Zai has shown his cards too early, half his hand let loose and he scrambles for a recovery. “Are you threatening me?”

  There’s some level of movement from the two guards behind them as they prepare, but the Mayor-Prefect remains completely still. “No, I’m simply warning you.”

  The disguised crown prince takes a deep breath. “Warning me? From what threat?”

  “Hmmmm.” There’s a long pause for this man’s faux thinking. “I don’t know, it’s just a feeling that you should tread with… more care than what you’re doing now.”

  This is a conversation that is going nowhere. Sophia analyzes with some level of boredom now, and so she gives her thought on the matter. If this keeps up we’re gonna be here for hours.

  Goddess, I don’t want to be here for hours! One of the dimmer thought processes cries. Do something!

  And it’s like a Hautwarden blizzard cutting through an open window, those words of death from the central ensolian girl towards this corrupt leader severing this game of veils and hidden blades without any mercy. “If you’re meaning to say something, say it directly. This charade you’re playing is a waste of time, I’d much rather be doing something productive.”

  The Mayor-Prefect is off guard for just a moment, and Zai takes the second wind. He takes the mask of a criminal lord, a story taken from that lie spoken from the lips of his politically married wife a few days prior. “You know what we want. I want a foothold in this place for my father. Our family’s influence is growing in Yunclair, and we see opportunities for an investment here.”

  He plays the lie too well, that smile upon the Prince’s face pulled to an unnatural degree. “We want to make an agreement with your current operation. A guarantee of partnership, something that could benefit us both.”

  The Mayor-Prefect is surprised at this offer, one of his eyebrows raising with suspicion. “What do you want?”

  Zai Tianci is playing this by ear, a horse charging into battle with blinders on. A human element that he gambles on, trying to connect to the fundamentals. “I understand that you’ve shed your blood here, to make this place as… efficient as you have made it. It must’ve been a monumental task to have your financials clear an Apparatus Audit, much less keep the lid on a conspiracy this size, yes?”

  But that Mayor-Prefect sees right through the play, genuine connection failing against dishonesty. “Perhaps it was, I wouldn’t know.”

  Sophia groans internally. Goddess damned it, he’s a brick wall.

  And she notices that small twitch on Zai’s finger again, the bead of sweat trickling down the back of his very nice neck. Clean, pale, and visible arteries and muscles across that supple surface of flesh.

  I wonder if he likes being choked. Some wayward thought passes through her brain before she recenters herself. Ok, time to push.

  “Stop this farce.” Sophia growls under her breath, still in the shadow of this husband of hers. “You will either be honest or we will make you honest.”

  There’s a casual amusement at her words, this Mayor-Prefect almost scoffing at this child’s words. “Is that a threat?”

  Comedy comes with references according to Father, and Sophia despite her appearance is still her father’s daughter. But this joke is clinical, cold, lacking any timing or punchline. “I don’t know, it’s just a feeling.”

  The Mayor-Prefect returns to Jin, that Crown Prince in disguise. “My family has ruled this town for three generations. You think you can come here with your little games, wave a few bills around and somehow buy your way in? The Tiancin Summer Residence of yours may have been for sale, but not this town.”

  Sophia’s flight reflex catches that implication. He knows where we live… that’s not scary at all~

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  And Zai pushes back. “If this town is not for sale, then I wonder how many of your constituents are.”

  The Mayor-Prefect taps the edge of the wooden chair, keeping his eyes trained on this young man—this emerging rival from a distant township.

  And he reads him so easily.

  “Priestess Elodie.” He begins to state in that cold, long draw of his towards the one true foreigner of the room. “It seems that there are already individuals for sale in this town.”

  She’s cool, a lie simply brushed off. “I’m just here for the money, apologies.”

  Sophia panics slightly. Is she just for the money?

  Her committee groans. Of course not! She’s an agent of the Silver Hand and that’s a job for those who don’t care about the money. She’s lying to cover your ass.

  The Mayor scratches the arm of this fine Hong-er wood chair. “I’ll be sure to send my regards to the church, in that case. Would you have any say in the matter?”

  Now that was a threat.

  Sophia feels the mask being put on behind her, a caricature from this agent’s vast dispensary of false personalities. A beg, raw fear above that usually calm facade. “Please don’t, sire. I was simply…”

  “Silence.” The Mayor-Prefect returns to Jin, at Zai who doesn’t even flinch. And he narrows his eyes. “You stare like a man who believes he can win. Don’t play this game any further. You wanted terms? You will receive your terms.”

  Zai speaks at last, tone neither sharp nor soft—just certain. “What terms?”

  This man, this cancer, already knows his play. “Return to your home, and enjoy the amenities of this town for as long as you desire; maybe even for the next two weeks. Then return home to Yunclair.”

  The Crown Prince of Tianci finds the point of compromise, like luring a child onto a minefield. “And we decide to stay?”

  “We have our ways of making your stay here… uncomfortable. I would dislike having to use those methods of course.”

  Jin Zhou, the truth of Zai Tianci seems to give ground, eyes flickering towards Sophia and this Mayor.

  An awkward few seconds before that Princess’ brain catches that unspoken implication. That’s a signal! Our signal, do something!

  It’s fight, flight, and freeze at the same time, the entire consciousness committee suddenly driving this body towards her direct right, at a near glacial pace onward to the largest place of visual stimulus.

  She arrives at the foot of a vast oil painting depicting that Mayor-Prefect—alongside something more.

  This was a wife beside a younger version of him, alongside three children; two older daughters in the toddler age and one infant son staring at the viewer in the dead, empty gazes of a portrait artist.

  And in an absolute blundering social catastrophe, the Consciousness Committee takes these next inspired words from the earth, the ocean, and the sky itself.

  From beyond the Wailing Fang comes power overwhelming, from this foreign kingdom only death remains.

  It’s the Second Legion’s Armored Battalions rolling across virgin farmland, it’s in the ocean going fleets of the Third choking out a nation to starvation, and it’s in those demonic aerostatics of the Fourth come to bring the fires of the ancient ones to humanity once again.

  Sophia Elise is the Eighth of her name: the name from the White Wolf, the Dragon Slayer and more—murderers of mad Empresses and players of rebellions and upstart kingdoms. This monster is from a bloodline of blood, a legacy written in inkwells torn from the death and conquerings of daughters fated to never ascend to the Silver Throne.

  FATED OUT OF FEAR.

  From the moment this child cried from the womb, held to the bosom of her giver of life, her fate was sealed.

  She was a slave to a fear not from her, but against her.

  This was a fear from her every breath, her every gaze.

  This was the power of the Imperium.

  Sophia Elise the Eighth, still in disguise, says words with an edge so sharp it could sever titanium; and in this threat she makes fear her weapon.

  “You have a beautiful family.” The long, nimble finger of Sylvia Duval runs over the portrait, feeling the dead texture of oil and pastel, of something human within this simple piece of art commissioned by this enemy of her new home. And she stops at the youngest, at the baby of chubby cheeks and bright eyes.

  A thought process hijacks the vocal cords. Wow, that’s a cute baby.

  “Your son is very cute.”

  Don’t be weird, say something nice too.

  “I’m certain he’ll grow up to be a handsome man. And I certainly hope his sisters can protect him from all the suitors who’d want him.”

  Oh wait, what if that son tragically died during the Great Starving? Or even all his kids! Sophia’s brain adds fuel to the inferno. You probably just offended him, BACKPEDAL NOW.

  And she turns to stare at this Mayor-Prefect dead in the eyes. “Assuming of course, they have the chance to grow up.”