The Hall of Diligence was where Your Majesty usually handled state affairs. Though Her Majesty was largely a figurehead, she did live up to the hall's name.
Now, Emilia Everard sat at a purple sandalwood desk, gazing stiffly at the documents piled before her. Around her, palace attendants stood with lowered heads. She swallowed hard and set down her brush, then glanced toward Lucille Everard at her side, daring not reveal any displeasure. "Royal Sister, do you not trust me?"
For a long moment, silence reigned in the hall. Outside, the snow battered the palace walls with a kind of brash ferocity, as though it might burst inside. Emilia's inner thoughts mirrored a winter storm; whenever reason surfaced, she tasted fear. Lucille had recently released Victoria Ashwood from the Cold Palace, and Emilia felt an acute sense of crisis. Despite Victoria's low birth, Lucille never cared about public perception. Thus, Emilia had spent the past few days behaving herself.
Crippling anxiety drove her overthinking: she tried to guess Lucille's intentions, which only made her legs feel weaker. All the attendants in the hall lowered their heads, hoping to steer clear of any conflict. In truth, they needn't have worried. Lucille was lost in her own thoughts about a puzzling matter: she was constantly drawn to the Riley Estate. Whenever she saw Lina Riley, the violent urges in her mind would settle, replaced by a rare tranquility she had missed for too long.
But Lucille was always cautious; everything had to wait until that quack doctor returned. If the matching scent could truly cure her illness, all would be well and good. But if that girl had deceptive aims… hmpf. Then again, Lina hardly seemed clever enough to fool Lucille; at best, she might fool others.
In their bowed silence, none of the palace maidservants realized The Princess Royal was busy thinking about someone in particular—entirely oblivious to how she had previously praised Lina. Perhaps the day's many thoughts had roused her anticipation for tomorrow's martial exam.
Finally lifting her gaze, Lucille eased the tension that had filled the hall. "Tomorrow is the final round of the martial examinations. There are five qualifiers. Have you looked into them?"
Emilia nearly broke into a cold sweat. Reading this as a test, she clutched the desk with trembling hands. "Following your guidance, Royal Sister, there is no essay portion this time—only martial skill."
Lucille frowned impatiently. "Spare me the details. Tell me who caught your eye."
Emilia steadied herself. "General Wilhelmina Ford's eldest daughter, Willa Langley, stands out. She is particularly strong in mounted archery."
Lucille recalled that name. She was more familiar with Willa's mother than the girl herself. Wilhelmina Ford had started with nothing, following the founding monarch into battle and making a name for herself. Years of warfare took a toll on her health, and not until age forty did she have a child, who was precious beyond measure.
Lucille grinned. Wilhelmina and Reginald Riley had been political adversaries for many years. Both were generals with somewhat similar names. The troublemakers in court often made comparisons between them. Because Reginald had come from a noble line that surrendered to the new dynasty, Wilhelmina despised him deeply, and she resented being likened to him. Consequently, Willa had grown up detesting the Riley clan.
Observing Lucille's strange smile, Emilia couldn't help imagining how badly things might unfold. The tension between the Riley and Ford families was no secret. Sometimes in court, it took mere minutes for the two to start bickering, inevitably dragging in each other's children. Both generals adored their daughters excessively, and no one could bear hearing their own child insulted. The court had nearly devolved into a sparring match more than once. Thinking of it made Emilia's head ache.
She discreetly wiped the sweat from her brow, recalling the time Lucille had unexpectedly forced Lina Riley into the list of exam candidates. As far as Emilia knew, Lina was unremarkable—so unremarkable that Wilhelmina rarely even bothered to insult her. Perhaps Reginald had angered Lucille, who was using this as a warning?
Growing uneasy, Emilia ventured gently, "Willa is fierce, but she can also be reckless. She fights without regard for consequences. If Lina goes up against her, it'll be hard to come out unscathed."
Lucille let out a cold laugh. "You're worried about Lina?"
Emilia's heart lurched, and she quickly denied it. "I meant nothing of the sort."
Seeing Emilia's submissive posture, Lucille felt some of her irritation subside. Troubled by these unaccountable emotions, she frowned for a moment. "All the better to cut down Willa's arrogance."
Without waiting for a response, Lucille rose and left, taking with her the suffocating tension in the room. Emilia sagged in her seat and shook her head. She then recalled a possible solution—perhaps she could summon Sophia Riley to the palace and have her persuade Lina to concede. It wasn't just pity; Emilia also hoped to pull Reginald closer to the throne's side. With a sigh, she instructed, "Bring Miss Sophia here."
Lucille stepped out of the Hall of Diligence and dashed toward the Riley Estate, leaping across the palace rooftops as though walls and gates posed no obstacle. It was bitterly cold, and few ventured outside in this snowfall. Partway, she landed on a rooftop and heard a rowdy crowd below. She meant to leave, but overhearing a familiar name made her pause.
It was a gambling den.
"I'm wagering on Miss Langley!"
"Same—she once wiped out an entire bandit stronghold on her own!"
"I'll bet on Winnie Wren instead."
"Winnie Wren? Who's that nobody?"
"I'll join you in betting on Winnie—she saved me from river bandits two years ago while I was traveling for trade."
"Then you should know how often Miss Winnie has helped people without asking for anything in return. Many call her a chivalrous heroine."
On the rooftop, Lucille listened to the crowd splitting into pro-Winnie or pro-Willa camps, with occasional mentions of the other three contestants. They never mentioned Lina Riley—if ever they did, it was with dismissive scorn.
By the door sat a runny-nosed little girl—someone's child brought along irresponsibly. Lucille felt an odd surge of annoyance, leaping off the roof toward the girl. The child, curled up in a small red ball, looked up at the exquisite embroidered shoes and exclaimed, "A fairy!"
Lucille found it amusing, yet kept a polite distance, wary of snot. The noise from the drunken gamblers drowned out the girl's voice; no one else paid attention. Lucille tugged out a purse of coins, initially thinking to toss it at the child's feet, but the child's innocent eyes pricked her conscience, so she placed it gently in the girl's hands. "Help the 'fairy' with something, and she'll grant you a wish."
Inside, the Willa and Winnie supporters were still arguing, the betting heat rising. None noticed a little girl clamber onto a chair and place a money pouch next to Lina Riley's name. The clink of taels and the girl's babyish voice froze everyone.
"Lina Riley—one thousand in taels."
The owner of the gambling den scooped up the pouch, weighed it, then peered inside. Indeed, combined coin and notes amounted to slightly over a thousand. Astonished, he lifted the child. "Where did you get the money?"
The girl sniffled and declared, "The fairy gave it to me!" She pointed outside, but the swirling snow revealed no one.
Meanwhile, Lucille strode happily toward the Riley Estate. The sight of the familiar walls made her lips curl into a smile. With fluid ease, she vaulted inside and climbed through Lina's window, neatly catching Lina still asleep. This time, Lina didn't look frightened. She was getting used to it.
Lina merely sat upright. "Your Highness."
"No need for formality."
Lina considered leaving the bed but sensed something off, so she stayed put, feeling faintly self-conscious. In this new life, she found she was lazier than before. Previously, her nerves had been constantly on edge at war. Now, sleep was her rare luxury, though she'd dozed so long her head ached.
She leaned against the bed frame, eyeing her erstwhile nightmare. Quietly, she asked, "Why have you come, Your Highness?"
Lucille's gaze swept over Lina's tousled hair and drowsy expression, her cheeks round and lips slightly parted. The infamous "murderess" with a taste for violence also adored cute things—like cats and dogs. Once upon a time, Lucille had kept a fluffy pup. She liked messing up its fur, which left it perpetually disheveled.
Now Lina reminded Lucille of that messy pup. Overcome by the illusion, she reached out and ruffled Lina's hair, making it even wilder.
Lina didn't dare protest, merely blinking in confusion. So many things had changed this time around: her older sister took a sudden interest in her, her former archenemy acted strangely, and Victoria Ashwood was as fake as ever.
Lucille, satisfied with her ruffling, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her hands with a look of distaste. Then she leaned in again, lifting a strand of Lina's hair from her neck and inhaling.
Lina's eyes widened in alarm.
I'm… being toyed with?
She jerked her hair away. "Your Highness, please—this isn't appropriate."
Lucille observed Lina's burning ears and smirked. "Don't you feel guilty saying that?"
Lina stiffened. Something from that night flashed in her mind, draining away her courage. "I…"
After a moment's inner turmoil, Lina spoke softly, "If someone sees us, it'll tarnish Your Highness's reputation."
Lucille glanced at Lina's tangle of hair, snorted with amusement, and said, "Since when have I cared for the world's opinion? When have I ever had a 'good' reputation? You worry too much."
She almost left, but Lina intrigued her enough to linger. A mischievous gleam danced in her eyes. "I came to tell you that if you lose tomorrow, you won't have to pay with your life."
Lina's heart soared; she was about to voice her gratitude—until Lucille added, "However, I did place a bet of ten thousand silver on you. If you lose, you'll owe me the money."
Lucille savored Lina's dismayed look, then walked to the window, tossing a final remark over her shoulder. "And get better hair wash. Yours is dreadful."
With that, she slipped out into the night.
Left alone, Lina rummaged frantically through her purse, counted her trinkets, and recounted them. The same result every time: she was short by nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety taels.