The air in the Grand Duke’s study was heavy, stagnant with the scent of old leather and the metallic tang of the ink that had, in another life, signed Justine’s death warrant.
Her father, Duke Maximilian Oakhaven, sat enthroned behind his massive desk. He was a man of immense power, yet his eyes were clouded with the fatigue of a father who had spent years trying to pave a smooth road for a daughter he believed was fragile.
"Justine, my jewel," the Duke said, rubbing his temples as he looked up from a mountain of paperwork. "Lord Red’s messengers have been hovering like vultures since dawn. They are quite... distressed. They claim you’ve personally restricted the flow of the Southern Treasury and rescinded the permits for the auxiliary knights. Surely there is a mistake? The Prince was counting on those funds for his 'Peace Initiative.'"
Justine didn't answer immediately. She walked to the center of the room, her movements fluid and predatory, lacking any of the girlish bounce she once used to coax favors from him. She felt the weight of her history—the three years of being ignored, the betrayal, and the final cold steel of the guillotine.
With a definitive, bone-jarring thud, she slammed a heavy, leather-bound ledger onto the mahogany desk.
"It is no mistake, Father," she said.
Her voice was a low, resonant blade, devoid of the youthful flightiness that had been her mask.
The Duke blinked, recoiling slightly from the sheer intensity in her gaze.
"Justine? You look... different."
"I have audited the accounts, Father.
Not just the surface numbers, but the deep veins of our house’s wealth," she said, leaning over the desk until she was in his space. "For three years, we have been funding 'border skirmishes' and 'charity hospitals' managed by the Grand Vizier and Prince Red. Do you know where that gold actually went? Or did you just trust the man who whispers sweet nothings to your daughter?"
"To the stability of the throne, of course," the Duke stammered, his pride beginning to prickle. "Red is a war hero in the making—"
"Red is a fiction," Justine hissed. She flipped the ledger open to a page marked with blood-red ink. "The gold for the 'hospitals' went to the private pockets of the 'Saint' Lana. She didn't buy medicine; she bought the silence of the High Priesthood to ensure they would back Red’s eventual claim to the throne.
And the 'border skirmish' funds? They were diverted to pay mercenaries—the Black Fang guild—tasked with ensuring Prince Eric never sees a single shipment of grain, steel, or medicine in the North."
The Duke’s face paled, the color draining until his skin looked like parchment. "Justine, these are dangerous accusations. If the King or Queen Elena heard—"
"The King is a man lost in the Queen’s bed, drugged by her 'tonics' and Lana’s 'prayers.' And the Queen?" Justine’s eyes flashed with a lethal, aristocratic fire. "She is building a throne out of Oakhaven bones. Red is a parasite, Father. He doesn't love me; he loves the seal on your ring. He used my body to satisfy his lust and my name to satisfy his greed."
She reached out and gripped her father’s hand. Her fingers were ice-cold but her grip was like iron.
"In three years, Father, the gold we are providing now will be used to frame us. They will say the Oakhaven family funded the coup that killed the King. I have seen the end of that path. I have seen the color of my own blood on the cobblestones."
The Duke looked into his daughter’s eyes and saw a woman he didn't recognize—a woman who had walked through the fires of hell and come out forged in steel. He saw the truth in her terror and the coldness in her resolve.
"What would you have me do?" he whispered, his voice cracking.
"Redirect it all," Justine commanded, her voice rising with a terrible authority. "Every copper destined for Red’s 'charities' is to be funneled into 'independent trade' with the Northern territories. We will buy the loyalty of the Northern lords before Red can starve them. Secure our private knights—place them under my direct command. I want our borders sealed against any 'messengers' from the palace."
She straightened her back, smoothing her crimson dress.
"By the time the Royal Gala begins tonight, I want Red to realize that the hand that fed him has turned into a fist. He thinks he is the shadow? Tonight, I will show him the eclipse."
