The scroll burned a hole against Selene's skin all night.
She did not sleep.
She sat by the fire, the flames low and restless, staring at the sealed parchment resting on the table.
A single object.
Small enough to be mistaken for nothing.
Dangerous enough to tear kingdoms apart.
When the first weak light of dawn crept through the windows, Selene rose.
The palace beyond her door was still asleep, drunk on fear and blood.
She moved to the table, her fingers steady as she broke the seal.
Inside were three names.
Only three.
Written in a hand as sharp as a blade.
Each name a crack in Cassian's fragile kingdom.
Each name a weapon waiting to be used.
Selene's heart beat slowly as she read them.
Once.
Twice.
A third time, to be certain.
Then she set the scroll in the fire and watched it blacken and curl into ash.
No evidence.
No mistakes.
No mercy.
By the time she dressed for the day, her plan was already forming.
No sudden moves.
No open accusations.
A knife in silk.
A war fought in whispers and glances, not blades and blood.
She pulled on a gown of soft gray, embroidered with silver threads that caught the light like a spider's web.
Not a queen in mourning.
Not a queen at war.
Something in between.
Something the court would not see coming.
The Great Hall was already filling when she arrived.
Nobles clustered in tight groups, laughing too loudly, whispering too quickly, avoiding her gaze.
Cassian was not present yet.
He had withdrawn to the war council for the morning.
Selene was alone.
And she preferred it that way.
The wolves would not expect a lamb to sharpen her teeth.
Not yet.
She moved through the hall gracefully, accepting bows, offering polite smiles, allowing herself to be seen.
Visibility was its own kind of armor.
Let them think she was still the queen they believed they understood.
Soft.
Decorative.
Harmless.
While underneath, she laid her traps.
Her first target was the Duke of Marvane.
One of the names from the scroll.
A man whose loyalty could be bought and sold with the right currency.
Selene approached him near the northern windows, her smile light and charming.
"Duke Marvane," she said, inclining her head. "Might I steal a moment of your time?"
The Duke, a stout man with quick, suspicious eyes, bowed clumsily.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Selene linked her arm lightly through his, steering him toward a quieter alcove.
The court watched with hungry eyes.
Perfect.
Let them see.
Let them whisper.
They spoke for only a few minutes.
Nothing treasonous.
Nothing dangerous.
Only words about trade routes, taxes, the weather along the eastern border.
But the Duke's eyes glittered with calculation.
He thought she was reaching out for support.
He thought she was desperate.
He thought he could use her.
Good.
Let him think that.
Selene pressed a hand lightly to his arm as they parted, her voice soft and full of false gratitude.
"I look forward to your continued counsel, my lord."
The Duke beamed.
The trap was set.
Her second move came later in the afternoon, during a walk through the palace gardens.
The High Chancellor's wife, Lady Virenia, sat alone under a skeletal winter tree, pretending to read a book.
Selene approached with measured steps.
"Lady Virenia," she said warmly.
The woman jumped slightly, then rose and curtsied.
"Your Majesty."
Selene gestured to the empty bench beside her.
"May I join you?"
Lady Virenia hesitated only a heartbeat too long.
Selene smiled.
Discomfort was as good as confession.
They spoke of poetry.
Of music.
Of the coming spring.
Nothing political.
Nothing dangerous.
But Selene planted small seeds between her words.
Hints of dissatisfaction within the court.
Concerns about the kingdom's stability.
Carefully, quietly, she fed Lady Virenia's fears.
And fear, Selene knew, spread faster than fire.
The third move was the most dangerous.
The merchant lord from the eastern provinces.
A man named Corvin Dalreth.
Rich.
Cunning.
Ruthless.
And, according to the scroll, already half bought by Cassian's enemies.
Selene encountered him in the eastern wing of the palace, near the grand library.
A casual meeting.
An accident, to anyone watching.
Corvin bowed deeply, his dark eyes assessing her with open curiosity.
"Your Majesty," he said smoothly. "A pleasure."
Selene smiled, tilting her head slightly.
"I wonder, Lord Dalreth," she said lightly, "if you would be willing to assist me with a small... matter of trade?"
Corvin's eyes gleamed.
Greed was such an easy hook.
Selene let him believe she was seeking allies.
Let him believe he could use her.
While she measured every word, every glance, every breath.
Setting the board.
Choosing her pieces.
Preparing for the day she would overturn it all.
By the time the sun set, Selene had woven a web across the palace without drawing a single drop of blood.
She returned to her chambers, exhausted but alive with the cold thrill of it.
This was not the battlefield Cassian had trained for.
This was not survival by sword and shield.
This was survival by mind and memory.
By patience and poison.
By becoming a queen not only of crowns, but of knives.
As she stripped away her gown and stood before the cold mirror, Selene saw herself clearly for the first time.
Not a bride.
Not a spy.
Not a prisoner.
A player.
A predator.
A queen.
Later, sitting by the fire once more, she allowed herself a small, rare smile.
The court had thought her weak.
They had thought her blind.
But the first move was hers now.
And the wolves who circled her had not yet realized they were stepping into her jaws.
Soon, she would choose who to spare.
And who to devour.