# The Priceof Defiance
Red strands drifted down across Marieu's shoulders.
"Neril?"
What Marieu had mistaken for thread was her own severed hair.
The lustrous crimson locks she'd tended so carefully—her pride, her vanity—now lay scattered across the floor like fallen petals.
"*Aaaah!* What have you done?!"
"Next time, it will be your neck."
Neril's warning came low and cold, the sword still raised between them.
"Are you insane? Have you lost your mind?!"
The blade shifted, standing upright. Steel kissed skin. Marieu felt the razor-thin line of pain where metal had begun to part flesh.
Neril leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant for Marieu's ears alone.
"If you dare lay a hand on Her Highness again, I will break every one of your fingers."
"You... you..."
Marieu bit down hard on her lip. She'd never imagined that Neril—who'd always seemed so dull, so unremarkable—could radiate such menace.
Those flat, emotionless eyes held the gaze of someone who had killed before.
Shuddering, Marieu stumbled backward.
"Neril, is your body all right?"
"I'm fine, Your Highness."
Despite her bandaged right hand, Neril held the sword in her left with practiced ease. The shift seemed to cost her no discomfort whatsoever.
Medea studied Neril's frame, her posture, the fluid way she moved despite her injury.
Strong.
During her campaigns with Jason's army, Medea had fought alongside countless warriors. Neril couldn't match the Empire's greatest knights—not yet—but she had the foundation to become formidable.
Even now, wounded and fighting with her off-hand, Neril moved without hesitation.
If she's this capable while injured, what will she be like when fully healed?
She could probably hold her own against one of Katzen's seven-star knights. Perhaps even best them.
Peleus, this is why you sent her to me.
"What did you say to turn Marieu's face so pale?"
"I told her..." Neril's expression remained neutral. "To try harder."
"Is that so?"
Whatever the actual words had been, they'd worked. Marieu was nothing more than a festering thorn in Medea's side—one she had no intention of tolerating any longer.
The woman who'd driven a knife between her shoulder blades would not be allowed to remain close.
"From today forward, you will all attend to my needs directly. You—you'll manage my wardrobe."
"Your Highness, truly?"
Excitement rippled through their voices.
Serving the Princess directly meant access, influence, opportunities that lesser positions could never provide.
Marieu has been pushed aside—now we have a chance to claim her position!
"Your Highness, the palace felt... strange today."
"Strange how?"
"I went to collect supplies, and there was a mountain of properly seasoned firewood available, but they gave me wet wood instead. Moldy and damp!"
"They told us to carry everything ourselves too."
"And they've forbidden the general staff from entering our palace entirely."
Without the servants who maintained the basic infrastructure of the palace, all menial labor would fall to the Princess's personal maids.
"The head maid was disciplined yesterday. It seems she means to take revenge."
Medea nodded as though this were exactly what she'd expected.
"Oh heavens—then is it true? The rumor that Your Highness actually struck Madame Cuisine with a cane..."
The incident had spread through the palace like wildfire overnight. Only the maids confined to the Princess's quarters had remained ignorant.
Now, hearing confirmation from Medea's own lips, they turned to stare at Neril standing beside the Princess. They remembered yesterday—the Princess storming in to defend her wounded maid, standing against the most powerful servant in the entire palace.
"Truly, because of just one maid..."
She made an enemy of the head maid!
"This is my palace. These are my people."
"It would have been the same for any of you—not just Neril. No one touches what is mine without my permission."
The maids fell silent, stunned by the iron in those words.
"Your Highness, forgive our impertinence, but... what do you plan to do now?"
Medea regarded the anxious faces watching her expectantly.
You're not curious about your Princess. You're curious about what to report to your real masters.
Someone had planted them here to monitor the situation. Their eyes gleamed, waiting for intelligence to carry back.
"I cannot yield to the head maid now."
Medea opened a drawer and withdrew several items, letting them catch the light.
"Madame Cuisine holds considerable power. You'll suffer for a while because of this. I'm sorry."
Ruby earrings
Gold bracelet
Sapphire ornaments
The maids' eyes widened to saucers. The Princess was giving away her personal treasures to comfort them.
"If we don't stand firm now, the head maid will believe she can dispose of any of you whenever she wishes."
Her eyes had gone cold as winter stars, but the maids—distracted by their newfound wealth—didn't notice.
"Even though I am a powerless mistress, I won't stand by and watch you all suffer the same treatment."
Pale hands settled over the maids' fingers where they clutched their new treasures. Small hands. Delicate. Slightly cool to the touch.
"I will appeal to my uncle for assistance. Please bear with this... inadequate master until then."
The calm resignation in her tone, the way her lashes lowered to hide devastated eyes—it painted a portrait of noble suffering.
"No, Your Highness! You're trying to protect us—how could we possibly blame you?"
"No matter how the head maid tries to harass us, we'll endure it with all our strength and serve you faithfully. Please, trust in us."
The maids chorused their loyalty with tears streaming down their faces.
The substantial weight in their palms only deepened their newfound devotion.
"They're nothing but opportunistic parasites." Once the maids had bowed themselves out, Neril's disapproval was immediate. "You gave them too much."
The palace crawled with spies trying to monitor the Princess's every movement.
Not one of these servants deserved Medea's genuine consideration.
"They're all desperate for gossip about Your Highness, yet you reward them with treasure."
"That's precisely why you're the only one I can truly trust, Neril."
Though the drawer sat empty now, Medea's expression remained serene.
"Which is why I need to clear out the rest."
"Your Highness?"
At Neril's puzzled look, Medea's mouth curved ever so slightly.
Most of the jewelry she'd distributed had been gifts from Duke and Duchess Claudio.
Her uncle and his wife had presented her with expensive pieces—gems so large they seemed impressive at first glance.
On the surface, the Duke and Duchess appeared to dote on their niece with extravagant generosity.
But closer inspection revealed the truth. The craftsmanship was shoddy. The settings emphasized size over elegance, creating gaudy monstrosities meant to impress the ignorant.
And I wore them proudly to official functions...
No wonder the nobles and foreign envoys had treated her with such contempt.
"The moment they leave the palace, they'll try to sell what I gave them."
"Oh." Understanding dawned in Neril's eyes. "That's what you want."
The jewels Medea had distributed were megaphones broadcasting to the world.
Some people would remember these gifts—the ones the Regent and his wife had made such a show of presenting to Princess Medea.
When those gems appeared on the market, questions would arise.
Why would a Princess be forced to sell her personal belongings to console her own servants?
How long could her uncle maintain his careful facade?
"A cheap price for such useful leverage."
Medea patted Neril's shoulder, her expression never changing.
"You will regret this."
The head maid's promise had not been empty.
Sand in the flour Vermin-infested bedding All visitors rejected Complete isolation Every petty cruelty imaginable was deployed to make the young Princess's life unbearable.
The palace had received few visitors before, but with even routine service calls blocked, it became as desolate as an abandoned mausoleum.
The head maid intended to isolate Medea completely within the vast palace walls.
I've also instructed Catherine to avoid the Princess for now.
Madame Cuisine imagined Medea slowly realizing the cost of her reckless defiance.
Foolish girl. You woke a sleeping lion and dared to yank its whiskers.
But there was something she hadn't anticipated.
"Ugh, how much longer will this continue? Throw that out—it came from the administrative offices."
"Isn't this style hopelessly outdated? The hairpin is an absolute monstrosity."
Most of her malicious "gifts" never reached Medea at all.
The maids—newly enriched and genuinely loyal—intercepted them with ruthless efficiency.
Flush with cash, the maids bought their own food, wine, and laundry. Palace supplies went straight to the incinerator.
Inside a warm, fragrant room, Medea sipped tea.
Perfectly comfortable.
End Chapter 7 ## The Price of Defiance
"The best revenge is living well—while your enemies watch."
[ Continue to Chapter 8 ]