CHAPTER 210: PATHETIC

"Soren belongs to me," she said, and there was genuine conviction in her voice now, the kind of certainty that came from years of being told something until you couldn’t imagine any other truth. "He always has. You’re just... a temporary distraction. A political convenience that won’t last."

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The sound burst out of me, genuine amusement mixed with something darker, something that remembered being exactly where she was standing... young and stupid and convinced that wanting something made it yours.

"Belongs to you?" I repeated, still chuckling. "How fascinating."

I leaned in, dropping my voice to something lower, more intimate, the kind of tone that suggested secrets shared between friends. Except we weren’t friends, and this wasn’t a secret... it was a weapon.

"Tell me, Lady Bianca," I purred, watching her face, "does that sound like a man pining for someone else? Because I have to say, the Emperor seems quite content with his current arrangement. Very... enthusiastic about it, actually."

Her face started to color, confusion mixing with the beginnings of understanding.

I smiled wider, letting the implications drip into my words like honey laced with poison. "In fact, just last night, he had me pinned against his office door... locked, of course, wouldn’t want interruptions... and I have to tell you, the man is remarkably creative with his hands. And his mouth." I paused for effect, watching her eyes widen with scandalized comprehension. "Very thorough in his attentions. The kind of thoroughness that suggests he’s not thinking about anyone else while he’s doing it."

Bianca’s face went from pale to pink to deep red in the span of three seconds, her mouth opening and closing like a fish pulled from water.

"Though I suppose," I continued thoughtfully, as if discussing the weather, "a young thing like you wouldn’t understand such matters yet. Has anyone even explained to you what happens between a man and his wife? Or were you raised on fairy tales about love and destiny?" I tilted my head, letting condescension drip from every word. "How innocent. How utterly adorable."

"You... " she stammered, shock and fury warring on her features. "You can’t just... that’s... "

"What? Inappropriate?" I straightened, my smile turning sharp. "Darling, I’m the Tyrant. Witch of Solmire. Propriety has never been my strong suit. And before you run off to tell anyone about this conversation, ask yourself: do you really want the entire court knowing you tried to murder the future Empress and failed so spectacularly that you got your hand burned for your trouble?"

She stood there, frozen, her burned palm still pressed against her chest, her face a study in conflicting emotions... humiliation, rage, disbelief, and underneath it all, the dawning realization that she was completely outmatched.

I stepped back, smoothing my dress with casual grace, already dismissing her from my attention. "Enjoy the wedding, Lady Bianca. I’m sure it will be a beautiful ceremony. Try not to burn yourself again... I’d hate for people to think Nevareth’s hospitality left something to be desired."

I turned and walked away, my footsteps crunching on the diamond-dust path, not looking back to see how she handled the dismissal. My guard fell into step behind me at a respectful distance, his expression carefully neutral in the way that suggested he’d seen and heard everything and was professionally pretending he hadn’t.

As I walked, I found myself smiling... genuinely this time, not the weapon I’d wielded against Bianca but something more real.

Pathetic. That’s what she was. Not because she loved Soren or wanted him or felt possessive of a future she’d been promised... those were understandable, even sympathetic emotions. No, she was pathetic because she’d thought a simple spell and some cutting words would be enough to remove me from the picture.

In my first life, I’d faced assassination attempts from professionals. Spell masters who could kill with a touch, Spirit dancers who moved too fast for eyes to follow, mages who could level buildings with spoken words.

I’d survived a childhood of systematic abuse by a father who’d sealed a dragon god inside my five-year-old body. I’d killed that same father when I was barely old enough to understand what death meant.

And this girl thought freezing my blood would work?

Please.

Still, the encounter had been useful. Now I knew Vetra had at least one more pawn on the board, though whether Bianca was acting independently or under orders remained to be seen.

The timing of her arrival... right before the Star-Shard ritual, when Soren and I would be away from the palace... was suspicious enough to warrant attention.

I’d need to warn Soren about his delusional childhood friend who’d just tried to murder his fiancée. That conversation would be entertaining in its own right. I wondered if he knew about her feelings, or if he’d been oblivious the way powerful men so often were when it came to women’s emotions.

My smile widened as I imagined his reaction. That particular blend of irritation and protective fury he got when someone threatened me, the way his eyes would flash silver-blue with barely contained ice magic.

Yes, he definitely needed to know about this.

But first, I had other concerns. That strange sensation from last night still nagged at me, a persistent unease that refused to be dismissed. And now, walking through the gardens with the afternoon sun beginning its descent, I felt it again... just a flicker, a whisper of attention from something far below.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hungry.

I suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with the northern cold and quickened my pace toward the palace. Whatever was happening, whatever Vetra and her allies were planning, I had the distinct feeling it was about to get much worse before it got better.

And somewhere behind me, abandoned in the garden with her burned hand and shattered pride, Bianca Virelya stood alone, her pretty face twisted with emotions she’d never had to master before: genuine hatred, bone-deep humiliation, and the terrible realization that the story she’d been told her entire life... about destiny and belonging and her rightful place at Soren’s side... might have been nothing but a beautiful lie.