Chapter 12: The Blue Rose Ultimatum
The atmosphere within the *Palais de Verre* shifted instantly from aristocratic boredom to a cold, predatory silence. Lulan Lascourine stood at the center of the ballroom, the light reflecting off the smart-glass walls in a way that made her look like a statue carved from ice.
Matriarch Genevieve de Valois stared at Lulan, her lips trembling with a mixture of fury and disbelief. No one—not a King, not a Prime Minister, and certainly not a "commoner" from Belgravia—had ever spoken to her with such clinical disregard.
"You speak of biopsies and errors, Director," Genevieve said, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of a death sentence. "But you forget where you are. This is Paris. We founded the Council of Thorns when your ancestors were still leeches and herbs. By the time the sun rises over the Seine, a Bio-Embargo will be placed on your little kingdom. We will turn Belgravia into a medical desert."
Lulan didn't flinch. Behind her, Silas Vane moved half a step to the left, his eyes scanning the balconies where the shadows were moving too rhythmically to be guests. He felt the familiar itch at the base of his skull—the warning sign of a high-tier ambush.
"A medical desert is a fascinating concept, Matriarch," Lulan replied, her voice cutting through the tension. "But a desert is only dangerous to those who don't know where the water is hidden. You believe your patents are your fortress. I believe they are your shackles."
Lulan turned her gaze toward the crowd of dignitaries who were eavesdropping. "Kael, the encryption is becoming... tiresome. Please, show the Matriarch our 'Opening Statement.'"
"With pleasure, Mother," Kael whispered.
The nine-year-old boy tapped a final sequence into his tablet. Across the entire Palace, the digital murals—which had been displaying scenes of French history—flickered and died. For three seconds, there was total darkness. Then, the glass walls erupted in a flood of scrolling text, internal emails, and private ledgers belonging to the House of Valois.
The crowd gasped in unison. These weren't just financial records; they were the blueprints for a manufactured crisis. The documents showed how Genevieve had been suppressing the cure for a common respiratory virus to keep the price of her own "maintenance" treatments at a premium.
"This is a fabrication!" Genevieve shrieked, turning to the French Minister of Health. "Minister, arrest her! She is hacking a sovereign corporate entity!"
"Is it a fabrication?" Lulan asked, walking slowly toward a massive glass screen displaying a ledger titled *Project Blue Rose*. "Because according to these files, the Bio-Embargo against Belgravia was drafted six months ago—long before I arrived in Paris. You didn't react to my presence, Genevieve. You were simply waiting for an excuse to steal my father's research."
The Minister of Health looked from the screen to Genevieve, his face turning a deep shade of red. The evidence was too clear, too public.
"Silas," Lulan said, her tone shifting to one of command. "The Matriarch is about to lose her temper. Let's ensure the children aren't caught in the debris."
"Already on it," Silas growled.
From the catwalks above, the Cobalt Sentinels—Genevieve's elite private guards—began their descent on high-tension wires. The gala was no longer a party; it was a kill box.
"Lucian! Bastian!" Lulan called out.
The two boys moved with a synchronized grace that had been drilled into them since they could walk. Lucian reached into his formal jacket and pulled out a pair of weighted silk cords, his eyes locking onto the first Sentinel to hit the floor. Bastian grabbed a heavy silver serving tray, his mind already calculating the ricochet angles.
"Stay behind me, Mother," Lucian said, his voice dropping into the cold, flat tone of a soldier. "The exit is eighty meters to the North. I'll open the door. Silas will clear the path."
Lulan looked at Genevieve one last time. The Matriarch was backed against a pillar, her hand clutching her chest as if she were already feeling the first twinges of the "Valois Curse."
"The Embargo is the least of your worries now, Genevieve," Lulan said over the rising noise of the panic. "The world just saw your soul. And as a doctor, I can tell you—it's terminal.