Lady Calantha sat perched on the velvet chaise, her voice low and seething with frustration.
"She is not one to be trifled with, not now that the Emperor is so clearly smitten with her," she muttered to Duchess Aurelia Blackwood, the Emperor's formidable aunt.
The two women were alone in the dimly lit drawing room, the heavy drapes drawn tightly to ensure no prying eyes or ears would intrude.
Duchess Aurelia, standing with her back turned, traced a slow finger along the rim of a porcelain vase before speaking. "Whatever obstacles you place in her path, she seems to slip free like water through one's fingers."
"She is a leech," Calantha hissed. "An upstart who knows no place. Because of her, the Emperor…" she swallowed hard, bitterness coating her voice, "...the Emperor dared insult me before the court."
The Duchess finally turned, her dark gaze gleaming with quiet calculation. "She is a problem, indeed. If she remains… if he weds her…" Her voice trailed off, heavy with implication. "It would spoil everything we have so carefully constructed."
Calantha leaned forward, desperate. "What do you intend to do?"
Aurelia smiled, a slow, chilling smile that did little to warm the room. "Why don't you leave that to me?"
In the eastern wing of the palace, far from the poisonous plotting, Lola sat cross-legged in the resting room, her brows knitted tighter than the wool in her hands.
"Patience, my lady," Emmeline coaxed gently, her own fingers nimbly weaving delicate patterns.
Lola huffed and threw the failed knot of yarn onto the table. "I cannot fathom how Emily manages this with such grace," she grumbled, crossing her arms in frustration. "I would sooner wrestle a boar than knit a proper scarf."
Her two maids, Emmeline and Beatrix, tried, and failed to hide their giggles.
At that moment, Silas entered, carrying with him the scent of old parchment and polished wood.
"It is rather refreshing to see you doing something other than moping about," the steward said, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
Lola shot him a murderous glare. "And what brings you here, old man?" she asked, her tone half-playful, half-weary.
Silas bowed slightly, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. "The Emperor has sent me, my lady. He asks that I assist you in your 'queeny duties,' as he calls them."
Lola blinked. "He is serious?"
"Deadly serious," Silas affirmed with a nod, the corners of his mouth lifting into a knowing smile.
Lola sat back, her heart thudding heavily against her ribs. Acting queen… truly?
Meanwhile, in the Emperor's study, Duke Marcello Blackwood stood quivering with barely contained rage.
"How could you be so foolish?" the Duke bellowed. "To grant a stranger such authority, have you lost all sense?"
Seated behind his grand mahogany desk, Xander looked every inch the Emperor, calm and unmoved.
"I have given her the right," he said simply, "and no amount of shouting will change that, Uncle."
The Duke's face flushed a dangerous red. "She could destroy everything! Our alliances, our treaties…"
"If she does," Xander interrupted coolly, "I shall bear the consequence."
Marcello clenched his fists. "You are not taking this seriously."
The Emperor's smile was cold. "Let us not feign concern, Uncle. You do not fear for Aldovia, you fear for your ambition. Should I stumble, you hope to seize the throne for your son."
The Duke reeled as if struck. "How dare you…"
"Is it not the truth?" Xander asked, arching one brow.
For a long moment, the Duke said nothing, his mouth opening and closing without words.
"If you have no further complaints," Xander said, his voice dripping with finality, "you may take your leave. I have matters of actual importance to attend to."
Humiliated, the Duke stormed from the chamber, slamming the heavy door behind him.
Left alone, Xander stared out the wide window, his jaw tight, his heart pounding.
Enemies gathered like wolves at the door and he knew, with chilling certainty, that the battles ahead would demand more than strength. They would demand sacrifice.