The council chamber was cold that morning.
Not from lack of hearthfire — no, the flames crackled merrily in their gilded braziers. The chill came from something deeper.
Something sharper.
Evelyne sat at the head of the long, polished table, her hands folded neatly before her.
And the lords squirmed.
"Your proposal is… bold, Lady Evelyne."Duke Marrow's voice cracked like dry parchment. His jowls quivered as he glanced at the others for support.
None came.
They all feared her more.
As they should.
Evelyne's smile was thin as paper. "Boldness is what this council lacks, my lord. While you fatten yourselves, rot spreads through the lower rings. Thieves and dissidents breed like vermin. And certain… individuals," she let the word hang in the air like a blade, "stir up dangerous whispers."
Her crimson eyes flicked — just for a heartbeat — toward the sealed scroll lying before her.
The report from her spies.
Names. Movements. Suspicions.
And Leonhart's was etched there in ink as black as midnight.
"I propose we form a Sanctioned Enforcement Wing," Evelyne continued smoothly. "Answerable directly to this council. Free to root out treachery wherever it festers."
Lord Vann, a hawk-nosed man with eyes like chips of ice, sneered. "And who, pray tell, would lead this… enforcement?"
Evelyne's smile widened, baring teeth.
"Why, I would, of course."
The chamber fell silent.
She could hear the wind outside, rattling against the high stained-glass windows like a thousand ghostly hands.
Duke Marrow's jowls quivered again. "Lady Evelyne, such power—concentrated in one hand—this borders on—"
"On necessity," Evelyne cut in, her voice still velvet but laced with steel. "The empire teeters. Borders strain. Nobles plot. If we do not act now, we will lose everything."
She leaned forward, letting the firelight catch the sharp angles of her face.
"Or perhaps you would rather wait? Let the rot consume us while you debate niceties?"
The lords shifted. Murmured.
Some looked at each other.
Most looked away.
No one met her eyes.
And then, slowly, Lord Vann leaned back in his chair and gave a shallow nod.
"I second the lady's proposal."
Others followed. Grudgingly. Fearfully. But they followed.
Evelyne's smile did not reach her eyes as she inclined her head. "Then it is settled."
Her fingers traced the scroll before her.
Sanctioned power.
Legal authority to crush the vipers before they grew fangs.
As the lords filed out, muttering among themselves, Evelyne remained seated. Only when the last footstep faded did she allow her smile to drop.
She stood and crossed to the tall windows, gazing out over the city.
Varlock Keep loomed in the distance — a black scar against the morning sky.
And somewhere within, he gathered his broken toys.
She could feel it. Like a storm building on the horizon.
"Leonhart…" she murmured, lips barely moving. "You always did attract the lost ones. The angry. The discarded."
Her nails bit into her palm.
"But I am no longer the girl who wept in your shadow."
She turned from the window, her silhouette sharp against the light.
"Let's see who claims the title of monster first."
Meanwhile, across the city, deep in the old training yard of Varlock Keep, Leonhart moved among his men.
Donmar grunted as he drove a wooden spear into the chest of a staggering recruit. The man crumpled, gasping.
"Pathetic!" Donmar roared. "Again!"
Leonhart watched in silence, arms folded.
The drills were improving. Their bodies still weak, but their eyes… their eyes burned now. With purpose. With hate.
A runner approached, breathless. "My lord — word from the inner circles. Lady Evelyne has been granted special powers. She's forming a new enforcement wing. Loyal only to her."
Leonhart's lips curled in a slow, dark smile.
So.
The serpent showed her fangs at last.
"Good," he murmured. "Let her build her gallows. Let her sharpen her knives."
He turned, voice rising.
"Donmar!"
The scarred man straightened. "My lord!"
Leonhart's eyes gleamed.
"We move tonight. Send word to the Red Rats in the lower rings. Tell them their king calls. And bring me the Widow Fang. It's time we added assassins to our flock."
Donmar grinned, all teeth. "As you command."
As the yard erupted into motion, Leonhart let his gaze drift skyward.
The storm was gathering now.
The city would soon drown in blood and whispers.
And only one of them — him or Evelyne — would rise from the wreckage.
His heart pounded, not with fear.
But with thrill.