"A week?" I croaked. The word felt like a dry bone caught in my throat. "You're giving me a week to pack up an entire Duchy? That's not a timeline, Your Highness, that's a death sentence by logistics."
Kaelen didn't even turn around. He just waved a mud-stained hand over his shoulder as he walked toward the manor, his stride effortless despite the muck. "Seven days, Elara. If you aren't at the carriage by sunrise on the eighth, I'll assume you've chosen the dungeon over the Treasury. And trust me, the dungeon doesn't have a view of the sea—or a wine cellar."
I watched him go, my brain spinning like a hard drive on the verge of a critical failure. My heart was thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but my mind was already opening a fresh spreadsheet.
"My Lady?" Hans, my butler, crept out from behind a topiary shaped like a lion, looking like he'd aged a decade in ten minutes. "Did the Prince just say... marriage? And the Capital? Are we being arrested or promoted?"
"Both, Hans," I snapped, kicking a clump of mud off my boot. "We're being acquired. It's a hostile merger from hell. But if Kaelen thinks I'm going to walk into that Capital with my hands empty, he clearly hasn't looked at my historical ROI."
The next six days were a masterclass in Creative Liquidation.
In my past life, I'd watched CEOs strip companies to the studs before a bankruptcy filing. Now, I was the CEO, and the "company" was my life. If I was going to the Capital—the literal lion's den of the Empire—I needed more than just a sharp wit. I needed liquid capital. Untraceable. Portable.
Day 1: The Silver Swap.
I didn't sell the family silver to a jeweler; that would leave a paper trail. Instead, I contacted a "salvage specialist" I'd met in the village—a man who didn't ask questions if the gold was melted down. I replaced the Lexen silver with high-quality pewter replicas. They had the same weight, the same shine, but the soul of the value was gone, tucked into a velvet pouch beneath my floorboards.
Day 3: The "Tragic" Attic Fire.
I "lost" several priceless Lexen family portraits and antique tapestries in a controlled, very small fire in the East Wing. Or so the insurance claim with the Provincial Guild stated. In reality, those canvases had been rolled up and shipped to a secure warehouse in a neutral neighboring city under the name 'Madam V'. I wasn't losing my heritage; I was diversifying my portfolio.
Day 5: The Cabbage Pressure.
This was the hardest part. The "Cabbage Gold"—the five million dragons I'd already promised to the Crown—was being watched.
Kaelen was everywhere. He spent his afternoons "helping" in the library, which really meant looming over me while he sharpened a long-sword. The rhythmic shick-shick of the whetstone was a constant reminder that my neck was still on the line.
"You're working very hard on those shipping manifests, Elara," he remarked, his golden eyes tracking the movement of my quill. "Moving more cabbages? Or perhaps some very heavy carrots?"
"Logistics is a demanding mistress, Your Highness," I replied, my voice a flat line of professional boredom. "I'm simply ensuring the estate can run itself while I'm away... serving the Crown. It's called 'Succession Planning.' You should try it."
In reality, I was signing the final transfer for the Southern Retirement Fund. I couldn't carry five million gold coins—they weighed roughly fifty tons. Instead, I used a high-stakes gambling contact to convert the physical gold into Imperial Bearer Bonds. High-risk, high-reward slips of paper that were worth their weight in gold but thin enough to be sewn into the lining of my corsets.
The Night Before Departure.
The manor was quiet—that eerie, hollow quiet of a house that had been hollowed out. I sat in my study, the moon casting long, skeletal shadows over the bare shelves. My trunks were packed. Hidden in the false bottoms were enough bonds to buy a small duchy, and the mud-covered rubies were locked in a case Kaelen had personally sealed with the Imperial Crest.
A knock at the door made me jump, my quill leaving a jagged ink-blot on the desk.
Kaelen stepped in. He wasn't in armor tonight. He wore a loose white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and he looked far too relaxed for a man who had just dismantled my entire existence.
"Everything packed?" he asked, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw. He looked less like an executioner and more like a man who enjoyed the chase.
"Everything that matters," I said, patting my pocket where my personal "black book" sat—the one with all the real numbers.
He walked over, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He didn't stop until he was standing directly over me, his presence closing the distance until I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He reached out, his thumb brushing a stray smudge of ink off my cheek. His touch was light, but the intensity in his gaze made my lungs forget how to function.
"You're a clever thing, Elara," he whispered, his voice a low vibration in the small room. "I've watched you all week. I know you've been stripping this place bare. I know the 'silver' in the dining hall wouldn't pass a vinegar test."
My heart hammered a frantic rhythm. "I don't know what you—"
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending a jolt of electricity straight down my spine. "I don't care. Keep your petty thefts. They'll keep you sharp. But remember this: In the Capital, the sharks are much bigger than me. They don't just want your gold; they want your soul."
He pulled back, a dangerous, dark smirk tugging at his lips. "Sleep well, Lady Lexen. We leave at dawn. And do try to stay in the carriage. I'd hate to have to hunt you down across the border. It would be… messy."
As he left, I sank into my chair, my legs feeling like jelly. I was going to the Capital. I was going to be the Imperial Treasurer. I was going to be surrounded by vipers, a brooding Prince, and a mountain of corrupt paperwork.
I pulled out my "Island Map" one last time, tracing the drawing of a palm tree with my finger.
"Sorry, tropical paradise," I whispered to the empty room. "The audit of the century just called. But don't worry... I'm bringing the 'cabbage' money with me. And I'm going to make them pay for every single cent."