Chapter 34

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 34

Chapter Title: Schemes in the Shadows

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Instead of comfort from her mother, Birna faced reprimand, filling her large eyes with resentment.

"Right in front of me, Grandma took what was mine and gave it to that wench Medea. How can even you say something like that, Mom?"

Catherine clutched her throbbing forehead.

She couldn't fathom how her daughter could be so empty-headed; making her understand felt harder than devising schemes.

"And now you're telling me to call Medea not 'sister' but 'Your Highness the Princess'! Does that make any sense? Me, using honorifics with that half-breed lowly girl?"

"What's so hard about flattering her a little to her face? It's only temporary, dear."

Catherine did her best to soothe her daughter.

"In the end, you'll be this kingdom's princess. How long can Medea hold on to that seat anyway?"

"Exactly!"

Birna raised her voice.

"Exactly, it's mine! When Dad becomes king, how dare that groveling bitch try to take what's mine... why..."

"Birna!"

As she muttered through gritted teeth, Catherine snapped sharply.

"You—don't you dare breathe a word of that outside!"

"Mom...?"

"Have you said it anywhere else? Around people? In the palace?"

Frightened by her bulging eyes, Birna shook her head vigorously.

"One stupid slip from you could ruin all our plans."

Catherine gripped her daughter's shoulders hard enough to hurt.

"Just stay quiet and do as you're told. Mom will get everything for you. Got it?"

Her mother's gaze was fierce as a wolf's.

"Huh? Answer me, Birna!"

Birna nodded, biting her lip. Only then did the hand pressing her shoulder release.

"Go to bed early. Tomorrow, the moment the palace gates open, you need to go beg your grandmother's forgiveness."

Slam. The door shut sharply.

Left alone, Birna clenched her fists tight.

Leaving Birna's room, Catherine swallowed a sigh.

She'd realized it was quicker to silence her beloved daughter's pretty mouth than to make that little head grasp their grand parental scheme.

Entering Duke Claudio's office, she saw her husband crumpling a parchment.

"What's wrong?"

"Mother's summoned Count Montega."

"The frontier Count Montega?"

Catherine frowned.

Count Montega was Duke Claudio's paternal cousin and a longtime royal kin with no small influence in the palace.

"I knew Mother had been wary of us lately... She's calling in reinforcements."

"That Montega always favored my brother over me."

More than favor—he'd shown greater respect and loyalty to him than to his own blood brother.

Duke Claudio frowned, lost in memories of the past.

"Then his daughter will favor her too. Dear, if the Count stands behind Medea, things will get messy."

Medea wouldn't stay isolated any longer.

"Damn it, and public opinion's already siding with that girl!"

The parchment ball flew in irritation, thudding against the study wall.

"Dear, calm down."

"Ever since Lady Quizin died, the rumors outside have been getting out of hand. They pity Medea like she's their own child being bullied."

This wouldn't do.

To the people, Medea had to be a witch draining their vital blood and squandering the national treasury.

The princess's depredations so severe they'd spark rebellion in the end.

Thus, Regent Duke Claudio would rebuild the fallen kingdom and finally ascend as Baldina's king.

She needed to exist solely as the catalyst for that historic revolution.

"What if they start thinking the real culprit isn't Medea?"

They couldn't learn Baldina's woes stemmed not from the young princess, but from corrupt officials.

"This can't go on. If things keep flowing like this..."

Duke Claudio paced the room anxiously.

"Don't worry, dear. Your power's still intact. And the Interior Minister's on your side. As long as the palace is in your grasp, the odds favor us."

Catherine approached, stroking the Duke's shoulders soothingly.

His tension eased somewhat under her gentle voice and touch.

"If public opinion bothers you, just divert the people's gaze. The dull, foolish masses always believe only what's right before their eyes, after all."

Catherine spoke tenderly.

"And don't fret over Count Montega. We'll make our move first."

"..."

"If he wants to back Medea, we just show him she's not worth the trouble."

He stared at his wife's face, still beautiful enough to defy the years.

A political marriage, yes—but she had been society's flower back then.

Face, bloodline, house—nothing lacking.

Unlike his brother, who'd picked a wandering dancer, he was certain he'd chosen the finest card.

"How?"

Duke Claudio asked, and Catherine smiled faintly.

"How about a grand banquet celebrating Medea's recovery? That poor girl has had so much happen lately."

So lavish, so dazzling it hurt the eyes—ensuring misfortune never dared approach again.

"Ah, of course."

The Duke's eyes gleamed.

"Since it's for Medea, Mother won't object."

The starving masses, Count Montega rushing from the frontier—they'd all see the princess drowning in gold and revelry.

"As expected of you."

Leaning her graceful profile against the Duke's shoulder, Catherine's noble beauty shone.

"What? Just like always, that girl will serve as our shield."

Her face was the epitome of flawless elegance.

Count Etienne's Mansion

Behind the firmly shut door came roars of rage and the crash of shattering objects. At long last, a servant emerged.

The people who'd been waiting anxiously outside crowded forward.

"Umberto, you alright?"

"Good heavens, your clothes are soaked. The Minister again... Here, wipe it off quick."

A garish red wine stain spread across his chest, where the fox badge gleamed.

Etienne's servant Umberto was a young man with sly, fox-like eyes.

"I'm fine. The master just seems off his game today."

Umberto dabbed his forehead with a napkin as he brushed them off, but everyone knew this wasn't a one- or two-day affair.

Among Etienne's parade of ever-changing servants, Umberto alone hadn't been booted—sticking by his side till now.

"Can't fathom why he's throwing such hysterics lately. He was always willful, but now it's like a demon's possessed him."

The onlookers shook their heads. Umberto swallowed a wry smile.

"Umberto, head back and rest. I'll cover things here."

Only the butler—who knew the full story—let him go.

Back in his room, he irritably flung the damp handkerchief aside.

'Why? 'Cause he's got nowhere to vent his whims anymore.'

Since former Head Maid Lady Quizin died, the Minister had been dodging suspicion from the new Head Maid, Marchioness Pinatelli, cooped up in the mansion without stirring.

No red-light district romps, no secret toys smuggled in like before—so he took it out on everyone.

"Hah. How long do I have to put up with this crap? It's revolting."

He froze. There, wedged in the creaky windowsill, was a small scrap of paper.

Umberto whipped around, scanning the room frantically.

Dust still coated the sill; no marks marred the outer wall.

Early evening, before full dusk—no one back at the dorms yet. The surroundings lay utterly still.

"Who the hell's pulling this stupid prank?"

He crumpled the note in annoyance and chucked it out the window.

But the next day...

The fresh note jammed in the door crack was impossible to toss.

"Who came into my room? I told you I'd handle cleaning myself—no need!"

The head maid blinked at Umberto's rare irritation, then replied incredulously.

"What're you on about? Everyone's scrambling to scrub the mansion top to bottom, terrified of upsetting the master. Who's got time for the servants' quarters?"

"Argh, how many times do I have to say it? If you don't believe me, camp out there all day yourself!"

Security at Count Etienne's mansion was ironclad. Filthy secrets lurked everywhere the Count hid them—no one came or went freely.

To slip through that and leave notes at will meant the culprit was anything but ordinary.

Growing frantic, Umberto even called in sick to hunt the notes' source. Shockingly, he found zero clues.

"No... it's gotta be coincidence. No way they know who I am..."

He muttered anxiously, fidgeting with the fox badge on his chest.

"Umberto, you better? The Minister kept asking for you while you were out."

Days later, empty-handed, Umberto returned to the palace.

Not a courtier himself, but as the Minister's servant, he had to accompany Count Etienne.

Yet in the minister's office, there on his desk sat a note—the exact same hue as those at the mansion.

Its surface bore a chaotic scrawl of letters, numbers, and bizarre symbols.

Umberto's face drained white as he clutched the parchment.

'H-how does he know about this...'