The Archduke is excessively paranoid.
Scratch.
Genevieve scrawled, her quill scratching harshly against the paper.
'He has essentially locked the child in a vault. The child herself is a profound disappointment. She is a mundane, stupid, ill-mannered brat who lacks any semblance of aristocratic grace.
Scratch.
She appears politically useless. She possesses the intellect of a root vegetable, she is too dense to be manipulate
Genevieve smirked.
The child's attachment to the Archduke remains exploitable.
Genevieve paused, dipping her quill in the inkwell, a vicious sneer twisting her beautiful face.
'If we can isolate the child...'
She dipped her quill.
Then—
Crinkle.
Genevieve stopped.
She looked around.
The sound had been incredibly faint. It sounded like someone slowly crushing a dry autumn leaf.
She looked around the dimly lit room. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn. The door was locked. The silence of the massive estate was oppressive.
Nothing.
