The first blow did not come loudly.
It came quietly—sealed in wax, wrapped in courtesy, and delivered with a bow.
Selene was in the breakfast room when the letter arrived. A footman placed it beside her tea with a careful hand, eyes averted.
She recognized the crest instantly.
House Viremont.
Her stomach tightened.
She broke the seal slowly, reading each line with growing disbelief. When she finished, her fingers trembled—not from fear, but fury.
"They've withdrawn their support," she said aloud.
Hakeem looked up sharply. "Withdrawn support for what?"
"For the women's infirmary fund," Selene replied. "They claim 'uncertainty regarding the stability of House Mickelson.'"
Vincent let out a low whistle. "That was Father's favorite charity to parade during negotiations."
Hyacinth frowned. "It helps dozens of families."
"That's the point," Selene said quietly. "He's reminding me that independence has consequences."
Hakeem's jaw clenched. "He's using people to punish you."
Selene folded the letter neatly. "Then I won't let him."
By noon, word had spread.
The withdrawal wasn't the only one. Two minor houses followed. Then a merchant guild delayed shipments "pending clarification."
Pressure—clean, calculated, and cruel.
Selene stood before the mirror in her room, fastening a simple brooch at her collar. No jewels. No extravagant silks. Just quiet resolve.
"I'm going to the city," she announced.
The room froze.
"The city?" Vincent repeated. "As in public?"
"Yes."
Hakeem frowned. "Selene, Father controls half the council—"
"Which is why I won't speak to the council," she said. "I'll speak to the people."
Hyacinth's eyes widened. "That's dangerous."
"So was silence," Selene replied.
The Duchess, who had been standing near the doorway, stepped forward. "If you go," she said softly, "you won't be able to step back."
Selene met her gaze. "I don't want to."
After a long moment, the Duchess nodded. "Then take the carriage. The one without the family crest."
Selene smiled faintly. "Thank you, Mother."
While Selene prepared to leave, Vincent slipped out the side gate with the ease of long practice.
The lower district welcomed him with noise, dust, and watchful eyes. He walked until he reached a familiar tavern tucked between stone warehouses.
Inside, a man with sharp eyes and a crooked grin looked up.
"Well," the man drawled. "If it isn't the Duke's least favorite son."
"Give it time," Vincent replied. "I'm aiming for most disappointing."
The man chuckled. "What do you want, Mickelson?"
"Information," Vincent said. "Who Father's leaning on. And who he's threatening."
The man leaned back. "That'll cost you."
Vincent slid a coin across the table—then another. "Put it on my family's tab."
The grin faded. "Dangerous joke."
"Dangerous times," Vincent replied.
After a pause, the man spoke quietly. "Your father's been meeting with House Calder. Quietly. Promising them land rights if they support a vote against Selene's initiatives."
Vincent's eyes hardened. "Of course he has."
"And," the man added, "he's asking questions about the girl. The former maid."
Vincent's smile vanished.
Selene stood on the steps of a modest hall near the market square. No banners announced her. No guards flanked her.
Yet people gathered.
At first out of curiosity. Then recognition.
She spoke clearly, without flourish.
"I was meant to be married yesterday," she said. "Instead, I chose honesty."
A ripple passed through the crowd.
"I have lived a life decided for me," Selene continued. "And I know I am not alone in that."
Murmurs of agreement rose.
"The infirmary fund will continue," she said firmly. "With or without noble approval. And if houses withdraw because they fear change, then we will build something that does not rely on fear at all."
Applause broke out—tentative at first, then strong.
From a nearby balcony, Hyacinth watched, heart pounding.
"She's brave," she whispered.
Hakeem nodded. "She always was. She was just never allowed to be."
News reached the manor by evening.
The Duke listened in silence as a steward relayed Selene's speech, Vincent's absence, and the crowd's response.
"They cheered her," the steward said nervously.
The Duke dismissed him with a wave.
Alone, he poured himself a drink he did not touch.
"She's learned to speak," he murmured. "And Vincent has learned to listen in the wrong places."
He turned toward the window, eyes narrowing.
"Very well," he said softly. "If they want the world involved… then the world will judge them."
He reached for a fresh sheet of parchment.
That night, the siblings regrouped.
Selene looked exhausted—but alive.
"They listened," she said. "They really listened."
Vincent returned shortly after, expression grim. "Father's escalating."
Hakeem stiffened. "How bad?"
Vincent exhaled. "Bad enough that we need to be careful. And united."
Hyacinth clasped her hands together. "Then we don't hide."
Selene nodded. "No more hiding."
Outside, the city lights flickered like distant stars.
Change had begun—not gently, not cleanly.
But it had begun.