# The Serpent'sGame
— The Princess's Palace — "Your Highness… did you know the head maid would act exactly like this?"
Medea stood at the window, gaze drifting over the gardens below. Far beneath, the last of the sobbing maids were being pulled across the courtyard.
Their cries thinned, then disappeared as the iron gate swallowed them.
"Yes."
A simple answer. The implications were anything but.
Neril recalled the Princess's words as she'd handed out gems not long ago:
"A cheap price for such useful leverage."
She had not imagined that leverage would be turned on the head maid herself.
Nor that Medea would contrive the total purge of her own household without so much as raising her voice.
From the very beginning…
The realization settled heavily in Neril's chest.
"The masters of those expelled maids will grow wary of the Regent now. Once they learn what became of their plants, they'll assume he's moved against them."
Neril nodded slowly as the threads connected.
"And when suspicion spreads, my uncle will not look inward. He will need someone to blame—his rivals, the head maid… anyone but himself."
In this version of events, the Princess was merely a pitiable victim, bruised by palace politics she could not possibly control.
"You're deliberately turning them on each other."
"I'm simply letting them eat what they raised."
Neril studied her mistress in silence.
The girl who once cried over an injured bird, who apologized to servants for speaking too harshly, was nowhere to be found.
In her place stood someone who weighed people like pieces:
useful, expendable, or dangerous. "The Medea I knew would never have done this."
"That Medea died here."
Her tone was as flat as a tombstone.
"This palace does not allow foolishness to live. Innocence is a luxury it punishes."
She turned fully, those green eyes seeming to look through Neril and into some darker future only she could see.
"Does that frighten you, Neril?"
There was no hesitation.
"No matter how Your Highness changes, I will remain."
"A den of snakes has no use for purity."
And I have already chosen my nest.
Medea inclined her head—approval, not gratitude.
"Good."
"The head maid may try to reclaim control. If she attempts something we have not accounted for—"
"She won't. She is bound by habit. So is my uncle."
The edge in Medea's eyes softened—not with kindness, but with calculation complete.
The threats she could not predict did not come from them.
What truly haunted her
were the things that had not happened yet.
— Berry Tea — The sharp crack of porcelain against stone snapped Neril from her thoughts.
"Oh—Your Highness! I'm so clumsy!"
Maria stood by the table, hands trembling around a fresh teacup, panic already glistening at the corners of her eyes.
She had come to the Princess's quarters at dawn bearing a tray, eager and over-dressed, the very image of a devoted attendant.
Maria "I brewed this myself."
Her smile was painfully bright.
"Berry tea. Your favorite. You always said it soothed you."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
"You used to ask for it whenever you were sad, remember?"
Steam curled upward from the cup.
Dark. Almost black.
Too dark for the bottom to be seen.
Medea froze.
The color dragged her backward—
hands forcing her jaw open,
the burn in her throat,
the helpless choking,
the taste of poison disguised as care.
"I'm not thirsty. Perhaps later."
"But Your Highness, I rose before dawn to gather the berries. My knees are still damp from the dew. At least taste it, for my sake."
Maria stepped closer, lifting the teacup toward Medea's lips as if feeding an indulged child.
"I said later."
"Just one sip—"
"ENOUGH!"
Her hand moved before thought could catch it.
The teacup flew from Maria's grasp and shattered against the wall.
Dark tea soaked into the white rug like fresh blood.
"How many times must I refuse before you understand?"
"Y-Your Highness, I only—"
"You seem incapable of hearing me."
The new maids, quicker on the uptake than Maria, stepped in and took her firmly by the arms.
"Your Highness! Please forgive me! Don't cast me aside—you're all I have!"
The door closed on her protests with a hollow bang.
"…Ha."
Only after confirming she was alone did Medea let the tension bleed from her shoulders.
Her hand rose to her throat. Her fingers shook.
Her gaze drifted to the tea spreading across the floor.
Even now, the mere sight of that depthless red brought with it the phantom sensation of fingers closing around her windpipe.
Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the glass beside it.
Clear water. Cool. Uncolored.
It went down without resistance.
"It's only the color, then."
Dark liquids. Only those.
"As long as no one notices, it doesn't matter."
"Your Highness, are you all right?"
Neril rushed in, sword hand half-raised, then stilled as she took in the shards scattered across the floor and the stain on the rug.
Her eyes darkened when she realized who had been standing there a moment ago.
"What does that woman think gives her the right to act so presumptuously? If you would permit it—"
Her thumb brushed the hilt at her hip.
"No."
"With the staff replaced, she has nowhere left to vent her anxiety. She's been ignored, pushed aside. She'll break on her own soon enough."
"When that happens, we end it properly. Until then, keep watching her. Closely."
"Yes, Your Highness."
— After Curfew — Long after every lamp in the Princess's palace had been extinguished, a single figure slipped from a side gate.
Marieu kept her hood low, heart pounding loud enough to drown out her steps.
"Samon!"
Beneath a crooked street lamp, a young man paced, cloak drawn tight against the night air.
Samon Claudio Slim and well-dressed, with ash-brown hair and refined features, Samon was considered handsome among Valdina's nobility.
Up close, his thin mouth and restless eyes told a different story—shrewd, resentful, forever calculating.
To Marieu, he was perfect.
She threw herself toward him, arms outstretched.
The embrace she expected did not come.
"Inside."
He seized her wrist and pulled her into a nearby building, out of sight of the street.
"What happened?"
No greeting. No comfort. Only sharp impatience.
"What do you mean?"
"Medea's entire household has been replaced. What did you do?"
"Darling, it wasn't my fault. What could I possibly do when the Princess herself pushed me away?"
Marieu shared his unease. The new maids had to be removed before they secured Medea's favor for good.
She'd gone to the Princess every day, pouring honey into every word, deploying every trick she'd honed since childhood—but Medea remained unmoved. Remote. Cold.
Like knocking on a locked door where once she'd walked freely.
"Look what she did to me."
Marieu lifted her skirt to reveal the dark welts marring her calf.
"She sent me to the head maid. I was beaten like this..."
Samon's expression, which had been merely annoyed, sharpened at that.
"Wait."
"Medea is pushing you away?"
Interest—dark and hungry—lit his eyes.
End Chapter 9 ## The Serpent's Game
"In a nest of vipers, even the hatchlings learn to bite."
[ Continue to Chapter 10 ]