The halls of the estate had grown quiet since the masquerade, Yet the air pulsed with the aftershock. Every servant stepped lighter, Every noble sent their letters with more caution. And me? I sat by the frost kissed window, the journal open on my lap, A quill untouched in my hand.
It had written again.
The ink bled like veins across the page, curling names I recognized. Minor nobles mostly, ones with dwindling coffers or ambitions too large for their boots. These weren't enemies...yet. But they were swaying in the wind, Uncertain where power now leaned.
Perfect.
"Lady Katerina," Sophie whispered as she entered, bowing low. "The sealed decree arrived."
I let my fingers slide over the velvet ribbon. The imperial crest gleamed. I broke the seal.
"The Emperor invites you to participate in the Committee for Noble Affairs. Your presence is requested for the upcoming session."
So soon. A flicker of suspicion curled inside my chest.
I folded the paper and smiled faintly. "He wants to see whether I'll break or bite."
"Shall I prepare your outfit for battle then?" Sophie tilted her head.
I laughed softly. "No swords, Dear Sophie. Today, we use charm."
Later that afternoon
It wasn't a coincidence that I walked the eastern gardens. The journal had mentioned a Lady Evelyn, Sister to the Emperor, Subtle in politics, obsessed with wild plants.
I found her beneath a flowering trellis, the scent of earth and rain clinging to the breeze. Charcoal stained her fingers, a half finished sketch in her lap.
"Forgive me," I said gently, stopping a pace away. "I didn't mean to intrude."
Her head lifted. Pale eyes studied me, guarded. "You're Lady Katerina."
"Unfortunately," I said, offering a wry smile. "My reputation tends to arrive before I do."
Her mouth twitched. Something between amusement and caution. "You left quite the impression at the masquerade."
"I leave impressions the way storms leave puddles," I replied lightly. "Regrettably difficult to avoid."
This time, She smiled. Small, but real.
I didn't press further. I turned slightly, admiring a patch of night blooming jasmine. "They say you tend these gardens yourself."
"Gardens don't lie," she said. "Unlike people."
"True." I knelt beside a fern. "But they can still be dangerous. Poison ivy wears green like all the rest."
That earned a soft laugh. "You speak like someone who's been stung."
"More than once," I said. "But I've started to enjoy the sting."
We spoke quietly after that. About wildflowers, About surviving winter frost, About poems that ended in ruin. When she rose, she didn't dismiss me.
Instead, she tilted her head. "Would you join me for tea tomorrow?"
I blinked, just slightly. "If you think I won't ruin the flavor."
She smirked faintly. "Maybe I'm curious what you taste like."
I gave a slow smile. "Careful, Your Highness. Curiosity is how most stories start... right before the fire."
She said nothing. But her eyes glittered
Then...
The Committee Meeting.
Twelve nobles in a semicircle. Eyes sharpened, Masks polished. I entered in muted violet silk, regal, quiet, dangerous. Sophie behind me, silent.
I listened more than I spoke.
Until Lord Meridan, Aging and arrogant, raised his voice.
"Should we take political advice from a lady whose engagement ended in public disgrace?"
A few chuckled. I smiled.
"Lord Meridan," I said, calm as ever, "Should we ask you then? hmm let's see, How is your youngest son? Still gambling away your estate on blood matches?"
He paled.
"Or your daughter...Did she ever resolve that rather messy scandal with her music tutor?"
Silence.
Sophie stepped forward, handing me a parchment.
"Or shall we discuss the missing funds from last spring's relief committee? I have the details here. Shall I read them aloud?"
He stood so fast his chair screeched. "This is slander."
"Then sue me," I said sweetly, folding the paper. "If I lie, you'll win. If not... well."
He stormed out.
By the end of the session, five nobles had requested private meetings.
One even bowed.
Later
I shouldn't have walked this far.
The halls had emptied. My heels echoed against marble as the cold wrapped around me, sharp and unrelenting. Good. I liked it better that way. Cold meant clarity.
My fingers brushed the dagger tucked in my sleeve. A comforting weight. Something real after hours of venom laced smiles and nobles daring to speak my name like it was dirt.
Lord Meridan's voice still grated in my skull. That smug look when he mentioned Kael. The snickering. The way not one of them believed I belonged in that chair.
But I did. I will.
A shift. A breeze where there should be none.
I stopped.
He stepped out from the shadows like a breath I hadn't taken. Cloaked. Hooded. The same figure from the other night in my room. The same maddening presence from that night.
"So you went for the throat huh."
His voice curled through the night. Low, dry, maddeningly calm.
"I did," I said, my tone like ice. "They came for blood. I simply returned the favor."
"And you enjoyed it."
I tilted my chin. "Wouldn't you?"
He chuckled, the sound rich and dark. Not mocking. Amused. Worse. Like he understood.
"You rattled them all."
"Good. Let them crack."
He stepped forward. Just enough to set every instinct on edge.
"And you?" he asked. "Do you crack?"
That pulled a breath from me. Sharp and uninvited. I kept my eyes steady, fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger. He didn't move again.
"Do you think I'm scared?"
"No. But I think you've worn your mask so long you forgot what your own skin feels like."
I hate him.
I hate that he says things like that. Things that press into places I don't let anyone see.
"Who are you to—"
"Someone who's watched you stand in rooms meant to break you."
I blinked. My grip slipped on the dagger. Just for a second.
I don't let people talk to me like this. I don't let anyone see me.
He took another step. I didn't flinch.
"I'm not your little project." I snapped
"You're not little anything," He said softly.
Silence stretched between us. Alive, vibrating with something that made my stomach twist. I didn't know if I wanted to cut it or pull it tighter.
His hand lifted. slow, gloved, and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. My breath hitched.
I should've moved. Slapped him. Cut him.
But I didn't.
Because for that one second, I felt seen. Like he looked at me and didn't just see a frail weak woman but a normal someone
"You did well today," he said, almost gently. "You were fire."
And then he was gone.
No sound. No movement. Just... gone.
I stood there in the dark garden, dagger still sheathed, breath uneven.
And for the first time, I realized
I'd let my guard down.
Not because I was weak.
But because something in his voice made me believe I didn't have to be steel every second.
I closed my eyes, letting the cold wind slap me back into place.
What the hell was that?
And worse
Why do I want it to happen again?
Back in my chambers, The scent of orchids clung to my gown. Politics clung tighter.
I sat at my desk.
The journal opened without my touch.
Ink bled to life.
Not all enemies must fall. Some must be turned. Three names. One purpose. Sway them. Control them. Use them.
Lady Velenthia: Traditions bind her, but pride controls her. Feed one. Break the other.
Minister Corvain:Hides debts. Find the source. Offer silence in return for loyalty.
Lord Renhal: Thinks himself a kingmaker. Show him a queen in the making.
My eyes narrowed. Pawns, not enemies. Pieces for my side of the board.
But fresh ink slithered beneath the last name.
You're learning.
But not fast enough.
Do you still believe you're alone?
The fire behind me flared.
Then cold.
I turned.
Nothing.
But the mirror fogged.
My reflection blinked.
She stepped forward. Identical, but darker. Even more darker than I met my twisted self for the first time. Her voice echoed without her lips moving.
"You're still playing like this is a court game, Darling."
"Isn't it?"
She smirked. "Courts are for women with time to lose. You were burned. You have no time."
The shadows behind her writhed. The fire dimmed.
"Use those who want to use you. Make them kneel before they even realize they've bowed."
"And if they don't?"
The mirror cracked.
"Wrong question."
"Then what's the right one?"
She leaned in.
"What will you become... when they all bow and you still want more?"
The mirror shattered.
I stumbled back.
When I looked again. It was whole.
The journal was closed.
Silence.
And yet... I didn't feel alone.
In Imperial Study
— Emperor's POV
From the upper balcony of the west tower, the Emperor lounged against the railing, wine in hand, watching the estate flicker below..
"She has Shaken the council up," He murmured with amusement. "Even Evelyn sent word. Said Katerina reminds her Wild Iris. Classic beauty, Often symbolizes wisdom and hope."
Behind him, Lucien stood still. Hood drawn low, Gloves taut over clenched fists. His gaze locked on the distant glow of Katerina's chambers.
"She's changed," the Emperor went on. "Sharper now. Less afraid to bleed people dry."
Lucien didn't respond.
The Emperor sighed. "You're unusually quiet, even for you."
A pause.
Then Lucien said, voice low, "They still think they can control her."
"They're fools," the Emperor agreed. "But they're also dangerous fools. And you...you're hovering around her estate like some cursed sentinel. If you wanted to stay hidden, you're doing a damn poor job of it."
Lucien finally looked away from the balcony, eyes flickering. "I'm not there to hide."
The Emperor raised a brow. "Oh? Then what? Guardian angel? Vengeful ghost?"
Lucien's voice turned colder. "Insurance."
A soft chuckle. "Against what? Her enemies?"
Lucien met his gaze, and this time, his voice wasn't cold.
It burned.
"Against her breaking."
That silenced the Emperor.
For a long moment, only the wind stirred.
Then, carefully: "She survived flames once. What makes you think she'll shatter now?"
Lucien's answer came like a confession dragged from bone.
"Because she's not just surviving this time. She might remember. Every betrayal. Every scream. Every lie they fed her while tightening the noose."
"And you?" the Emperor asked softly. "Where do you fit in that memory?"
Lucien's jaw clenched. "Too late."
The Emperor studied him, eyes narrowing.
"You still think you failed her."
Lucien said nothing.
The Emperor sighed and turned back to the estate.
"She's not the only one burning, you know."
Lucien closed his eyes for just a moment. "I don't care."
"Liar," the Emperor muttered.
"You know," the Emperor said, "I still remember. You used to blush like a fool whenever she was in the same room as you. Now you're brooding in corners like a cursed bat."
Lucien didn't look away. "Better a shadow than a flame I can't control."
"So dramatic," the Emperor muttered. "You're really leaning into the whole 'Haunted knight of vengeance' aesthetic, huh?"
Lucien's voice came quiet. Razor sharp.
"They watched her burn."
The Emperor's smirk faltered.
"She screamed until her throat tore," Lucien went on, eyes like frozen iron. "They laughed. Called it justice."
"Lucien—"
"She came back," he said, cold as death. "And the God help anyone who tries to touch her again. Because I'll do the worst to them"
A beat passed.
The Emperor exhaled slowly. "Right. Note to self, Don't cross the murder duke."
Lucien's lips curved. Barely. Not a smile. A warning.
"She's not theirs to ruin anymore."
"Oh?" the Emperor quirked a brow. "She's yours?"
Lucien's voice was iron wrapped in velvet.
"She always was."
The Emperor gave a low whistle. "Well, damn."
He sipped his wine thoughtfully.
"Promise me something," He said after a moment. "When she finally takes the crown, Or burns the court to ash. Don't let her forget who stood with her."
Lucien didn't blink.
"She won't forget," he said. "Because when there's nothing left to take… I'll be the last thing she sees."
Then the Emperor muttered, "I'm putting that on your tombstone. 'Here lies Lucien: possessive, terrifying, 100% unwell.'"
Lucien's reply came like a blade unsheathed.
"Let them come for her," he said. "I'll carve kingdoms from their bones."
Then, as he sipped his wine, he added quietly, "For what it's worth… If you ever do get the chance to tell her the truth. Don't wait too long."
He turned slightly. Lucien was already gone.
The Emperor sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Of course."
Far below, the estate glimmered gold against ink, a hearth warring with the dark.
Behind frost kissed glass, in a quiet room, She wrote.
Katerina. Nightgown. Journal in hand.
A storm brewing in moonlight.
The Emperor raised his glass toward her glow, Eyes gleaming.
"To the Cold Villainess, out for blood at last," he murmured.
"And to every fool who thought she'd stay broken."