CHAPTER 202: NEGOTIATION

The palace had a way of spreading news.

Not through official channels. Not through formal announcements. But through the quiet, invisible network of servants and guards who saw everything, heard everything, and whispered everything to anyone who’d listen.

By evening, everyone knew.

Lady Isolde Ravencrest, chief lady-in-waiting to the Regent Empress, had been arrested by imperial command. Dragged from the preparation chamber. Locked in the eastern holding cells like a common criminal.

And the Regent Empress had done nothing to stop it.

That last part was what made the story truly scandalous. Vetra Helena Nivarre, the woman who’d ruled Nevareth through sheer force of will for decades, had been powerless to protect her most loyal supporter.

Or so it seemed.

Because hours after Isolde’s arrest, when reason with Soren proved unsuccessful, something shifted.

Messages began moving through the palace. Carefully worded. Precisely targeted. Reminding certain people of certain favors. Suggesting certain consequences if certain requests were ignored.

Vetra had spent years weaving a web of obligation and debt throughout Nevareth’s administrative structure. Now she pulled those threads with surgical precision.

The captain of the eastern guard received a reminder about his youngest daughter’s position at court. How easily such positions could be... reassigned.

The palace chamberlain was informed that his recent expense reports might require additional scrutiny. Unless, of course, he chose to be helpful regarding prisoner transfers.

The Emperor’s schedule coordinator discovered that her family’s trade licenses were up for renewal. How unfortunate if delays occurred.

One by one, the mechanisms of power that Vetra had carefully built over decades began to turn.

Not quickly. Not obviously. But inexorably.

By the time the eighth bell rang, Isolde was being escorted from the holding chamber to Vetra’s private quarters. Not released. Not pardoned. Simply transferred to the Regent Empress’s custody for "medical evaluation and personal care."

The guards who’d initially refused Vetra’s demands now executed the transfer with perfect efficiency.

The servants who’d witnessed her earlier humiliation now bowed as she passed, murmuring apologies for the "misunderstanding."

The palace administrators who’d hidden behind the Emperor’s authority now found themselves reminded of exactly who controlled the daily operations of this empire.

But everyone saw.

The nobles who’d been invited to witness the confrontation in the preparation chamber. The artisans who’d scattered when Eris slapped Isolde. The servants who carried messages and linens and gossip through endless corridors.

Everyone saw that Vetra had needed two hours to accomplish what once would have taken two minutes.

Everyone saw that she’d intervened only after the Emperor acted. Only after he’d made his position clear. Only after the damage was already done.

The Regent Empress had won this small battle.

But she’d lost the war.

Because the future Empress, that foreign woman with fire in her blood and cruelty in her smile, had just demonstrated something far more important than royal authority.

She’d demonstrated that she could act with impunity.

That she had the Emperor’s complete, unwavering protection.

That challenging her meant challenging him.

Lady Eris Igniva had become the new apex female power in Nevareth’s court.

And Lady Isolde Ravencrest, with her swollen cheek and shattered pride, had become the symbol of that shift.

The first casualty in a war that was only beginning.

---

Vetra’s private chambers occupied the northwestern tower of the palace, where windows looked out over frozen gardens and distant mountains. The rooms were elegant without being ostentatious. Comfortable without being soft. Everything arranged with the kind of precision that suggested a mind that valued control above all else.

When the guards delivered Isolde, Vetra dismissed them with a single gesture.

The door closed. Locked from the inside.

Only then did Isolde’s composure shatter completely.

"That bitch!" The words exploded from her like steam from a kettle. "That foreign savage put her hands on me! In front of witnesses! In front of nobles who will spread this humiliation across the entire empire!"

She paced Vetra’s sitting room with jerky, agitated movements. One hand kept rising to touch her cheek, where Eris’s handprint was already darkening into a bruise. Purple and red, swollen, impossible to hide.

"She struck me." Isolde’s voice climbed higher. "Me. As though I were some common servant who’d spilled wine on her gown. As though my position meant nothing. As though you meant nothing."

Vetra settled into a chair near the fireplace, perfectly still, ice in her eyes but voice calm as winter morning. "Sit down, Isolde."

"I can’t sit! I can’t think! She—"

"Sit. Down."

The command carried enough weight to cut through Isolde’s hysteria. She sank into the opposite chair, trembling with fury and humiliation, tears streaking down her face.

Vetra studied her for a long moment. This woman who’d served her faithfully for fifteen years. Who’d executed every task with precision. Who’d been her eyes and ears in court when Vetra couldn’t be present.

Who’d just made a catastrophic miscalculation.

"What did you say to her?" Vetra’s tone remained neutral. "Before she struck you."

Isolde blinked, thrown by the question. "I... I was only following your instructions. Managing the preparations. Making it clear that her position wasn’t—"

"What. Did. You. Say."

The repetition carried ice.

Isolde swallowed. Recounted the conversation. The insults about Eris’s origins. The implications about the marriage being temporary. The comments about barbarism and savagery.

The final statement about not wanting to humiliate His Majesty.

Vetra listened without interrupting. When Isolde finished, silence fell.

"You told her," Vetra said slowly, "in front of witnesses, that we were trying not to humiliate the Emperor by associating him with her."

"Yes, but—"

"You questioned his judgment. His choice. His authority to select his own bride." Vetra’s voice remained calm. Deadly calm. "You made it personal."

"I was following your—"

"I told you to manage the preparations. To make subtle adjustments. To demonstrate continued influence." Vetra leaned forward slightly. "I did not tell you to openly insult the Emperor’s bride in a room full of witnesses."

Isolde’s face crumpled. "But you said... you wanted me to show her that she didn’t belong. That her position wasn’t secure."

"Subtly, Isolde. Through implication. Through careful maneuvering that couldn’t be directly challenged." Vetra sat back. "Instead, you gave her the perfect excuse to strike you. You gave Soren the perfect excuse to arrest you. You handed them a victory."