CHAPTER 211: DELUSIONS

The evening shadows stretched long across Vetra’s private chambers as Bianca Virelya stormed through the doors without bothering to knock.

She knew the way... had been here before during previous visits to the capital, back when Vetra had still been cultivating her as the perfect candidate for Empress, grooming her with carefully chosen words and subtle promises about destiny and duty.

The chambers were as she remembered: opulent but cold, decorated in shades of white and silver that complemented Vetra’s ice magic, furniture arranged with mathematical precision, every object positioned to convey power and control.

Bianca’s hand throbbed beneath the cloth she’d hastily wrapped around it, the burns still angry and raw despite the healing salve one of her attendants had applied. The pain sharpened her fury rather than dampening it, a constant reminder of her humiliation in the garden.

Vetra stood near the window, silhouetted against the fading light, her posture regal even in private. She turned as Bianca entered, and her expression registered no surprise... only mild curiosity, as though unexpected visitors bursting into her chambers was a common occurrence.

Beside her, Lady Isolde straightened from where she’d been examining some documents on the desk, her bruised cheek still faintly discolored from her own encounter with Eris. And in the corner, partially hidden by shadow, sat the witch Aira, her hooded cloak concealing most of her scarred features, only her ruined mouth visible in the candlelight.

"Bianca," Vetra said smoothly, her voice carrying just a hint of welcome. "I heard you’d arrived with your father. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

Bianca stopped a few paces into the room, her chest heaving slightly from the rapid walk through the palace corridors, her carefully maintained composure fracturing at the edges. She lifted her wrapped hand slightly, the gesture more eloquent than words.

Vetra’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. "Already?"

The single word contained layers of meaning: disappointment, perhaps, or amusement, or simply acknowledgment that Bianca had moved faster than expected and paid the price for her impatience.

"I met her," Bianca said, her voice tight with barely controlled rage. "The fire queen. In the gardens, not an hour ago."

"And?" Vetra prompted, moving away from the window with fluid grace, her attention now fully focused on the younger woman.

Bianca’s free hand clenched into a fist at her side. "I introduced myself. Played the gracious noble lady, just as we discussed. Complimented her, welcomed her to the empire, made all the appropriate noises." Her lip curled with disgust. "She saw right through it. Matched me word for word, smile for smile, like she was mocking me."

"She’s had years of practice," Isolde interjected from her position by the desk, satisfaction evident in her tone. "Playing at being civilized while being a monster underneath."

Bianca barely glanced at her, continuing her report. "I tried the spell. The one you taught me years ago." She unwrapped her hand partially, revealing the blistered, reddened skin beneath. "The moment I touched her, she knew. Not suspected... knew. And she retaliated."

Vetra moved closer, examining the burn with clinical interest. "She heated her skin directly. Clever. More controlled than simply throwing fire."

"Controlled?" Bianca’s voice rose slightly. "She held my hand against hers while it burned. Stood there smiling while she scorched my flesh, then had the audacity to call it clumsiness." Her jaw tightened, the memory stoking her fury fresh. "Then she asked if I thought she wouldn’t notice my ’little spell.’"

A moment of silence followed, broken only by the crackle of flames in the hearth.

"So she’s not playing ignorant," Aira observed from her corner, her ruined voice carrying a note of professional interest. "Good to know. Tomorrow’s working will require adjustments if she’s that sensitive to magical intrusions."

Bianca’s gaze snapped to the witch, then back to Vetra. "That’s not all." Her face flushed, anger mixing with humiliation as she forced out the next words. "She... made comments. About Soren. About their... relationship."

"What kind of comments?" Vetra’s tone remained neutral, but her eyes sharpened.

Bianca’s flush deepened. "Explicit ones. Crude descriptions of what they do together when they’re alone. Things a lady should never say aloud, let alone to a stranger."

Her voice shook now, fury and mortification warring in equal measure. "She spoke about him touching her, about his hands and his mouth, about him pinning her against doors and being ’thorough in his attentions.’"

Isolde’s expression twisted with visible satisfaction, her own anger at Eris finding vindication in Bianca’s distress. "So you’ve learned what we already know," she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "The foreign savage has no manners, no grace, no understanding of proper behavior. She’s exactly what she appears to be... a crude, violent woman playing at nobility."

She moved closer, her smirk barely concealed. "Perhaps now you’ll understand why we must act. Why simply waiting for Soren to come to his senses isn’t enough. She’s corrupted him, twisted his judgment with her... "

"I understand," Bianca cut her off with a cold look, "that she’s more dangerous than you gave her credit for."

The temperature In the room seemed to drop several degrees as the two younger women faced each other. Isolde’s smirk faltered slightly at the tone, at the implicit criticism in Bianca’s words.

Bianca had never liked Isolde... the woman was too obvious in her own infatuation with Soren, too transparent in her jealousy, too eager to paint herself as a victim of Eris’s cruelty rather than acknowledging her own provocations. And Isolde, for her part, clearly resented Bianca’s position as Vetra’s chosen candidate, saw her as competition rather than ally.

They were united only by their mutual hatred of the fire queen, and that unity was fragile at best.

"Ladies," Vetra interjected smoothly, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade through silk. "We have the same goal. Petty grievances serve no one but our enemy."

She moved between them with deliberate grace, commanding attention without raising her voice. "Bianca, your arrival is perfectly timed. Your father’s business with the Emperor will keep you at the palace for several weeks at minimum... plenty of opportunity for you to remind Soren of old bonds, old promises."

Bianca’s posture straightened slightly, pride reasserting itself despite the throbbing pain in her hand. She carefully rewrapped the cloth around her burned palm, her movements precise and controlled.

"I can change his mind," she said with conviction that came from years of being told she was special, destined, the perfect match.

"I just need time alone with him. One evening, one private conversation where that woman isn’t poisoning his thoughts. He’ll remember what we had, what we were supposed to be."

She lifted her chin, green eyes blazing with determination. "He’ll forget that Solmire witch exists."