The embroidery glimmered again.
Lilies.
She'd sewn them herself.
She'd told the seamstress to stitch quietly — and never speak of it again.
But she hadn't needed to speak. Elara had known.
And worse — Elara had smiled when she saw it.
---
Serina stared at the mirror.
Behind her, maids scurried. Dresses, perfumes, the right earrings.
She saw none of it.
Only herself.
"She's making friends," she said aloud. "Friends I didn't approve."
"Lady?" one maid asked, confused.
"Get out."
The room emptied within seconds.
---
Serina picked up the scroll on her vanity.
One of Elara's unsigned letters — the ones hinting that Serina was after the duchy.
"Oh Elara," she murmured. "You think I didn't know?"
She hadn't intercepted all of them.
Just one.
Just enough.
She delivered the scroll back — anonymously — to Baroness Durnelle, one of Elara's new allies.
With an added line, in different ink:
"Auren is easy to sway. He thinks with his pride, not his throne."
It wasn't Elara's writing.
But it was close enough.
---
That evening, at a garden banquet, Elara was approached by the baroness — her expression cool.
"I hope you're not assuming our house can be bribed, Lady Elara."
"What?" Elara blinked.
"Next time you send a letter, be sure to sign it. Or be wise enough to destroy it first."
She walked away.
Cladus noticed.
Auren, from the shadows, noticed too.
"She's striking back," Elara murmured.
"Yes," Cladus said, stepping close. "But it wasn't her only trap tonight."
---
Meanwhile, Serina returned to her quarters and wrote in a locked diary.
"You were never meant for the crown, Elara. You were meant to sharpen mine."
She smiled at her reflection.
"And now… all that's left is the Empress's final move."