"Every negotiation has its price—some sweeter than others."
"Is this girl deliberately trying to provoke me?"
Yet when Catherine examined those eyes—genuinely relieved, seemingly innocent—it appeared the Princess had no intention of mockery at all.
Noting Medea's formal attire and the waiting carriage beyond, Catherine forced herself to speak in a pleasant tone.
"Your Highness, where are you headed?"
"Ah, I'm going to see a play in District Two. Grandmother heard it was quite entertaining and insisted I attend."
Medea's eyebrows drooped with what appeared to be genuine melancholy.
"It would have been wonderful if Birna could have joined me."
Catherine bit the inside of her cheek and forced a smile.
Every time my daughter's name leaves this girl's mouth, rage burns inside me...
"Your Highness, please don't worry yourself over Birna. She'll return by the time the imperial delegation arrives. I'm her mother—I cannot bear to leave my child away for too long."
Catherine proceeded to elaborate on how deeply she cared for and cherished Birna.
It was a petty desire—to make Medea, who had no mother, look upon her with envious eyes, even if it meant engaging in something so childish.
However, instead of displaying any longing, the Princess said something unexpectedly foolish.
"My, that day is approaching already. I'm quite anxious about how I'll welcome the delegation. The late Minister was so skilled at such matters."
"Pardon?"
"I'm referring to Etienne. I truly had no idea someone so healthy could perish so suddenly. Had I known, I would have sent a physician."
Catherine flinched, struck by the barb.
"...Don't trouble yourself overmuch, Your Highness. It's not uncommon for someone of the Minister's age to experience a sudden decline within a day or two."
She regained her composure quickly.
"Rather, I'm more concerned about Your Highness's wellbeing."
A look of concern graced the face of the Lady, beautiful as a flower in bloom.
"One never knows what might happen in this world. You must always exercise extreme caution. If anything unfortunate were to befall Your Highness, I, as your aunt, would be inconsolable."
There was something insidious lurking beneath her words of concern.
"You're absolutely right, Aunt. Since a minister once thought capable of killing birds in flight has died, I must never forget your sage advice."
Medea smiled brightly and departed.
Yes, enjoy yourself. Your luxury won't last much longer.
Catherine glared at the carriage bearing the Princess until it disappeared from view, then turned away sharply.
Downtown Valdina, District Two.
The theatrical performance was held in an enormous hall situated at the district's heart.
The private boxes on the third floor, reserved for distinguished guests, were adorned with dark curtains that afforded complete privacy.
From these special seats, the stage and actors were visible at a glance, yet those within remained hidden from view—making them especially popular among nobility who preferred discretion.
As the curtain rose and the principal characters began their entrances, a slender woman appeared behind the velvet drape.
"I have come to escort Your Highness."
Her presence was nearly imperceptible, her bow impeccably polite.
A shadow sent by Façade?
Medea nodded slightly.
"Saya, remain here."
"Yes! Don't worry, Your Highness! I'll ensure no one discovers you're here—or suspects anything at all."
Leaving behind Saya, who appeared ready to defend the position with clenched fists, Medea followed the woman with Neril close behind.
They passed through a concealed corridor hidden behind the VIP box curtains.
Finally, a door opened, and brilliant light spilled forth.
An antique interior of rich mahogany greeted her eyes.
A cheerfully smiling man with straw-colored blond hair rose to his feet, arms spread wide. He'd clearly been waiting.
"Your Royal Highness, welcome!"
Lamplight caught the corner of his mouth, illuminating a faint scar on Gallo's cheek.
Neril kept her hand firmly on her sword hilt, vigilant.
"Lord Gallo."
Medea inclined her head.
At an ornate round table, Gallo and Cesare occupied one side while Medea sat across from them with Neril standing protectively behind her chair.
"How are your injuries? I heard you saved one of my subordinates recently."
Gallo placed a hand over his heart and bowed respectfully—the demeanor of a leader who valued his people absolutely.
"I, Gallo, should have visited Your Highness personally to express my gratitude."
Medea looked past Gallo to Cesare instead.
His well-formed mouth curved slightly.
"Don't bother pretending. I've already been exposed."
"What?" Gallo's eyes widened. When he observed the Princess seated before Cesare, his mouth fell open in realization.
"Boss, did you... tell her everything?"
"She already knew."
Cesare turned and studied Medea intently.
Pale complexion and slender arms. Hair that seemed spun from shattered moonlight.
No one would imagine this delicate girl was the same person who'd pierced the Hydra's neck with a crossbow that day.
Those direct eyes. Movements without hesitation. Incredible tactical acumen.
The Princess's every action from that encounter had burned itself into Cesare's memory like a brand.
"So, why did my benefactor request this meeting? Have you decided upon the repayment you wish to receive?"
"I'm here to propose a transaction with Façade."
Medea gestured subtly to Neril.
With the practiced movements of a knight, Neril produced a heavy purse and placed it upon the table.
"If you prefer a private discussion, say so now."
"I don't mind."
Medea looked toward Gallo.
If he served as Façade's public face rather than its leader, he would discover this information eventually regardless.
"There's something I need your mercenaries to accomplish."
Gallo responded immediately.
"Do you wish to support the King on the battlefield? I've already declined Sir Sissair's request, though if it's yours, I'll do my utmost."
"No. I'm not sending you to the plains."
Cesare raised an eyebrow with evident amusement.
"Please, continue. Certainly, both the Princess and the King fighting on the plains would benefit from new weapons."
It was also a veiled reference to the dagger Medea had returned.
Neril unfolded a map she'd brought.
Medea's pale hand placed a small horse bearing a flag on a specific location in the western region.
"Here lies the Rasai tribe's military supply depot. Soon, a convoy will depart from Ossoff carrying fresh military provisions."
The midpoint of the western plains, connected directly from Ossoff where the war currently raged.
"Here. And here."
Medea's hand struck the markers decisively. Suddenly, one flag snapped in half.
"I want Façade to intercept them and burn their supplies."
Everything—from military provisions stockpiled in warehouses to newly transferred shipments.
The Princess's words filled the room with the gravity of warfare.
"Your Highness, are you attempting to accelerate the war's conclusion?"
"Precisely so."
"If you wish to end it swiftly, eliminating the enemy's supply lines is certainly correct, but..."
Gallo glanced back at Cesare, his expression seeking guidance.
Cesare appeared unsurprised, merely studying the map thoughtfully.
His golden eyes—deep and unreadable—slowly returned to regard Medea.
"Princess, weren't you curious about me that day?"
A slender finger tapped the white half-mask he wore.
"You had the opportunity to remove my mask while I lay unconscious. Why didn't you?"
Though it was an abrupt question, Medea immediately understood which moment he referenced and answered with indifference.
He turned and poured warm tea into delicate porcelain. It was clear-leaf tea, fragrant and pale.
As the proverb goes, Cesare recognized the girl seated before him.
These people do not move recklessly.
Having established herself as a seemingly frivolous Princess while silently severing the Prince Regent's right arm—none of it had deviated from her calculations.
And yet... you saved me.
That had definitely been something outside the Princess's meticulous plans.
Amusingly enough, he found himself quite satisfied to have been included in that unexpected variable.
So then, wasn't it appropriate for him to make an exception as well?
The soft scent of tea wafted through the previously cold room.
"Very well. Façade will repay its debt. But under one condition."
Medea frowned at the ambiguous response.
"Answer definitively first. State your conditions afterward—"
At that moment, something sweet entered her mouth.
"Three bites. Then I'll give you my answer."
Without ceremony, he'd scooped up a spoonful of custard pie and placed it directly into her mouth.
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