"Suspicious, you say?" The Duke leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest as he gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Indeed, there have been occurrences of late that I deemed peculiar, though I hesitate to say they bear relevance to the matter at hand. Still, you may judge for yourself." He shifted his weight forward. "It has now been over a month. Several export shipments have been detained under accusations that they carried unregistered tools and foreign objects, though these same shipments had previously passed all standard inspections."
Leesa furrowed her brow, listening intently.
"Ships bound for the southern colonies, expected to carry only the Duchy's luxury harvest—cured grapes, violet grain, blue citrus—have been found, upon final inspection, to contain sacks of pure ore and cut stones tucked amongst the produce," he continued. "Such infractions result in immediate detention, removal of the contraband, and steep levies before the vessel is permitted to sail."
Leesa sat straighter. "But that's hardly suspicious in itself, Father. The trade laws are quite clear. After the scandal involving Count Ted Palpatine, weren't such inspections made mandatory to prevent precisely this sort of smuggling? Is it not simply the law functioning as intended?"
The Duke nodded gravely. "You're right, my dear. Those measures were put in place for that very reason. Yet something about the pattern troubles me. These incidents are no longer rare. Nearly every outgoing vessel, no matter how esteemed the merchant house, is flagged by the surveillance team. And curiously, the final inspections always fall under the same name—Dale Palptine."
Leesa's eyes narrowed. "Palpatine? But... the family was banned from commerce."
"They were," the Duke confirmed, steepling his fingers. "Yet the law forbids them from owning or profiting directly through trade, not from holding positions within regulatory offices. Dale, unlike his father, found a loophole—and he has done more than merely exploit it. I've learned that he has been bribing the dockworkers to slip unauthorised cargo into the holds of merchant ships. He then has his own inspectors discover the smuggled goods, levies exorbitant fees, and builds a private ledger off the penalties. It is a racket, conducted under the Empire's very nose."
Leesa's jaw clenched. Her fingers, resting on the arm of the chair, curled into a firm grip. "This is fraud—state-level manipulation of the trade routes. And done by a man whose name should have vanished from these halls long ago."
Her voice hardened, sharp as a blade. "Father, I need this in writing. A formal complaint, bearing your seal and signature. It will be the foundation of my investigation. With that document, I can obtain warrants and dig into this with full authority."
A flicker of pride touched the Duke's expression. Without hesitation, he reached for parchment and quill, his pen moving with practised precision. He signed and sealed the document with the family crest, pressing the warm wax beneath his ring.
By the time the sun had further dipped below the horizon, father and daughter emerged from the study side by side. At the top of the stairs, Fredrick met them with a deep bow. "Dinner is served, Your Grace. My Lady."
They exchanged a glance, and a small, knowing smile passed between them, surprised that the conversation had carried them straight into the late evening.
Upon entering the dining hall, Leesa was immediately embraced by the Duchess, Lilian Marlene, whose poise melted into warmth at the sight of her daughter. No words passed at first—just the silent, familiar comfort of family reunited. After a gentle kiss to her cheek, the Duchess stood back, examining Leesa with maternal scrutiny.
The table was already half-filled with familiar dishes. As they sat, conversation flowed freely. Leesa spoke of the imperial palace, its politics and pressures, though tactfully avoiding any mention of the Crown Prince. In turn, the Duchess spoke of the estate, the harvests, and a particular development that brought a twinkle to her eyes.
"Byrant has taken to the kitchens lately," she said with a sigh that was both fond and exasperated. "He insists upon helping the head chef prepare our meals. Claims he's discovered his true calling."
At that moment, Byrant himself entered with a proud strut, the head chef following closely behind with a chuckle.
He dropped into the seat beside Leesa with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "So, sister, how was your lunch this morning?"
Leesa gave a small laugh. "Delicious, actually. Wait… was that you?"
"Indeed," Byrant answered, puffing his chest.
Her stunned expression was all the praise he needed. "You? Cooked that? Truly?"
He nodded eagerly. There was nothing in the world quite so satisfying to him as that flicker of disbelief and delight on his sister's face. He basked in it like a pup awaiting a pat on the head.
The rest of the meal passed with ease, laughter and lightness wrapping around the family like a shawl. But beneath her graceful smile and warm voice, Leesa's thoughts were already sharpening once more. The haze had lifted. The sorrow had been acknowledged. Now, there was work to do.
When the hour came, she rose from the table, embraced her mother once more, and bid her family farewell. With the sealed letter secured inside her cloak and her purpose rekindled, she departed the estate under starlight, bound once again for the Imperial Palace.
By the time Leesa arrived at the Imperial Palace, the moon had climbed high into its arc, and the city had fallen into slumber. Yet, within the Berly Palace—one of the inner halls reserved for Crown-sanctioned affairs—a steady light still flickered from the windows of Flavian's private office.
Inside, the atmosphere was a blend of quiet urgency and fatigue. Anton sat buried beneath an avalanche of parchment, his brow furrowed in fierce concentration. Elzar moved between the desks, assisting where he could, the sleeves of his uniform rolled to the elbow. Outside the chamber doors, Roman and Hendricus stood watch, their armour glinting faintly beneath the hallway torches.