Next Day
A Salon in District One
Rain beat against the windows, but inside the salon, the air burned with gossip.
"Did you hear what happened at the royal banquet?"
"You mean Count Etienne? Of course. I saw it with my own eyes."
Even in the gloom, fans fluttered like excited birds.
"Not only did he knock over Princess Claudio, he even laid hands on the little Duke. Such a handsome boy—I'd hoped to see him escorting me at dinner, not wrestling a madman…"
"The rumors were true then. The Minister… you know."
Etienne's private vices had burst into full daylight.
Drunk, naked, and clawing at the Regent's children—how could anyone smother that story?
"The Duke tried to send word this morning, telling everyone to keep quiet," one matron sniffed.
"Too late. Once the chickens see blood, they don't unsee it."
The banquet, held in Medea's honor, had invited twice the usual number of guests.
There was simply no way to plug that many mouths.
Wherever people gathered, the Claudio siblings became the day's entertainment.
"The Duke spent a fortune on that banquet, only for the Minister they treated as an ally to ruin everything."
"Still, did you see Princess Claudio's dress? She was dripping jewels. If they hadn't announced Medea, I wouldn't have known which one was the Princess."
As conversations deepened, the polite veneer thinned and true feelings surfaced.
"Honestly, it was too much. Even if Her Highness enjoys luxury, it was excessive to be outshone by her cousin dressed like a peacock."
"And that gown was originally commissioned for the Princess. Birna demanded it."
Sympathy for the Claudio siblings as "victims" existed—
but it tangled quickly with resentment at their overreach.
"Did you hear Princess Claudio screaming under him? I thought pterosaurs had returned. She even snarled at the people trying to help."
"People our age are dying on the front lines," a young lady remarked archly. "Meanwhile, the little Duke oils his shoulders and struts around banquets. No wonder creatures like Etienne are drawn to them. Look at him—he doesn't even approach the truly manly ones like my fiancé."
In tea rooms all across the capital, snide jabs kept landing.
"If Princess Claudio had worn something lighter, she could've fled in time."
In Medea's previous life, all of this scorn would have been aimed at her.
This time, that weight fell squarely on the Claudio heirs.
They had used Medea as a scapegoat for years, basking in the envy that came with standing at the pinnacle of society.
It was only natural there were many who'd been quietly waiting for the day they slipped.
The Duke's Estate
"Why is this happening?!"
Joaquin Claudio paced his study like a caged animal.
"They're mocking us!" he snarled. "My children were attacked, and the city laughs!"
"Your Excellency," an aide said gently, "it would be prudent to remain indoors for now. Let the rumors die down."
Joaquin slammed the door in his face.
The walls of the estate seemed to inch closer by the hour.
Visits were refused; the duke barred himself behind oak and iron as if that could keep out whispers.
Birna's Bedroom
"I can't go out!"
"I can't ever go out again!"
Birna screamed into her pillow until her throat burned.
The images refused to fade:
The dress tearing.
Wine soaking into her skin.
Etienne's hands reaching—
The wine.
Her breath stuttered.
"He drank it,"
she whispered.
"The wine I drugged."
The realization hit like plunging headfirst into icy water.
I did this.
"My reputation… no one will ever marry me," she sobbed. "I'm ruined!"
The Mother's Venom
Catherine sat at the edge of the bed, stroking Birna's hair with measured gentleness.
"It isn't your fault," she murmured.
Birna's red-rimmed eyes flicked up.
"Then whose is it?"
Catherine's gaze hardened.
"Hers."
"Medea?"
"If she had worn the dress," Catherine hissed, "if she had behaved and obeyed—none of this would have happened."
She did not mention Birna's refusal to change.
Nor the drug in the wine.
In her mind, guilt had already chosen its host.
"She used you to polish her image," Catherine said. "She made us look monstrous so she could look noble."
Catherine rose, resolve settling over her like armor.
"Don't worry, Birna," she said, "Mother will fix this."
Her lips curved—not in comfort, but in promise.
"That girl will pay
for every tear you shed."
Threads Tighten ## Conspiracy Blooms in Darkness
A princess walks alone. A mercenary sees his own reflection in her eyes. And vengeance sharpens its blade in the shadows.
[ To Be Continued ]
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