“Goodness!”
“The duke himself said that?”
“They say he dotes on his daughter—seems it’s true.”
All eyes turned to Countess Begince, who spoke. She fanned herself lightly, pausing for effect.
“My husband has some rapport with the duke,” she said, laughing airily.
“I didn’t know Count Begince had such connections,” a woman remarked.
“Indeed, especially since the duke is new to the capital.”
“Impressive!”
Basking in their admiration, Countess Begince shot me a triumphant look.
The duke and Count Begince…
No reports mentioned their meeting. Either it was too discreet for the guild’s eyes, or their connection predated his arrival in the capital.
Countess Begince seemed unaware of the weight her words carried.
That’s why she’s so careless, puffing up her pride.
“Count Begince must be more capable than I realized,” I said.
“Of course! House Begince is as storied as House Eliant,” she declared, chin raised, looking down at me.
Several women frowned at her words, clearly irked by her claim. To nobles steeped in lineage, equating a newly risen house like Begince to the ancient House Eliant was offensive.
Among nobles, hierarchy wasn’t just titles—it was history. House Begince, enriched by mines, was a minor rural family until two generations ago. House Eliant, a founding family since the empire was a kingdom, was leagues apart. Only upstart nobles would miss this distinction.
“Are you mocking me, Lady Eliant?”
A sneer must have slipped out. Her eyes narrowed sharply. Softening my expression, I replied, “Not at all. It seems we simply understand ‘storied’ differently.”
“What does that—!”
“Enough, Countess Begince,” another woman cut in, one of those visibly displeased.
“What have I done, Lady Leslie?”
“Your words are utterly tactless.”
“And interrupting isn’t rude?”
So the lines are being drawn.
The social scene, long subdued by the First Consort’s influence, had been quiet. Minor squabbles happened under her tacit approval, but with her gone, the leaderless society was a powder keg.
Most here were young, not seasoned schemers. They weren’t probing—they were baring their ambitions openly.
“Tch, this is why you don’t deal with rootless houses…”
“Rootless? How dare you!”
“Getting defensive? Must’ve struck a nerve.”
The silent began aligning with whichever side suited them. Marchioness Engrail looked troubled. Normally, her status would keep things civil, but these young nobles’ inexperience let tempers flare.
Can I use this, or is it useless?
I watched the clash between Countess Begince and Lady Leslie, my mind racing. New-money nobles rallied behind Begince, while old-blood houses backed Leslie, forming a standoff.
With no one reining them in, their exchanges grew bolder. Those still undecided glanced around nervously.
Clap!
I clapped my hands, drawing all eyes. Smiling lightly, I spoke.
“I thought this was a tea party for camaraderie. Was I mistaken?”
The bickering women flushed, caught off guard by my innocent tone. They opened their mouths to retort, but Marchioness Engrail seized the moment.
“Haha, such passion among the young! Spirited debates are fine, but how about enjoying some fresh pastries?”
Her experience hosting gatherings shone through, deftly reframing their spat as a lively discussion. The tension eased, but the embers remained. Glares lingered, though none dared speak as freely as before.
Ruining the mood she’d salvaged would disrespect the marchioness, the emperor’s daughter. No one here could afford that.
I’ve accomplished enough for today.
Nobles flocked together for one reason: survival. Alone, you couldn’t endure in this world—and that included me.
Back then, I surrounded myself with sycophants. They blinded my eyes, deafened my ears, and ultimately bound my hands and feet.
I won’t repeat that mistake.
With the First Consort’s fall, her allies’ reign over society ended. The vacuum left behind was ripe for the taking.
I studied the attendees. Young and green, but soon they’d fill this space.
Those who’ll help me, hinder me, or be worth using.
I’d already assessed them. Now, I just needed to wait for the right moment.
A maid refilled my empty teacup at my gesture. White steam rose from the ruby liquid. I lifted the cup, savoring the fragrant aroma tickling my nose.
Act 18: Preparation
Clang.
The sharp clash of swords rang out clearly. In the cold air, white breath puffed from the mouths of two men sparring.
“Hah!”
With a sharp cry, Rant swung his sword at Evan. The blade sliced through the air, leaving a silver arc as it surged toward him.
Despite the chill, beads of sweat glistened on Rant’s forehead.
Clang.
Another clash. This time, Evan moved first, feinting a retreat before darting to Rant’s right, striking swiftly.
Rant twisted, narrowly dodging the fierce attack. After a few more exchanges, they stepped back, catching their breath.
“It’s cold, my lady. You’ll catch a chill,” the butler said, draping a thick coat over my shoulders.
I caught Marly, my maid, sighing in relief. She’d been fidgeting, too timid to urge me inside.
We’d only meant to watch briefly, so both Marly and I were still in our indoor clothes. Seeing her pale from the cold, I felt a pang of guilt.
“Go inside, Marly. I’ll stay a bit longer.”
“But…”
“Do as the lady says,” the butler said softly, urging her.
Marly hesitated, then bowed to us and retreated indoors.
“Where’s Father?” I asked.
“In his study.”
Father had returned from the estate a few days ago, diving into overdue work the moment he arrived. I could handle household matters, but not his duties as chancellor or estate affairs.
“Has he eaten?”
“He said he wasn’t hungry, but I’m sure he’d be delighted if you joined him.”
I turned from Rant’s sparring to the butler, who smiled slyly as our eyes met.
“Getting cheekier by the day,” I teased.
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
