That afternoon, while Soren sat in his office contemplating his romantic inadequacies with all the drama of tragic playwright, Eris was engaged in considerably more productive activities.
She sat in her temporary workspace reviewing Duchess Maren's intelligence about the embezzlement network. Fifteen years of careful theft, millions in gold diverted through creative accounting, all flowing through one man, Marquess Theron Ashveil, Master of Coin, who wore his corruption like expensive jewelry and thought himself untouchable.
Duke Cassius had received mercy. A deal. Leniency in exchange for testimony.
Theron would receive no such courtesy.
Eris penned a letter with elegant efficiency, each word chosen for maximum impact:
Your Imperial Majesty,
