Lady Cornelia returned to the Palace after yet another night of festivities. To an untrained eye, it might have seemed like she was simply indulging in the endless pleasures of high society, wasting both her time and her husband's treasury on lavish gatherings.

But in truth, her purpose ran deeper. These banquets, dances, and soirées were not mere indulgence; instead they were tools, weapons even, in her unrelenting campaign to secure her eldest son's future.

Cornelia understood the subtle art of influence. She wasn't there to laugh, drink, or chase fleeting amusement but she was there to plant seeds.

Every hand she clasped, every smile she wore, every toast she raised, all of it was calculated to redirect the noble court's attention away from herself and toward her son.

As the King's sister, she already had eyes on her. But she was determined that those watchful gazes would ultimately fall upon her child, ensuring that when the time came, he would rise to the ducal throne of Angeras House with overwhelming support at his back.

As she walked through the grand corridor of the Palace, the echo of her heels striking the polished stone floor, a retinue of servants trailed in neat formation behind her.

They weren't merely Palace staff, many of them had been placed at her disposal by the Royal Court itself, who served her interests even within the Duchy. Their presence was both practical and symbolic, a reminder that she carried royal blood and thus wielded royal authority.

One of the maids, her face pale from the weight of secrecy, edged close to her side and leaned in. With hushed words, she whispered something directly into Cornelia's ear.

The Duchess didn't stop walking, didn't flinch, but a subtle tightening of her lips betrayed the weight of the message. Once the girl had curtsied and slipped away, Cornelia's gaze sharpened, shifting toward Frederick, her stalwart protector and the man sworn by royal command to keep her safe.

"It seems my husband has suddenly developed a conscience," she said coldly, bitterness lacing her every syllable. "Apparently, he has no intention of letting his bastard son die in Rammstein after all." Frederick, ever calm and loyal, nodded slightly as though unsurprised.

"Perhaps it is guilt," Cornelia continued, her tone dripping with disdain. "Perhaps, after everything he did to that woman, he now chooses to indulge in some hollow act of mercy… Compassion, he may call it. I'll call it weakness."

"My lady," Frederick interjected smoothly, "shall I increase the bounty on his head? If money is what it takes, then let us raise the price. There are always those who will risk everything for money."

Cornelia dismissed the suggestion with a flick of her hand. "No. That would be wasted effort. The rabble we hired already failed us once, and throwing more money at their incompetence will not transform them into professionals. Common scum remain common scum. If they could not complete the task before, what reason do I have to believe they will succeed with more incentive? All they will do is take our money and fail us again. Time is far too precious for me to squander." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "The boy must die soon, Frederick. Each day he draws breath is another day stolen from my son's rightful destiny."

"Then how do we proceed?" Frederick asked carefully. His loyalty to her was absolute, but even he knew the risk of moving against the Duke's will. "If the Duke has shifted, even indirectly, toward protecting the boy, then removing him becomes far more perilous."

Cornelia's lips curled into a sneer. "That man…" she hissed, venom in her words. "That man would sooner destroy me than strike down the wretched brat he publicly denounces as a mistake. It is almost poetic, isn't it? He insists Estefan was born of folly, yet when it comes to eliminating him, he suddenly grows sentimental. It makes me wonder…" She let the thought trail off before finishing bitterly, "Perhaps I am the true mistake in his eyes."

Frederick stepped closer, attempting to soothe her rising anger. "My lady, forgive me, but you must not think so. The Duke is fortunate and blessed to have you. Do not forget, you are of the Royal line itself. He knows this. He must know this and whether he admits it or not, he must feel the weight of that privilege every day." Cornelia said nothing, though her gaze betrayed her doubt.

Within the Kingdom, the Royal Family towered above all others. They weren't merely nobles, they were living emblems of absolute authority, the sun around which all other stars revolved.

To marry into such blood was both honor and opportunity. Families who succeeded in binding themselves to royalty flourished, they basked in attention, received privileges, and secured protection.

But such blessings came at a cost. Displeasing a royal, and the very same influence could turn ruinous, crushing lives and reputations beneath its heel.

Lady Cornelia, however, found herself shackled by circumstance. Here in the Duchy, her power was curbed by autonomy. The Duchy of Angeras was self-ruled, a domain where the King's reach stretched thin.

Her husband, Duke Gerin, tolerated her indulgences but mostly kept her confined to the Palace walls. She could play the mistress of ceremonies, command servants, and waste money but the true affairs of the Duchy were far beyond her reach.

Still, Cornelia's cruelty and schemes had never truly been checked. Gerin did not interfere. To him, her actions were nothing more than the idle amusements of a pampered woman.

He would watch silently, almost mockingly, as though telling her that she can do as she pleases, it matters not, as long as she does not overstep. And to her surprise, he did not even contest her most ambitious endeavor, her relentless push to make her eldest son the heir.

In his own twisted logic, Gerin found this acceptable. After all, what did he care about after his death? His only concern was preserving his name as a Duke of worth.

In Luso, he had fostered growth and development, while in Rammstein, he had turned a blind eye to festering corruption. He had ended centuries of bitter tension between the Angeras House and the Royal Agares line, even sending a permanent envoy to the Aristocratic Parliament, something his forebears had always resisted.

"I had hoped I wouldn't need to stain my own hands with this child's blood," Cornelia muttered suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was laced with frustration. "But it seems I am left with no choice. Frederick, give the order. Summon the assassins."

She stopped in her tracks, spun around sharply, and faced her trusted protector. Her eyes burned with cold determination. "Tell them I want this done swiftly and brutally. Let the boy suffer. Make it slow. Within a week, I expect to hear of his death. Do not return to me until you can bring that news."

Frederick bowed. "As you command, my lady." With that, he slipped away to deliver her grim decree.

Cornelia exhaled, pressing a hand against her temple as if to ease a burden. "I never wished for it to come to this," she whispered. "Why must you force my hand, husband? You could have spared me the trouble."

Her lament was cut short by the sound of a man's voice behind her. Deep, commanding, cold. "Why should I?"

The words froze her entourage. Every servant stiffened, trembling. Yet Cornelia herself did not falter. Straightening her spine, she turned to face him. Duke Gerin stood tall, a figure radiating dominance. His presence alone seemed to weigh down the air.

"Because you promised me," Cornelia shot back, her defiance clear. She reached up, daring to cup his face in her hands. "You promised that my son would inherit your seat. You swore it."

Gerin brushed her touch aside without hesitation. "I made a promise and it shall come to pass."

"When?" she pressed, her smile faltering. "You keep repeating the words, but when will it happen? Words alone mean nothing."

"When Estefan fails," Gerin said flatly. "When he proves himself unworthy by failing in Rammstein, your son shall take his place."

Her lips trembled with restrained fury. "And if he does not fail? What then? What if he succeeds where you expect him to falter? What if he returns triumphant?"

Gerin's gaze hardened. He ordered the servants to leave, and one by one, they obeyed. He stepped closer, towering above her frail form, studying her with cold detachment.

"That will not happen," he said firmly. "Rammstein will devour that inexperienced brat. Even if he stumbles into some minor success, failure will follow. The enemies he faces there are not strong, but they are cunning. I know this because I have fought them myself."

Cornelia smirked bitterly. "That is you, Gerin. You could not defeat them with your intellect. What if your son is cleverer than you?"

Her words were a dagger, mocking his pride. Yet the Duke only scoffed. "Woman! He is my son. Just as Carnel and Carius are my sons. But Carnel is weak, while the other two are stronger. Even so, Estefan lacks what is needed. He has neither the years of wisdom nor the experience to withstand what awaits him. He will fall." Cornelia clenched her fists. The very thought of Estefan succeeding burned her.

"Estefan is still too green," Gerin went on. "Too naive to survive when every enemy stoops to street-level tactics. He cannot endure what awaits. His failure is inevitable, and when that happens, you shall have your victory."

Cornelia shook her head, eyes narrowing. "No. Someone is helping him. That much I know."

Gerin raised a brow. "Are you implying that I am aiding him?"

Her stare was sharp as steel. "Isn't it obvious, my husband?"

He laughed cruelly. "Do not be ridiculous. Why would I help a mistake? If I wanted him as my heir, I would hand him my title today. Do you truly believe I would send him into that pit to prove himself if I intended to support him?"

"Excuses," she spat.

"I owe you no explanations," Gerin retorted coldly. "Doubt me if you wish. But know that your doubt will drown you before it harms me. My word stands. Estefan will fail, and your son will inherit. That is the order of things."

"I will believe it only when it happens," Cornelia snapped. "Until then, I will continue to doubt you."

"So be it," Gerin replied, turning away. "Send your assassins if you must, but know this, to kill him now is cowardice. Let him fail of his own accord. That way, when your son takes his place, no one will accuse him of fratricide. No one will hate him for spilling kin's blood."

[To be Continued]

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