In a luxurious chamber within the Gold Land's royal palace, three figures faced each other in tense silence.
Cynthia Sichom sat in an expensive leather armchair, her elegant features composed but her eyes sharp as knives. Her fingers drummed against the armrest—the only outward sign of her agitation.
Before her stood Notable Camara, a plain-looking middle-aged man whose nervous posture betrayed his fear, and Rose Sichom, Cynthia's daughter, whose beautiful face was marred by an expression of barely concealed anger.
"Do you know why I summoned you?" Cynthia asked, her voice deceptively calm.
"Yes, my lady," Camara replied, bowing low. "It's about the task I was given by young miss Rose."
"Care to explain what happened?" Cynthia gestured for him to continue.
Camara swallowed hard. "Of course, my lady. The finest mercenary group available was hired to intercept Lady Reloua after her escort crossed the border into Ankh Kingdom. They were supposed to... to handle the situation and bring back proof of completion."
"And?" Cynthia's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Was the task completed?"
"No, my lady. No proof was delivered. I've tried contacting the mercenary group, but..." He spread his hands helplessly. "There's been no response."
Rose stepped forward, her voice defensive. "Mother, we did everything we could. The plan was solid—"
"Solid?" Cynthia's composure cracked for the first time, her voice rising. "Do you have any idea what you've done? This morning, King Donkeu learned about his daughter's disappearance. He was furious. He's already asking questions, demanding answers, threatening to involve the military."
"But Mother, if they can't contact the mercenaries either, then maybe—"
"Maybe what? Maybe they succeeded but conveniently forgot to report? Maybe they're all dead and Reloua is still alive somewhere?" Cynthia stood abruptly, her presence filling the room. "Do you understand what happens if that girl makes it back to the capital?"
Camara trembled. "My lady, I—"
"You failed," Cynthia cut him off. "A simple task, and you failed. Six professional assassins against one princess and her small escort, and somehow, we have no confirmation of success."
"The mercenaries were the best available," Camara protested weakly. "Their reputation—"
"I don't care about their reputation!" Cynthia's hand slammed down on the armrest. "I care about results. Results that you have failed to deliver."
Rose placed a hand on her mother's arm. "Mother, please. Camara has served our family faithfully for years. If the mercenaries failed, it's not his fault—"
"Everything is his fault because it was his responsibility!" Cynthia pulled away from her daughter's touch. "Do you know what your father will do if he traces this back to us? Do you know what Reloua will do if she returns and discovers we were behind the attempt on her life?"
The room fell silent.
"No," Cynthia said more quietly, her composure returning like a mask sliding back into place. "No, we can't afford to panic. If there's been no word from the mercenaries, that means one of two things: either Reloua is dead and they're simply delayed in reporting, or something went wrong and she's still alive."
"What do we do?" Rose asked.
Cynthia returned to her chair, her mind already working through scenarios. "We prepare for both possibilities. Camara, I want you to send out discrete inquiries. Use our contacts in Ankh to find out what happened. But be careful—if anyone asks, you're simply concerned about trade routes being interrupted by bandit activity."
"Yes, my lady."
"Rose, you will increase your presence at court. Be seen grieving for your 'beloved sister.' Express worry and concern. If Reloua is dead, your sorrow will be remembered. If she's alive..." Cynthia's eyes hardened. "Well, it's difficult to accuse someone who appears genuinely worried about your safety."
"And if she does return?" Rose's voice was barely a whisper.
"Then we move to the next phase of the plan. But let's hope it doesn't come to that." Cynthia stood again. "This meeting is over. Camara, bring me updates as soon as you have them. And Camara?"
"Yes, my lady?"
"If this situation gets any worse, if my husband starts asking questions I can't answer..." Her voice turned to ice. "The burden will fall entirely on you. Do you understand?"
Camara's face went pale. "Yes, my lady. I understand."
"Good. Now get out, both of you."
As Camara and Rose hurried from the chamber, Cynthia moved to the window, gazing out at the palace grounds below. Somewhere out there, her stepdaughter might still be alive. Might be traveling back toward the capital. Might be carrying evidence that could destroy everything Cynthia had worked for.
"You should have died," Cynthia whispered to the absent princess. "You were supposed to die quietly, far from home, with no one the wiser. Why couldn't you just die?"
She stood there long into the night, plotting contingencies and backup plans, preparing for every possible outcome.
Because if there was one thing Cynthia Sichom had learned in her years navigating palace politics, it was this: you survived by always being three steps ahead of everyone else.
And she fully intended to survive.