The Imperial Capital was, by all objective metrics, the mother of all playgrounds.
It was a glittering, gold-leaf-covered sandbox filled with the wealthiest, most powerful, and most exceptionally treacherous toddlers in the known world. The high nobility of the Empire didn't fight with broadswords or glacial magic.
They fought with poisoned tea, whispered rumors, forged ledgers, blackmail, and smiles sharp enough to qualify as concealed weapons.
Seraphina von Nacht stood on the balcony of her enormous second-floor suite in the Capital Estate, staring out over the glittering skyline.
Her little hands rested on the marble balustrade.
Her dark eyes narrowed.
Her six-year-old brain had recently discovered a terrible truth.
The adults were idiots.
Not all adults, obviously.
Papa Duke was terrifying.
Sebastian was terrifying in a different way.
The Vanguard uncles were mostly terrifying, although Sir Gally was also apparently a professional pastry smuggler.
But the nobles?
