The palace was a furnace of rumors the next morning. The "assault" on the Empress's guards had turned the servant quarters into a war zone. The Palace Steward, Silas, was practically foaming at the mouth, lining up every maid and footman for "interrogation."
I stood in line, my hands folded neatly in front of my apron, my face a mask of perfect, boring obedience. In my past life, I'd survived a three-hour SEC audit without breaking a sweat; a red-faced Steward wasn't going to make me blink. I watched the way the sunlight hit the cobblestones, calculating the movement of the guards. I was looking for patterns—the way they breathed, the way they gripped their spears. In a hostile takeover, you don't just watch the CEO; you watch the security at the front desk.
"You!" Silas barked, pointing a trembling finger at Sarah—the Empress's personal maid. "You were the one who found them! Why were you in the East stairwell? Who did you see?"
Sarah was shaking. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her skin was the color of curdled milk. She knew she was the scapegoat. The Empress didn't tolerate failure, and someone had to pay for the two unconscious guards. In this world, the "little people" are always the first to be sacrificed to protect the reputation of the Great.
"I... I didn't see anyone, sir!" Sarah sobbed, her voice cracking. "I just found them! The air was... it was burning! I couldn't breathe!"
"Lies!" Silas roared, his spit flying. "You let an assassin slip past you! You were probably the one who opened the door for them! Guards! Take her to the lower cells until she 'remembers' the truth. We'll see how long her memory stays foggy after a night with the rats."
Two guards grabbed Sarah by the arms, dragging her across the rough stone. She shrieked, her eyes darting around the courtyard for someone—anyone—to help her. But the other servants just looked away. In the palace, if you were drowning, people didn't throw you a rope; they threw you an anchor. They were all terrified that if they spoke up, they'd be next.
This is a market opportunity, I thought. Sarah has the highest access to the Empress, but her 'stock value' has just crashed. If I buy in now, I own her loyalty forever.
"Wait," I said, my voice cutting through Sarah's screams. It wasn't loud, but it had that "Executive Order" tone—the kind I used when I was about to fire a Senior Vice President. It made people stop simply because they weren't used to hearing that much confidence from a girl holding a mop.
Silas turned his fury on me. "You? The Trash Prince's girl? You have something to say before I throw you in the hole with her?"
"I saw a man," I said calmly, stepping forward. I'd spent the night crafting this "False Narrative." "A man in a brown cloak, heading toward the South stables. He dropped this when he jumped the wall."
I held up a small, common bronze coin—the kind used by the Northern Envoys' staff. I'd lifted it from a drunk groom's pocket earlier that morning while "cleaning" the stables. It was a classic corporate move: when your department is under fire, create a "competitor" to blame.
Silas snatched the coin, his eyes narrowing as he rubbed the metal between his thumb and forefinger. "The Northerners? They've been complaining about the trade taxes all week... and their Ambassador looked quite displeased at the banquet last night."
"He was fast," I added, adding "value" to the lie. "He looked like a professional. Sarah couldn't have stopped him even if she'd seen him. She's lucky he didn't kill her too. If you lock her up, you lose the only person who can identify his height and build."
Silas looked from the coin to Sarah, then back to me. He wanted a culprit to present to the Empress, and the "Northern Assassin" theory was much more interesting—and much safer for his job—than a "clumsy maid" theory.
"Fine," Silas muttered, waving the guards away. "Release her. But search the stables! If we find a man in a brown cloak, I want his head! And check every Northern carriage leaving the city!"
The crowd dispersed as the guards rushed toward the stables. Sarah collapsed onto the cobblestones, gasping for air, her chest heaving with a mixture of relief and pure terror. I walked over and offered her a hand.
"Up you get," I said, my voice as cold and professional as a contract.
Sarah looked at me with a mix of terror and confusion. "Why... why did you do that? You don't even know me. We're rivals. My mistress hates your Prince."
"In my world, we call this an 'Acquisition,'" I whispered, leaning in so only she could hear. "I saved your life, Sarah. The Empress was going to let you rot in a cell to cover her own tracks. She doesn't value you. She sees you as a disposable tool. But I? I see you as an asset."
Sarah's eyes widened. She wasn't looking at a maid anymore; she was looking at a predator. "You... you're not just a maid. No maid talks like that."
"I'm the person who's going to make sure you survive the next year," I replied, pulling her to her feet. "From now on, you report to the Empress as usual. You be her perfect little servant. But everything you hear—every meeting she has, every letter she writes, every mood swing she suffers—you bring to me first. In exchange, I keep you alive. I provide the 'exit strategy' when this palace eventually burns down. Do we have a deal?"
Sarah looked at the Empress's tower—the gilded cage she had lived in for years—then back at me. She saw a cold, calculating power in my eyes that she'd never seen before. She realized that I was more dangerous than the woman she served, but also far more capable of protecting her.
"Deal," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I patted her arm—a gesture of "partnership" that was actually a brand of ownership—and walked back toward the Prince's wing. I had my first spy. I had a "False Flag" distraction. And most importantly, I had a witness inside the Empress's inner circle.
Bastian was waiting for me in the receiving room, holding a report from the Alchemist. He had shed his princely coat and was back in a simple linen shirt, looking more like a warrior than a royal. He looked at me, a smirk playing on his lips. "I heard Sarah was released because of a 'Northern Assassin.' You've been busy, Elara. The whole palace is searching for a man who doesn't exist."
"I'm just diversifying our portfolio, Bastian," I said, heading for the teapot. My hands were finally steady. "Information is useless if you don't have a way to protect the sources. Now, tell me. What was in that needle? I didn't hit those guards just to have the evidence be a dud."
Bastian's smile vanished. "It wasn't just a paralytic. It was 'Widow's Breath.' It's a rare venom from the South. It doesn't just stop the heart; it dissolves the blood vessels within minutes of death. It leaves no trace. Only one person in the Empire has the license to import it."
"The Empress," I finished for him, pouring two cups of tea. "It fits her style. Elegant, silent, and final."
"No," Bastian said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. He slid the parchment across the desk to me. "The Empress handles the poisons for the women. But the import license for 'Widow's Breath' is held by the Ministry of War. And the Minister is my brother. The Crown Prince."
I felt the tea in my hand go cold. "Your brother? But... he's the golden boy. He already has the throne. Why would he risk an assassination in the middle of a banquet?"
"Because," Bastian said, his eyes turning a dark, dangerous gold. "The King is considering an old tradition. The 'Trial of the Three Sons.' It's a test of merit that hasn't been used in a hundred years. If the King calls for it, the Crown Prince isn't guaranteed the throne. He'd have to earn it against me. He isn't just trying to kill a nuisance, Elara. He's trying to eliminate a competitor before the race even starts."
I looked at the parchment, then at Bastian. This was no longer just a "Hostile Takeover." This was a "War for the Boardroom."
"Then we change the strategy," I said, my corporate mind clicking into high gear. "We don't just protect you. we start attacking his 'merit.' If he wants a trial, we'll give him one. And we'll make sure he fails so publicly that even the Empress can't save him."
Bastian stood up, walking toward me until he was towering over me. "And how do we do that, my clever little 'CEO'?"
"We start an audit," I smirked. "And I guarantee you, your brother's books are not clean."