One month earlier.
The ballroom of Valebourne's Royal Palace shimmered like a mirage of opulence. Chords of lutes and harps flitted through perfumed air. Laughter danced among crystal chandeliers. Nobles circled like wolves in silk, smiling with wine-stained teeth.
It was the Princess's Birthday Ball—an event not of joy, but of performance.
Theo stood near the edge of the dance floor, a wine glass in hand, eyes scanning like a war general behind enemy lines. He wore an obsidian coat lined with silver thread, subtle but striking, and his hair had been tied back neatly—leaving his sharp features exposed like a blade unsheathed.
It was here, beneath the veil of courtly grace, that he whispered quiet invitations. Not to the dance floor—but to the tea party.
Every merchant lord, foreign envoy, or minor noble who had enough wit to understand the undercurrent of power was handed a soft-spoken message:
"Tomorrow. My estate. A discussion of wealth, not war."
And they accepted.
Oh, they did.
But Theo didn't know that the most important guest hadn't come through the door yet.
The Next Day – After the Tea Party
The sun had dipped low beyond the horizon. The guests were gone, leaving behind empty cups, empty seats, and heavy thoughts.
Inside the parlor, Theo's inner circle lingered—Lira flipping through a tea-scented notebook, Elric swirling a cup of still-warm spiced wine, and two more seated near the fire.
The guards knocked.
"My lord," came the muffled voice of a captain, "There's someone outside. Cloaked. Identity unknown. Do you want them removed?"
Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"No. Let them in."
Elric raised an eyebrow. "That's a risk."
Lira's pen paused. "Do you know who it is?"
Theo didn't blink.
"It's none of your concern."
He rose, smoothing his coat.
"Make yourselves comfortable."
The door shut behind him. Footsteps approached.
And then she stepped in.
Wrapped in shadows. Cloaked head to toe in a black veil, the figure glided in without hesitation. No title announced. No name spoken.
But Theo already knew.
He smiled faintly.
"Well, well, well. Care for a drink, Your Highness?"
She lowered her veil just enough to reveal her lips—and a sharp smirk.
"I normally don't. But if you insist, then… fine. Just this once."
She accepted the drink, standing beside the window, backlit by the moon.
She was beautiful—not in the painted way of court ladies, but in the clean, defiant grace of someone who had not yet been broken by the palace. Her presence was quiet, but sharp. Calculated.
"Why are you here, Princess?"
Theo's voice was neutral, unreadable.
She sipped slowly before answering.
"Because this kingdom is rotting, young Duke."
Her tone wasn't cold. It was hollow. Worn.
"And I need help cleaning out the maggots."
Theo raised an eyebrow.
"Dramatic."
"Accurate."
She turned to face him, her eyes hard.
"Foreign powers are watching us. They want our coastline. Our ports. The Stygian Strait—the only naval artery connecting the Western Kingdoms to the Eastern Continent. If the Crown collapses, they'll carve us up like a wedding goose."
Theo leaned back.
"So what's your plan, Princess of a dying lion?"
She met his gaze with equal force.
"To save the body, you amputate the rot."
"My father is a greedy fool clinging to a broken crown. His court is filled with bootlickers and corrupted pigs. The Church worships dragons—but only in name. They bleed the people dry in their gods' silence."
Theo chuckled softly.
"And what do you want from me? Help?"
"No. An alliance. You gain power. I gain stability. And together, we uproot the cancer."
Theo narrowed his eyes.
"Sounds like treason."
"No. It's surgery."
There was a moment of stillness—tense, silent, electric.
And then she added, almost casually,
"I have the ledgers."
Theo blinked.
"The royal accounts?"
She nodded. "The real ones. Not the ones waved around in court. The Church's secret records too. Tithes, bribes, smuggling routes, everything. I've been collecting them for two years."
She stepped closer, her voice low.
"You want to crush them? Here's the stone."
Theo took a long breath. His hand tightened slightly around his glass.
"What's your price?"
"A new system. One that benefits the people. One where I sit the throne after my father dies… and you remain Duke, unchallenged, as Steward of Finance."
Theo tilted his head. "And if I say no?"
"Then I'll find another man," she said without missing a beat. "But between us? I don't think there is another man who can pull this off."
Theo stared at her.
This was madness.
And yet—every word was laced with truth.
She hated the court.
She feared the church.
And yet, she stood in front of him, handing him the keys to its destruction.
He gave a quiet laugh. One part disbelief. One part admiration.
"You know… they worship dragons, don't they?"
"Yes."
"Then maybe I'll become their god."
"This is serious, Theo."
"Oh, I am serious. I have a plan. But it needs proof. Solid proof."
She stepped closer. Pulled a small velvet pouch from her cloak.
Inside—thin vellum scrolls. One glance showed Church seal imprints. Another showed a noble signature beside a false donation.
She whispered,
"This is just the beginning."
Theo smiled, slow and sharp.
"Then let's burn the kingdom."