Word spread through the imperial complex like fire through dry grass. The Fourth Princess—the quiet one, the weak one—had sent armed beast knights into the Crown Princess's wing and dragged servants out by force. She'd locked down her own palace. She was conducting interrogations with soldiers who weren't even human.
In the eastern gardens, ministers whispered that she'd gone mad. In the servants' quarters, maids who'd once ignored her now spoke her name with fear. Even in the concubines' halls, where palace politics usually stayed distant, people murmured about the "sick princess who woke up angry."
The Emperor heard the reports during his evening briefing. His aide delivered them with visible nervousness, waiting for orders to intervene.
The Emperor said nothing. He dismissed the aide and returned to his correspondence as if thirty soldiers ransacking multiple palace wings was merely weather.
'''
Inside Elara's chamber, the air was thick with tension. Thirty-two servants stood or knelt in groups, separated by the information Teams Two and Five had compiled. Elara sat at the desk with three stacks of documents in front of her, each marked with different colored tabs.
She picked up the first stack—red marks throughout—and looked at Teams Two and Five. Both stood immediately.
"These fifteen," Elara said, handing the thick folder to the lead knight, "have false identities and falsified records. They're not just corrupt—they're infiltrators." Her tone didn't change. "Take them to the side chamber. Extract the truth. Who they really are. Who sent them. Who they report to. Use whatever methods produce results."
The servants in that group went rigid. One started to cry. Another tried to speak and was silenced by a knight's hand on his shoulder.
"Your Highness—" one woman began.
Elara didn't look up. "Lisa. Show them to the interrogation room."
Lisa nodded, face pale but steady, and led Teams Two and Five out with the fifteen terrified servants between them. The door closed. Muffled sounds began almost immediately.
Elara picked up the second stack—blue marks. "Team One. Team Three."
Both teams stood.
She handed over the documents. "These Ten have accurate backgrounds but confirmed corruption. They stole. Make them return it. Everything. Coins, jewelry, stored goods, cash equivalents. If they claim they spent it, they provide collateral or family guarantees. No exceptions."
The team leaders bowed. "Yes, Your Highness."
"Take them to the east wing. Start with the ones who stole the most. Work down."
The Ten servants were marched out, some already sobbing, others just staring at the floor in numb silence.
That left five.
Elara looked at them—two young women, two older men, one middle-aged cook. All of them had green marks on their files. Clean records. Honest work histories. No theft, no false documents.
They looked hopeful for half a second.
"You five," Elara said, "are not corrupt."
Relief flickered across their faces.
"But you're also not loyal."
The relief died.
Elara set the files down. "You didn't steal because you were afraid of being caught. You didn't lie because you lacked the skill. You watched others commit fraud for months—maybe years—and said nothing. Not to me. Not to anyone."
One of the women dropped to her knees. "Your Highness, please—we didn't dare—"
"I know," Elara said. "You didn't dare. That's the problem." She looked at the fox-eared knight. "Calculate their wages. Add three months' severance. Prepare employment recommendations for noble households outside the palace."
The five servants stared at her, disbelief turning to panic.
"Your Highness—please—we'll serve you faithfully—"
Elara's voice didn't rise. "You 'could' have served me faithfully. You chose silence instead. I'm not punishing you. I'm removing people I can't trust." She paused. "Three months' pay and a reference letter is more than fair. Use it well."
"But Your Highness—"
"Enough." Elara looked at the knight. "Escort them out. Pay them at the gate. Ensure they take only personal belongings."
The knight bowed. "Yes, Your Highness."
The five were led out, two of them still begging, the others just crying quietly. The door closed again.
Elara sat alone with the remaining knights—two beast knights, who'd been standing by in reserve. She looked at the now-empty room, at the scattered documents, at the bloodstains someone had tracked in from the interrogation chamber.
Only two servants remained in the hall now: Lisa, standing rigid behind Elara's chair, and the steward, slumped near the wall with his ruined mouth and ruined career.
Elara closed the last folder and stacked it neatly on the desk.
Everyone else was sorted. The infiltrators were under interrogation. The thieves were being squeezed until stolen coins came back out. The "good but gutless" had been paid off and thrown out. That left Lisa—the one who talked—and the steward, the man who knew where every coin, every signature, every hidden transfer for this palace had gone.
He was the kind of person you never turned loose.
Even in her old world, no one with access to all the financials left a company without an NDA and three layers of monitoring. People who handled money were dangerous. People who handled money and secrets were lethal. You did not leave them wandering around with souvenirs.
Elara looked at the two remaining knights by the door, then at the steward.
"Step forward," she said.
He forced himself onto his knees and crawled closer, hands bound, eyes wet. "Your Highness, please… I beg you… I served your mother—"
"You also stole from her daughter," Elara said, tone flat. "You rerouted wages. You hid sales. You moved my people like furniture." She let the words land. "And you thought I would be too weak to notice."
The steward shook his head desperately. "I—I had orders, Your Highness, I—"
"Enough," Elara said. "Look at me."
He did. Slowly.
"You know more about this palace's money than anyone assigned to me," she said. "You know account routes, shell buyers, off-ledger storage. If I let you walk out of here with a working tongue and working hands, the first thing you'll do is sell that knowledge to stay alive."
His lips moved, trying to form a denial that even he didn't believe.
Elara turned her head slightly toward the nearest knight. "Immobilize his hands. Permanently. And make sure he will never speak clearly again. I don't want anything leaving this palace through him—not words, not letters, not signatures."
The steward broke then, really broke, throwing himself forward so fast his shoulder hit the floor. "Please, Your Highness, mercy, I swear I won't—"
"You had years to choose not to," Elara said. No heat. No hatred. Just fact. "You chose profit instead."
She glanced at Lisa. "After they're done, assign him a cell in the inner dungeon. No visitors. No messages. Food and water twice a day. He lives long enough to answer my questions when I need them. Nothing more."
"Yes, Your Highness," Lisa whispered.
Two knights stepped forward. One pinned the steward's shoulders. The other took his wrists. There was a brief, sharp crack of bone and a choked scream that cut off almost immediately when a calloused hand clamped over his mouth.
Elara didn't look away.
When the noise stopped, she spoke again. "If he ever tries to write," she said, "remove a finger. If he ever tries to bribe a guard, you bring that guard to me and I'll replace him with someone who understands simple instruction."