CHAPTER 209: MURDER ATTEMPT

"Solmire must seem so distant now," she continued, drifting closer with studied casualness. "Such a different culture, such different customs. I’m sure adjusting to our ways has been... challenging."

You don’t fit here. You’ll never fit here.

"His Majesty has been wonderfully patient," Bianca added, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "From what I hear, he’s taken such personal interest in your education about the empire. How fortunate you are to have such an attentive husband-to-be."

He has to teach you everything because you’re ignorant. He’s doing charity work by tolerating you.

I could have been offended. Probably should have been. But mostly I was impressed by the efficiency of her verbal warfare. Each sentence technically polite, each one carrying a poisoned blade.

"The Emperor is remarkably dedicated to ensuring I understand Nevareth’s complexities," I agreed pleasantly. "Though I find the most important lessons happen outside the classroom, if you know what I mean."

Let her chew on that implication.

"I’m sure you’ll make a lovely empress once you’re fully acclimated," Bianca pressed on, apparently immune to subtext. "The court is always so forgiving of small mistakes during the adjustment period."

You’re going to fail. Everyone expects you to fail. We’re just being nice while we wait for it to happen.

This was getting tedious. I’d dealt with far more skilled manipulators than this girl. Vetra, for all her cold cruelty, at least wielded her verbal weapons with precision. This was amateur hour.

"How kind of you to travel so far for the wedding," I said, letting a hint of genuine curiosity color my tone. "The Border Territories are quite distant, aren’t they? You must be very invested in the Emperor’s happiness to make such a journey."

I watched her face carefully, saw the tiny-expression that flashed across it before she could control it... possessiveness, longing, fury.

There we go. That’s the real emotion.

"His Majesty’s happiness has always been my concern," Bianca replied, and the false sweetness had frayed slightly at the edges. "We’ve known each other since childhood. Our families have been close for generations. Some bonds..." she paused meaningfully, "...run deeper than recent attachments."

He’s mine. He was always supposed to be mine. You’re just a temporary obstacle.

"How lovely that you share such history," I said, genuinely meaning it this time. Historical attachment was useful for political alliances but usually terrible for actual relationships. Caelen and I had proven that spectacularly in my first life.

Bianca moved even closer, close enough now that I could see the calculation behind those pretty green eyes, the way her jaw tightened with suppressed emotion.

"May I?" she asked suddenly, reaching out before I could respond. Her hand caught mine, fingers wrapping around my wrist with surprising strength. "I’ve been so eager to meet you properly. We’ll be like sisters soon, won’t we? All of us who care for His Majesty."

Sisters.

Right.

The moment her skin touched mine, I felt it.

Cold.

Not the normal cold of winter or even the magical cold that permeated Nevareth’s palace. This was something else entirely... invasive, hostile, foreign magic trying to force its way into my bloodstream like a parasite seeking a host.

I felt the spell crawl up from her palm, felt it attempting to reach the water in my veins, trying to crystallize blood and freeze me from the inside out. The pressure built in my hand, spreading up my wrist, my veins going pale as ice tried to form in my circulatory system.

A murder attempt, then.

How refreshingly direct.

For a heartbeat, I considered my options. I could pull away, make a scene, call the guards, have her arrested for assaulting the future Empress. It would be justified, politically advantageous, completely within my rights.

But where was the fun in that?

Instead, I smiled wider and let my fire rise.

Not external flame... that would be too obvious, too crude. This was internal heat, the kind that lived in my bones and blood, the gift and curse of housing a dragon god inside mortal flesh. I made my skin go molten where her hand touched mine, temperature spiking to levels that would have turned water to steam instantly.

Not quite hot enough to burn through flesh completely. Just enough to scorch. To hurt. To teach a very important lesson about touching fire queens without permission.

Bianca gasped, her green eyes going wide with shock and pain. She tried to pull away, instinct overriding pride, but my grip tightened. My fingers wrapped around hers, holding her in place as her palm reddened, then blistered, skin crackling against heat it was never meant to withstand.

"Let... " she managed, voice strangled.

I held on for another three seconds, counting them off leisurely in my head, then released her.

She yanked her hand back like I’d bitten her, clutching the burned palm to her chest, her perfect composure finally cracking. Her face had gone pale except for two bright spots of color high on her cheeks, her breathing rapid and shallow.

I examined my own hand with academic interest. Perfectly fine, of course. The spell she’d tried to use on me had evaporated the moment it met my fire, dissolved like morning frost under summer sun.

"How clumsy of me," I said conversationally, my smile never faltering. "My temperature runs hot sometimes. You should be more careful about touching fire queens without permission."

I paused, letting the words settle, then added with perfect, pointed clarity: "Or did you think I wouldn’t notice your little spell?"

Bianca’s expression underwent a rapid transformation... shock giving way to calculation, then settling into something colder and more honest than anything she’d shown me so far. The sweet mask didn’t exactly drop, but it shifted, revealing glimpses of the steel underneath.

"You’re perceptive," she said, her voice losing some of its sugary coating. "Good. Then you already know."

She stepped closer despite her burned hand, despite the very recent demonstration of what happened when she touched me, driven by something stronger than self-preservation.

Pride, maybe. Or desperation.