Dawn crept through the curtains, pale and indifferent.
Alesia sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection—the dark circles under her eyes, the tightness in her jaw.
'I look like a ghost.'
She dipped a brush into powdered rouge, dabbing color onto her cheeks.
'Appearances matter. Even when no one is watching.'
The maids would report her condition to the other nobles. The cook would whisper about her lack of appetite. The steward would note how often she requested ink and parchment.
Every move was observed.
Every weakness recorded.
She pressed her lips together, smoothing them into something resembling composure.
'At least the dead don't have to pretend.'
Breakfast was a silent affair.
The servants brought her tray—soft-boiled eggs, buttered toast, a pot of mint tea—then retreated without meeting her eyes.
She picked at the food, her mind elsewhere.
'The northern rebellion starts in eleven months. The Duke's investigation begins in eight. Liena's official canonization is in six.'
Time was slipping through her fingers.
She unfolded a letter from her sleeve—a report from her sole remaining spy in the capital.
"Lord Veyne has been meeting with rebel leaders under the guise of hunting trips. The Crown Prince remains oblivious."
Alesia traced the words with her fingertip.
'If I expose Veyne now, the Duke will never suspect me. But if I wait…'
She could let the rebellion simmer. Let the Crown Prince falter. Let the Duke waste his efforts chasing shadows.
And then?
'Then I strike.'
The library was her sanctuary.
Dust motes floated in the sunlight as she pulled ledgers from the shelves—trade routes, noble lineages, military deployments.
She needed allies. Resources. Leverage.
But her family's influence had waned, her name now synonymous with disgrace.
'No matter.'
She flipped open a ledger, her quill scratching notes into the margins.
Baroness Elric – Deep in debt. Could be bought.
Commander Dain – Disillusioned with the Crown. Might be swayed.
Merchant Guild – Angry over new taxes. A potential weapon.
A spider scuttled across the page. She crushed it absently, leaving a smudge of ink and viscera.
'Everyone has a price. I just need to find it.'
Lira found her there at dusk, the last light bleeding across the books.
"My lady," the maid murmured, setting down a fresh pot of tea. "You missed supper."
Alesia didn't look up. "I wasn't hungry."
Lira hesitated, then placed a small honey cake beside the inkwell. "At least try this."
The gesture was so unexpectedly kind that Alesia's throat tightened.
'Why?'
She studied Lira—the callouses on her hands, the faint scar above her brow.
'What do you want from me?'
But the question went unasked.
Instead, Alesia took a bite of the cake. It was sweet. Cloying.
"Thank you," she said stiffly.
Lira bowed and left.
[New Note: "Lira (Maid) – Motives Unclear"]
That night, Alesia stood on her balcony, the wind tugging at her hair.
The estate stretched below her—the gardens, the stables, the high walls that had once made her feel safe.
Now they felt like a cage.
She closed her eyes, listening to the distant howl of a fox.
'I could run.'
The thought was treasonous. Tempting.
But she had learned the hard way—there was no running from fate.
Only reshaping it.
[Quest Updated: "Secure Three Allies Before the Banquet"]
[Time Remaining: 7 Days]