The next few weeks passed like silk over steel.
I smiled at tea parties. I nodded at council meetings. I walked with poise, dined with grace, and laughed just enough to make people uncomfortable.
"She's changed," they whispered.
"She's clever now."
"She's dangerous."
Good.
Let them say worse.
---
The first name on my list was Baron Edren Hale.
Old. Powerful. Loyal to the crown.
More importantly—he hated Serina.
"She once called his granddaughter a 'market rat in a tiara,'" Tessa told me one morning as she brushed my hair.
I smiled at my reflection.
"Then I believe he and I may have something in common."
---
I arranged for a chance encounter at a private garden soirée.
Baron Hale was known for two things:
Rare roses
And a weakness for revenge hidden under honor
"Baron Hale," I greeted, curtsying beside the nightbloom roses. "Your collection is stunning."
"Lady Elara." He gave me a curt nod. "You're looking… vibrant."
"Surviving does that," I replied.
He chuckled—hoarse and dry. "Well said."
---
We walked. Slowly. He offered no arm, but I didn't need it.
I didn't come here to flirt.
I came to plant seeds.
"I've heard the duchy is preparing a formal alliance with House Maren," I said casually.
His mouth twitched. "News travels quickly."
"Serina's doing?"
"Of course." He paused. "You disapprove?"
I met his eyes.
"I disapprove of fools pretending to be queens."
He blinked.
Then laughed—loud and sharp.
"My lady… perhaps you and I should talk further."
---
By the time I left the garden, the first alliance had bloomed.
Not in ink, not in law.
But in intent.
And in court, intent is more dangerous than oath.
---
Later that evening, Cladus waited at the foot of the stairs.
Always in armor. Always unreadable.
"You were with Baron Hale," he said.
"Do you disapprove?"
"No." He studied me. "I expected it."
"And what else do you expect of me, Sir Cladus?"
His jaw ticked slightly.
"To be better than them."
I stopped at the top of the steps. Looked down at him.
"I'm not trying to be better, Cladus," I said quietly. "I'm trying to win."
---
That night, I wrote six letters.
None of them signed.
Each delivered to a different minor house.
Each hinting at a rumor—true or not—about Serina's ambition to marry Auren and replace me as duchess.
"Let them panic," I murmured as I sealed the last one.
"Let them wonder who's really pulling the strings now."