Ugh, I really don't want to do this right now.
I burned the letter after reading it. As usual, it was from Marquis Jhake — and as usual, it asked me to partner up with them for the Imperial Banquet. As usual, I wasn't going to write back.
But the one thing I actually needed from that letter I already had.
The Emperor had abruptly announced that the Imperial Banquet would be held a month earlier than scheduled.
So that's why the Tezca heads are there…!
It made sense now. The main mansion had been unusually quiet. I hadn't cared enough to investigate.
I should care now.
The Imperial Banquet is the single most significant event across the entire year. People from every corner of the continent gather in one place, under one roof.
With the church's recent prophecy still fresh — well. It wasn't hard to guess what this particular banquet was about.
Even with the [Blood Bond] issue more or less resolved — my grandmother retook her position as head, which gave me some breathing room — the Emperor's Blood Bond is something else entirely.
Her authority means nothing against that. If it activates, I'll be forced to attend regardless of what I want.
Which means I have to be ready.
And the problem is I'm not.
In the novel, the Imperial Banquet is a pivotal moment.
The demonkind — a race known for their ferocity and their long history of terrorizing humanity — launch a surprise attack on the Emperor during the event.
Their goal is simple: significantly weaken him. Fracture whatever the Empire has managed to hold together.
They fail, of course. Adele and her goons are there. The male leads step in. Everything works out the way it's supposed to.
But Adele's problem — and now, by extension, mine — is that she failed to properly establish her connections with the male leads before that moment.
She never really got the foothold she needed. And because of how things played out, her growth as the heroine of this novel got compromised at one of the most critical points in the story.
[Xipe asks why their avatar didn't just step in instead.]
"Because I'm not the heroine of this novel," I said flatly.
I'm just someone trying to change Josephine's fate. That's it. I'm not supposed to be great. I'm not destined for any of it.
And honestly — I've already taken too much from Adele as it is. The sainthood. Peter. A handful of connections that should have gone her way. I can't keep doing that.
I have to make it up somehow.
Somehow.
I sighed and kept walking.
The entrance to the delegation's wing came into view. The servants stationed outside spotted me and immediately lined up, bows and pleasant smiles arranged neatly.
"Welcome, Lady Josephine."
I smiled back. Pleasantries. All of it. I've been in this mansion long enough to know exactly what they think of me — and it's not this.
But they're professionals and so am I, and so we perform this small, polite lie and move on.
I stepped inside.
Julius was already there.
"Lady Josephine," he greeted.
"Your Highness." I inclined my head. "Are you ready for dinner?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Then please follow me."
I turned and led them down the corridor toward the dining hall. The delegation fell into step behind me, and the doors ahead opened to a long table laid out with more food than anyone needed — hot dishes, arranged courses, everything set and waiting.
At least Jane came through.
I gestured them to their seats and kept my expression exactly where it needed to be.
One thing at a time.
Deep breath.
"On behalf of the Konrow Duchy and the Tezca family, I welcome the delegation of Solidana to our table." I kept my voice even, formal, the kind of tone you practice in front of mirrors and hate yourself a little for. "It is our sincere hope that this dinner serves as the foundation of a fruitful relationship between our peoples. Please — eat well, and be at ease."
Cringe. Absolutely cringe. But what am I supposed to do? This is formal. There's a script. I don't get to opt out of the script just because it makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.
I turned to Julius with a smile that I was reasonably proud of. "Your Highness, if you would."
And Julius — to his credit — stood, and he did it like someone who had been born knowing exactly how a prince is supposed to stand. Posture, presence, measured cadence. The kind of speech that sounds genuine without oversharing, confident without being arrogant. Something about gratitude, about the ties between nations, about the honor of the occasion.
Everyone clapped.
Okay, fine. He's good at this.
He raised his glass. The delegation followed. The room settled into the quiet rustling of a dinner commencing in earnest.
I stepped back toward the corner of the hall.
Now.
[Skill used: Time Stop]
[All motion within a 50-meter radius has been suspended.]
The room went still. Not silent — it was already quiet — but still. Every person frozen mid-motion, glasses halfway raised, food halfway to mouths. Candle flames locked in place like painted fire.
I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.
I moved down the table methodically, tasting each dish in small amounts. The system flagged me almost immediately.
[Due to Divine Protection, all status effects are nullified.]
Right. So something is in here.
"Appraise."
[Appraisal activated.]
The results came back one by one, and the more I read, the harder my expression set.
The lamb — laced with Veinrot, a slow-acting toxin derived from blackthorn root that causes internal hemorrhaging over the course of three to four hours. Untraceable by the time symptoms appear.
The soup — Ashbloom extract. Attacks the nervous system. Paralysis within twenty minutes, death within the hour if untreated.
The bread — Mireweed powder, ground fine enough to be invisible. Prolonged exposure causes organ failure. They'd planned for seconds, clearly.
The wine — Serpent's Kiss, a paralytic compound that dissolves completely in alcohol. No taste, no color, no smell.
The water — Dulling Salt, cruder than the rest but effective. Suppresses mana generation. Whoever planned this was thorough: even if you didn't drink the wine, they wanted you helpless.
Thorough. Really thorough.
I set down the glass I was holding with a very controlled amount of force.
Outside, I could feel them — six, maybe seven figures positioned along the exterior walls, waiting. Two on the roof. One near the servants' entrance. All of them patient, all of them armed, all of them banking on the assumption that by the time the doors opened, there wouldn't be much resistance left inside.
What a night.
I moved through the frozen room, swapped every dish quietly and efficiently — clean replacements from the untouched preparation kitchen down the hall where Jane's food waited, untouched and uncontaminated. I swapped the wine. Replaced the water. Cleared every compromised plate and glass with the brisk efficiency of someone who has, unfortunately, done worse things under time pressure.
The assassins outside I dealt with last.
Seven total, as it turned out. I went through the exterior walls the same way I'd gone through Old York — quickly, quietly, with minimal property damage.
Two on the roof first, then the one at the servants' entrance before he could react to the sounds he wasn't hearing, then the remaining four along the wall in order of proximity.
No one inside would find bodies. I made sure of that.
I flicker my fingers.
[Time Stop — ending.]
[Motion resuming…]
The room came back to life around me. Glasses lowered. Silverware moved. Conversation picked up from whatever thread it had been on before I stepped away.
I was back in my corner, champagne flute in hand, expression perfectly composed.
Across the room, Julius set his glass down. His shoulders were just slightly too rigid. His eyes moved once — a fast, controlled sweep of the room — before settling back on his plate.
He felt it.
I kept my face neutral. He didn't look at me. Smart.
The dinner found its rhythm after that. Conversation loosened, as it tends to when the food is genuinely good and nobody is being slowly poisoned. I waited until things had settled before making my way over to Julius.
"How is everything?" I asked. "To your taste, I hope."
He looked up at me and smiled — thin, a little strained, the smile of a man working very hard to look like nothing had happened. "The southern dishes I'd heard about — they live up to the reputation."
"The braised river carp?" I nodded toward the dish nearest him. "It's a Tezca specialty. Slow-cooked in reduced plum wine with dried mountain herbs — the technique is about three hundred years old, supposedly passed down from a fishing village on the eastern banks. The spice blend on the outside is what most people notice first but the texture is the real thing." I gestured to the one beside it. "That's roasted fenroot with honeyed drippings. Heavier. Better as the meal goes on."
Julius listened. He was quiet in the particular way of someone whose mind is doing two things at once — present enough to follow, somewhere else enough that his eyes occasionally drifted.
After a moment, he set his napkin down and cleared his throat lightly. "If you'll excuse me — I need to retire briefly."
"Of course," I said, and smiled, and meant it.
He rose and strode off at a pace that was just a fraction too purposeful to be casual.
I wonder what that's about.
I watched him go for exactly one second — then decided I was grateful not to have to keep talking and reached for a fresh glass of champagne from the passing tray.
One thing at a time.