The dim candlelight played on the walls of the gloomy corridors of the Dreydus estate. The halls were furnished majestically, but coldly, as if the spirit of this house had never known warmth. Mirrors with a foggy surface reflected the tall silhouette of the owner, who walked thoughtfully around the spacious living room, holding a glass of wine in his hand. His eyes, deep and sharp, were directed at the window, beyond which the fading lights of the carriage were visible, taking Victoria back to the palace.
"Promising. Too promising," he muttered quietly, as if to himself. "But still too young to understand how to rule the world."
He took a slow sip of wine, letting the tart taste penetrate every cell of his tongue, and turned away from the window.
Memories of the conversation with Victoria flashed in his mind. Her calm but firm demeanor, her words filled with hidden determination. She spoke of the future of Demonia with a fire that he had not seen for a long time even in the most experienced politicians. But he knew that this fire could burn its owner himself if he did not learn to control it.
- Victoria, Victoria... You can become the ruler who will change this country. But you can also break it if you do not follow the right path. My path.
He placed the glass on the marble table with a dull sound and snapped his fingers. A moment later, his butler appeared - a short man with a stone face and precise movements.
- Have the guests from the Winter Alliance been seen off yet? - Dreydus asked without turning around.
- No, sir. They are still waiting in the guest quarters.
- Excellent. Make tea. And make sure no one disturbs.
The butler nodded briefly and disappeared into the shadows, and Dreydus headed for the door leading to the guest room. His steps were even and measured, as if he knew in advance what he would say and do.
The room was lit by the soft light of table lamps. Tapestries depicting great battles of Demonia adorned the walls, and the air was filled with the aroma of burning incense. Two men in warm fur cloaks sat at the table. Their faces expressed fatigue and hidden irritation, but they held themselves evenly, as if trying not to show their true feelings.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Dreydus began, entering the room. His voice was deep, velvety, but carrying an echo of menace. "I apologize for the wait. I hope the journey from your snowy lands was not too tiring?"
The men glanced at each other before one of them, tall and fair-haired, leaned forward slightly.
— The roads of the Winter Alliance are harsh, but we are used to it, my lord. However, you know yourself that business meetings so late at night make us think about the urgency of your proposal.
Dreydus grinned, lowering himself into a chair opposite the guests. His gaze slid over them, studying them like a predator studies prey.
— The urgency, gentlemen, is dictated not by time, but by circumstances. I think you understand that we are talking about a debt that your family has not yet paid.
The words hung in the air like a gong, making the men tense up. They knew what he was talking about, but they did not expect the question to be raised so bluntly.
— A debt? — asked the second diplomat, a stocky man with thick eyebrows. — But you understand that our family has long been without available resources. We have been increasing production, as Demonia requested, but we have no mines. We cannot return what we do not have.
Dreydus leaned forward slowly, his eyes flashing with a cold light.
"You do not have to repay the debt in metal, gentlemen. There are other ways. For example, your loyalty."
Both men were wary. Their gazes grew intense, but neither dared to break the silence. Dreydus leaned back, as if giving them time to realize that he had only just begun.
"You serve the Winter Alliance, which, as you know, suffers from its fragmentation and weak organization. But your family is one of the most influential in this fragile union. You can help me. And thereby ensure not only the return of the debt, but also new opportunities for your people.
"What exactly are you proposing?" the blond asked cautiously.
Dreydus's smile grew wider, but there was only a hint of friendliness in it.
"Rebellion."
The word pierced the silence like a sharp blade. The diplomats looked at each other, their faces expressing a mixture of shock and disbelief.
"You want us to rebel against your queen?" the stocky diplomat said, almost in a whisper.
"Not exactly," Dreydus replied, rising from his chair and beginning to slowly pace the room. "I want you to play a role in her destruction. Not directly, of course. You will be my eyes and ears. Your influence will help me lay the nets that will lead to her death."
"But how do you plan to defeat her? She is... impressive, isn't she?" the blond tried to object.
Dreydus turned sharply, his eyes blazing with anger.
"Impressive? Perhaps. But she doesn't have what I have. Experience. Will. Vision. I have already made my first move today. And I will win this game." The stocky diplomat frowned, daring to ask a question:
"First move? Execution of Astaron?"
Dreydus laughed, his laugh deep and sinister.
— Execution? No, that was just the beginning. I made the first move when I handed her the blade. "The gift of a loyal servant," he said with a hint, his voice soft but every intonation threatening. — Now, gentlemen, it is your turn. Decide: are you with me or against me.
The silence that hung in the room seemed eternal.
The fair-haired diplomat exhaled tensely, his gaze darting between Dreydus's face and his comrade. The stocky man tried to regain his composure, but his hands, clutching a massive silver goblet, trembled traitorously.
— We are with you, my lord. But... if you allow me, — the fair-haired man began, trying to sound confident, — we would like to hear more details about your plan. After all, it is not only our lives that are at stake, but also the future of our people.
Dreydus paused by the massive fireplace, his shadow dancing long and jagged on the walls.
"Of course. And I understand, gentlemen," he replied, throwing back his hand like a conductor before an orchestra. "Your people, your homes, your families… all of these are important. But what is even more important is the place of the Winter Alliance in the new order I will create. While Victoria clings to utopia, I am building an empire. And in that empire, the Winter Alliance will not be mere observers. You will be on par with the great powers."
His voice dropped to a whisper, forcing the men to strain to catch every word.
"But for that to become reality, I must be certain of your loyalty. So I am giving you the opportunity to prove yourself. Soon I will act, and your help will be key to depriving Victoria of her allies and undermining her influence."
The stocky diplomat frowned.
"But what if your plan fails? What if she turns out to be stronger than you think?"
Dreydus turned, his eyes boring into his interlocutor with such force that he involuntarily shuddered.
"Fail?" He slowly approached the table and leaned forward, his face very close to the frightened diplomat. "I am not failing. If I have decided that Victoria will fall, then so it will be. It is not a question of 'if'. It is a question of 'when'."
The blond man tried to change the subject, but his voice betrayed him:
"And what is this blade you mentioned, my lord? What does it mean?"
Dreydus leaned back, his smile widening.
"This blade is a symbol. It will be a reminder to her. A reminder that loyalty is only an illusion. That even the most devoted servants can be wolves in sheep's clothing."
He paused, his gaze fixed on something far away, as if he had already seen the outcome of his actions.
"And when the time comes, she herself will understand that everything she built was just a sand castle, destroyed by the first tide."
Both diplomats were silent, each lost in their own thoughts. They understood that they were being drawn into a game in which the stakes were too high. But there was no turning back.
Dreydus looked at them again, making sure that his words had reached their target. Then, turning slowly, he headed for the door, leaving them in silence.
"Decide quickly, gentlemen. Time is a luxury I cannot afford."
The door closed with a dull sound, and the shadows dancing on the walls grew even longer.
Night fell on Shadaria Veila, covering it in crimson shadows. The moon barely broke through the heavy clouds, illuminating the roads leading to the royal palace. Victoria's carriage drove through the massive gates, the horses' hooves clattering rhythmically on the stone pavement. Inside, in the silence and semi-darkness, Victoria sat thoughtfully, leaning her elbow on the armrest. In her hands was a demonic blade, which she held as if it were a silent companion of her thoughts.
"Order through control. Control through force," the words spoken by Dreydus echoed in her head. They seemed so simple, yet so frighteningly tempting.
"His policy is crude, but..." she said aloud, as if afraid to finish the thought. "There is order in it."
The blade, shimmering in the uncertain light, seemed to whisper something barely audible. Victoria winced and looked away, feeling a strange, inexplicable tension.
The carriage stopped at the main entrance to the palace. Victoria got out, her steps on the marble tiles were resonant and confident, but in her chest she felt a strange heaviness, as if each of her choices became a little more difficult, a little darker. "Or is it just fatigue?" flashed through her mind.
Marquis Arkin met her in the Council Hall, where he had been summoned late in the evening. His calm expression and reserved demeanor never betrayed emotion. He was as composed as ever, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Your Majesty, it is good to see you. You looked tired, but I trust your journey was fruitful?"
Victoria nodded, her gaze glinting in the lamplight, but then becoming distant.
"Yes, Marquis. Dreydus, as always, did not disappoint. He is too straightforward, but there is something in his vision that I may be missing."
Arkin inclined his head, raising an eyebrow.
"Let me remind you, Your Majesty, that your path is the path of the people. And Dreydus's path is the path of control. They are different. You must remain yourself."
Victoria nodded, but her gaze darted to the blade, which now rested on the table. The metal seemed to draw the eye, and the runes on the blade glowed with a faint, dark red light that seemed to breathe.
"With yourself... Yes, you are right. With yourself, but also... stronger," she said, without looking up. Then, shaking her head, she added, "I have called you to discuss the problem that is eating away at us from within. Corruption. Abuse. Betrayal."
Arkin nodded, sitting down opposite her.
"Do you have any ideas on how to proceed, Your Majesty?"
"We must act cunningly, discreetly. We must lure them out of the shadows, make them show themselves. I want you to prepare a list of suspects. Everyone who has ever been involved in strange affairs, in deception, in embezzlement."
"Of course. I have already compiled a preliminary list to make our work easier. Here, please."
He handed her the scroll, which Victoria unrolled. Her eyes scanned the lines.
Lord Cassar Elton, former treasurer. Suspected of embezzling gold and evading taxes.
Baroness Mirelle Townsend, owner of the largest chain of markets. Accused of using slave labor.
Count Horace Belwood, former military adviser. Involved in selling government information to the Flame Empire.
Sir Lendrick Hold, commander of the western garrison. Known for his cruelty to civilians.
Gent Attleridge, merchant. Suspected of smuggling rare magical artifacts. Victoria peered at the names for a long time, while Arkin studied her reaction.
"They all deserve a trial," he said finally. "We can begin preparing the charges. The preliminary trial could be scheduled as early as next week."
Victoria slowly looked up at Arkin, her eyes flashing with a strange light.
"No. A trial is a weakness. A trial is for those who deserve the right to justify themselves. These people deserve nothing."
Arkin frowned, his usually inscrutable face betraying surprise.
"Your Majesty? But shouldn't we show the people justice?"
Victoria stood, her shadow cast by the lamplight stretching along the wall. She picked up the blade from the table, and her voice changed. It became quiet but ominous, filled with mysterious images.
"Justice? She died long ago with the first kingdoms. I have seen her grave in my dreams. We lay flowers on this monument every time we think we are defending order. But all this is just an illusion. The world is not driven by justice, but by fear. Fear and blood. They are eternal. They are primordial.
Arkin looked at her with growing concern, but did not interrupt.
"Why should we judge them when they have already been condemned by history itself? Their actions are their confession. Their silence is their justification. They have long since burned in the fire of their own sins. I will only choose a moment to scatter their ashes."
Her eyes flashed so that even Arkin, accustomed to intrigue, felt uncomfortable.
"Your Majesty, I do not quite understand..."
Victoria turned to him, her face lit up with a strange half-smile, and her voice became almost a whisper.
"You do not need to understand. You need to remember. Remember this: "The shadow will always be longer than the light, but only until the night comes."
She turned away abruptly, leaving Arkin to decipher her words himself. He just watched her silently as she left the hall, leaving a cold and oppressive feeling behind her.
Victoria felt the strange thoughts that had begun to whisper in her head slowly fade as she left. But she didn't realize that the blade's whisper was not just her imagination. It left a shadow in her mind, a shadow that she mistook for her own power.
For the first time in a long time, she did not feel like a hesitant heir to the throne. She felt like a queen. But at what cost?
The first rays of sunlight struggled to break through the heavy curtains in Victoria's chambers. She sat at a massive table on which lay a stack of reports and a list of suspects compiled by Marquis Arkin. The papers were strewn with seals and signatures, as if each document embodied the weight of the sins and mistakes of those who dared to go against the crown.
Morgana Scarlett stood nearby, her sharp eyes following the queen's every move. Victoria couldn't help but notice that there was something unusual about the silence of the room. The whispers of the blade hidden behind her back were becoming clearer. It was as if they were trying to take over her consciousness, suggesting the darkest solutions to problems.
"We will begin with the most obvious," Victoria said, going through the list. Her voice was firm, although inside she felt how her thoughts became more alien with each passing day. "Lord Cassar Elton. The treasurer whose signature appears on every suspicious document related to theft from the treasury."
"Lord Elton is an old gambler, Your Majesty," Arkin said quietly, standing across the table. His calm tone hid the tension. "He is not as simple as he seems. His connections with trading houses and mercenaries make him especially dangerous.
Victoria's gaze lingered for a moment on Elton's name on the list. Her fingers instinctively ran over the hilt of the blade at her waist. The metal was cold as winter ice, but a warmth blazed in her mind, a fierce desire to act.
"We will not hesitate," she said firmly. "Morgana, arrange for surveillance of his estates. If he suspects anything, all our efforts will be in vain."
"It will be done," Morgana answered shortly, nodding.
"And for the others?" Arkin asked, looking up at the queen. "We cannot focus on just one suspect. There are seven more names here, each with access to information that could destroy your throne."
Victoria looked away from the paper and at Arkin. His face was impassive, but there was a challenge in his eyes. She knew he was testing her, as always.
"We will use spies," she finally answered, choosing her words carefully. "But if you think I will allow this to degenerate into a simple surveillance, you are mistaken. These people need to feel threatened. They need to know that I can see right through them."
Arkin raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. His gaze slid down the list of suspects.
"Then we will start with two: Lord Elton and Baroness Mirelle Townsend. Her interest in the new taxation is questionable, especially given her close ties to the Shadow Empire."
Victoria nodded. She could feel the tension in the room growing. Her own thoughts seemed to be beginning to split. On one hand, logic dictated caution, on the other, the blade whispered that caution was weakness.
When Morgana left the room to deliver her orders, Victoria was left alone with Arkin. Silence fell over the room again. The Marquis, his hands clasped behind his back, watched the Queen intently.
"You want to launch an operation that could endanger the lives of your men," he said quietly. "And what if they fail?"
Victoria looked at him, her eyes flashing coldly.
"Failure is not an option," she snapped. "If any of them fail, it will be their last mistake."
"Cruel words, Your Majesty," Arkin said, smirking. "And that's not like you."
She froze. His words cut her like a cold wind. But then her face softened, and her voice became a little gentler.
"We live in cruel times, Marquis. And if I don't start answering the calls, no one else will."
Arkin nodded, but his gaze was still slightly mocking. He came closer and laid out a map of the capital on the table.
— If you allow me, I will propose my plan. We will start with Lord Elton. He is too confident to notice that he is being caught. But Mirelle... she is smart. She will sense a trap.
Victoria stared at the map. Her thoughts were occupied not only by the marquis's words, but also by the voices whispering from the depths of her mind.
"We have a plan," she said at last. "We will take advantage of his arrogance. And Mirelle will believe that she is safe. When she makes a mistake, I will personally see to it that she is punished."
Her voice was threatening, but Arkin only raised an eyebrow slightly. He realized that the blade had already begun to change the queen. But whether it was for the worse, he did not yet know.
The darkness of night had fallen upon Shadaria Veila, its narrow streets were drowned in dense darkness, with only the occasional lantern casting a feeble light upon the grey pavement. Marquis Arkin, dressed in a black cloak that concealed his face and figure, moved with confident but cautious steps through the labyrinth of alleys. His path led to an old building, long abandoned and now used for matters requiring utmost secrecy.
The building looked like a ruin from the past, with peeling plaster and broken windows creating an atmosphere of abandonment. The only sign of life was a dim candle flickering behind one of the cracked shutters. Arkin looked around to make sure no one was watching him, and then stepped inside.
In the room, where the smell of damp mixed with mustiness, three people stood. Their faces were hidden by hoods, and their posture expressed tension. The middle one, slightly taller than the others, addressed the Marquis first:
"You are late, Marquis. We were beginning to think that you had changed your mind."
The voice was low and slightly hoarse, like a man accustomed to speaking in a whisper. Arkin removed his hood, revealing his cold face, illuminated by the flickering light of the candle.
"I am not one to go back on my word, especially when the fate of Demonia is at stake."
His voice was firm, but without unnecessary anger, each word like a blade, precise and sharp.
"Tell me, gentlemen, is everything ready?"
The third man, standing by the window and looking out over the city, turned around. His face was old, cut with wrinkles, and his eyes shone with a strange fire.
"We have done everything as you asked. The corridors of power are riddled with poison, and the hearts of our targets are ready to burst. But..." he paused, turning around completely. "Are you sure Queen Victoria won't guess?"
Arkin smiled slightly, but this smile was more like a harbinger of a storm.
"Her mind is full of doubts and new ambitions. She looks for enemies everywhere, but will never suspect the one who stands next to her. That is how I have always played my games.
"And what about her new methods?" the third man asked, coming closer. "Victoria is clearly acting decisively. Her current hunt for traitors could complicate our plans.
Arkin waved it off as if the matter were not worth discussing.
"She hunts those who do not matter. Puppets who, even if they fall, will not change anything. And those who are truly dangerous are now under the protection of my influence. All moves are calculated, gentlemen. But we have one threat."
His gaze grew harder, his voice lowered.
"Morgana Scarlett. This girl is too persistent and dangerous. If Victoria begins to trust her, our plans may run into difficulties."
"What do you propose?" asked the first of the three, raising his head.
Arkin leaned forward, his voice almost a whisper, but each syllable hit like a hammer:
"Nothing yet. Let Victoria drown in her ambitions. At the right moment, we will take advantage of her weakness. But if Morgana starts digging too deep, she must disappear.
The men looked at each other, their eyes showing both doubt and absolute devotion to the Marquis's words. Finally, the old man said:
"We are ready to fulfill your will, Marquis. But know that if you are wrong, the price will be too high."
Arkin stood up, his face lighting up with an icy smile again.
"I am not wrong. Now go and wait for my signal. Everything must be perfect."
The three bowed and disappeared into the shadows, as if they had never existed. The Marquis was left alone, looking at the candle, which burned out in silence. Its flame trembled slightly, a symbol of the fragility of human destiny.
He whispered:
"Victoria, you think you have everything under control. But you are only a part of this game, and until you understand its rules, I remain the king on the board.
His words died away along with the dying candle flame, and he left the building, plunging into the darkness of the night.
Several days had passed since the investigation began. Victoria noticed that she felt strange, but her worries were pushed into the background by a series of urgent matters. Despite her fatigue, her mind worked intensely, but unevenly. She became more abrupt in her words, and the patience that had always distinguished her approach to subordinates had disappeared somewhere.
Victoria stood in front of the mirror in her chambers, her gaze focused on the reflection. It seemed that her face had changed, became sterner, her features sharpened. She frowned and leaned slightly closer. It was the same face that always looked at her from the mirror, but something invisible and barely perceptible disturbed her.
She ran her fingers over her temple, as if trying to find the source of this strange sensation. Her thoughts suddenly began to emerge, like strange and frightening images. One of them was the voice in her head, a whisper that began to appear more and more often. The voice was not a stranger, but it sounded as if it were a part of her.
"You must no longer tolerate their weaknesses, Victoria. They hide behind the laws you set, and you know that these rules are made to be broken."
Victoria turned away from the mirror abruptly. She shook her head, trying to get rid of these thoughts, but they did not go away. She walked to the table where Dreydus's gift lay – the blade. Its edge glittered in the candlelight, as if beckoning to itself. Victoria carefully ran her finger along its surface, feeling the cold of the steel.
"Why am I thinking about this? It's wrong..." Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
The blade seemed to answer her. Her fingers involuntarily squeezed the hilt, and images flashed before her eyes: crowds of people bowing before her, blood spilled on the ground, endless chaos and the order born from it. She recoiled, her heart beating faster.
She began to feel her change even more strongly when she met Morgana in the training room in the morning. Morgana was striking a dummy, her movements precise, like a predator preparing to pounce. Victoria watched her, and something inside her began to boil, like an involuntary desire to test her strength.
"Morgana, you are sure that you can protect me if necessary?" Her voice was cold, even frightening.
Morgana stopped and turned to Victoria. Her gaze showed slight surprise.
"Your Majesty, I will give my life for your protection. This is my oath."
"Oath, you say? And what if your oath one day becomes your weakness? What if you betray yourself for the sake of fulfilling it?"
The words came out of nowhere. Victoria realized them only after they were already spoken. Morgana frowned, but said nothing. She couldn't understand what the queen was trying to say, but the words left her confused.
Victoria took a step back, as if she were frightened by herself.
"I'm sorry, Morgana. I... it was stupid. Forget it."
But she knew that this moment couldn't be forgotten.
Later that day, Victoria and Arkin met again to discuss the details of the investigation. She noticed that even in conversation with him, her words had become sharp as knives.
"The list of suspects is growing, but there is still insufficient evidence," Arkin said, handing her the scroll.
She scanned the names, each accompanied by a brief note:
Lord Vincent Estrain - a major arms dealer whose profits had dropped strangely over the past year.
Baroness Marissa Neirin - known for her love of luxury and frequent trips to neighboring countries without explanation.
Captain Gaillard Stormfell, the leader of one of the guardsmen who had been found to have ties to smugglers.
"There are those among them who are too obvious," Victoria said, her voice low and stern. "They are just a façade behind which the real enemies hide. But we need proof, Arkin. Only then can I punish them."
Arkin nodded slightly, but there was a flicker of worry in his eyes.
"Your Majesty, perhaps we should prepare the trial right away to avoid unnecessary delay? As soon as there is evidence, they will be brought before the law immediately.
— A trial? — Victoria looked up, her usually determined eyes momentarily shadowed. — Why should we obey rules that were written for others? Why should traitors deserve the right to defend themselves? They have already proven their guilt by their very existence.
Arkin looked at her in confusion. Her voice had grown cold, and her intonations were reminiscent of the way Dreydus himself spoke.
— You want justice, Your Majesty? — he asked carefully.
— I want order, Arkin, — her voice grew louder again, hatred blazing in it. — I want fear to grip the hearts of those who dare betray Demonia. And if that means cutting off a few heads, then so be it.
She stood up, her silhouette illuminated by the dim candlelight, giving her an almost demonic appearance.
— Are you afraid, Arkin? — she asked, her eyes filled with a strange fire. - Are you afraid that I will become a monster? But isn't this world needed a monster to keep it in check?
Arkin said nothing. He simply bowed his head in agreement, but inside he was filled with uneasiness.
Victoria returned to her desk. Her hand involuntarily reached for the blade again, but she jerked it away. Something was clearly happening, but she refused to accept it.
Alone, she closed her eyes and leaned her elbows on the desk. Voices sounded in her head, tangling with her own thoughts.
- I can't lose myself... But what if losing myself is what I have to do to save Demonia?
These thoughts grew louder, and the blade lying on the desk seemed to attract her gaze.
Victoria sat in her office, the dim candlelight illuminating her face. She tried to collect her thoughts, but they were swirling. Her mind raced between the memories of past promises made to her father and the harsh reality that demanded decisions. She felt a strange energy emanating from the blade, as if it were a living being, pushing her towards something.
A knock on the door made her jump. Entering, Morgana saluted and came closer.
"Your Majesty, I have conducted an investigation into Captain Gaillard Stormfell, as you requested. It has been confirmed that he has been using his position to organize an illegal arms trade. What do you command?"
Victoria looked at her for a long moment, considering. Her eyes, usually soft and attentive, were now cold and glassy.
"Gather his subordinates. I want to see their report. Let them tell me everything they know. And if they do not tell me..." She paused, then continued, her voice turning icy. "Then I will make sure they talk." Morgana frowned slightly, but nodded. She knew the queen had changed, but she couldn't figure out why. Her intuition told her that Victoria was under the influence of something or someone, but she didn't dare ask questions.
When Morgana left, Victoria opened the list of suspects again. Her eyes slid down the lines, each one reminding her of how deep the corruption had gone.
She settled on a name: Baroness Marissa Nairin.
"So elegant, yet so rotten," Victoria whispered, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Its luxury is the blood of our people. It is gold that could be used to fortify the borders, to feed the hungry."
Her thoughts grew darker, tinged with rage. She felt the flames of hatred flaring in her chest, directed at all who used power for personal gain. But in that moment, she did not notice how her hand reached for the blade again.
Her fingers touched the hilt, and new images appeared before her eyes. She saw the Baroness standing before her, terrified, Victoria squeezing her neck, commanding her to speak. In this vision, Victoria was no longer the kind queen the people remembered. She was a tyrant, the embodiment of power and anger.
She flinched, letting go of the blade as if it had burned her.
— What is happening to me? Why am I thinking this? It's not me…
But deep down she knew that wasn't quite true. These thoughts were her own, only reinforced by something foreign. She ran a hand over her temple, feeling the heaviness in her head. She remembered Dreydus's words, his crude but honest logic. She hated him for describing her future so plausibly, which she feared, but at the same time, she couldn't deny that there was sense in his words.
Victoria stood, looking out the window at the city. The lights of Shadaria Veila burned like small beacons of hope, but she saw something more in them. They were lights that could go out at any second.
— If I become a monster to protect them, so be it. But if I become a monster for myself, then who will protect them from me?
Her thoughts were confused, but she had decided one thing for herself: she would go to the end, even if it meant burning everything around her.
When Morgana returned with her report, Victoria was already different. Her voice was firm, her decisions were final. But in the depths of her eyes, the same fire that she had seen in her visions flickered.
The next day, Victoria began her plan to lure out the traitors. She gathered a small retinue, including Morgana, and went to one of the luxurious estates owned by Baroness Marissa Neirin. The estate was located on the outskirts of the capital, drowning in luxury, which clearly contrasted with the poor quarter surrounding it.
The wrought-iron gates opened with a dull creak. Victoria noticed how the baroness hastily lined up her servants at the entrance, trying to impress. Marissa herself, a tall woman with short red hair and exquisite features, came out to greet the queen. Her movements were graceful, but there was tension in her eyes.
"Your Majesty, it is an honor to see you in my humble home," her voice was soft, but Victoria immediately detected a note of fear in it.
"Humble?" Victoria said, her voice sounding slightly sarcastic, her gaze sliding over the gold jewelry and luxurious fabrics that lined the entrance to the house. "You live quite... elegantly, Baroness. Apparently, trade is quite profitable."
Marissa looked away, but then gathered her courage.
"I only try to maintain the standard expected of my position. Everything you see, Your Majesty, was bought with honest labor."
Victoria smiled, but her smile was devoid of warmth. She moved closer, so that their faces were level.
"Honest labor?" I assume your connections with neighboring countries are also part of your "honest" work?
The Baroness took a step back, her smile faltering.
"Your Majesty, I..."
"That's enough," Victoria interrupted, her voice as cold as the winter wind. "I didn't come to listen to excuses. Your case will be considered when all the evidence is available. But I advise you to be prepared for the worst.
The Baroness paled, but nodded, bowing her head. Victoria turned to Morgana and, without another word, headed for the exit.
In the carriage, on the way back to the palace, Morgana looked at the queen.
"Your Majesty, you have become... stricter. It seems to me that your words not only frighten, but also leave a mark on the hearts of those to whom they are addressed."
"Sometimes fear is all that is needed to maintain order, Morgana," Victoria replied, her voice distant. "If the Baroness is guilty, I will find a way to prove it. If not... well, in that case I will have to look further for traitors."
Morgana nodded, but anxiety was brewing inside her. Her intuition told her that something was changing in the queen, and this "something" was becoming more and more threatening.
Back at the palace, Victoria called Arkin and the other key figures together to discuss the investigation. She sat at the head of the long table, her gaze focused.
"We are close to the truth," she began, her voice full of confidence. "Baroness Marissa is just the tip of the iceberg. I am certain that her connections lead us to larger conspiracies."
Arkin, watching her, crossed his arms and leaned forward slightly.
"Your Majesty, we can continue our interrogations and deepen our investigation. But are you sure we should act so... aggressively? It could cause unrest in the upper echelons."
Victoria looked at him sharply.
"Aggressively? That is not aggression, Arkin. That is justice. The Demonia cannot afford to be torn apart from within while its enemies bide their time. If that causes fear, so be it. Better to fear the Queen than to suffer betrayal.
Her words were so convincing that the room fell silent. Even Arkin, who always carried himself with confidence, thought for a moment.
When the discussion was over, Victoria rose from the table and headed to her chambers. Her thoughts were heavy, and the shadow cast by the blade on her table seemed to grow longer and thicker. Her footsteps echoed through the corridors of the palace, as if announcing that the changes that had begun within her would soon be reflected in everything around her.
Night fell on Shadaria Veila, but Victoria could not sleep. Words that did not belong to her or anyone around her were ringing in her head. They were whispers that sharpened her doubts and strengthened her resolve.
She sat on the balcony, looking at the lights of the city. They seemed to her like stars that were about to go out.
"If I fall, then all of Demonia will fall with me. But if I become her last defense, I will burn everything that threatens her well-being, even if I have to become a monster."
With these thoughts, she returned to her chambers. The blade lying on the table glinted in the moonlight, as if waiting for her touch.
Meanwhile, in one of the dark alleys of the city, Arkin met with strangers. Their faces were hidden by hoods, but their words were clear.
"The Queen is becoming what we hoped she would be. But do not let her understand that this is her choice - keep her in the shadow of her own fear," the voice belonging to the tall figure sounded restrained, but commanding.
Arkin only nodded.
"Her time is approaching. But if it breaks, I will have to find a new leader.
The night grew even darker, foreshadowing the storm that will soon engulf the entire continent.