Berkimhum Kingdom, Krueger City – Evening
The Phinixia Palace loomed like a marble dream under the fading sunlight, its infinite halo arc casting long shadows across the grounds. The monument within—a tribute to every head of the family—was etched with paintings so lifelike they seemed ready to step out of their frames and into reality. Claire stood before her own portrait, gazing at the glossy sheen of her painted hair next to her father's stern visage.
"…the hair on the painting looks much better than my own," she murmured, lips curling into a smirk. "Pretty good."
Her gown hugged her figure tightly, skin-tight until the waist where it flared dramatically, revealing glimpses of her chest valley down to her belly button. But her skin remained hidden beneath a net of fine jewelry that shimmered like liquid gold in the twilight. She walked away from the monument, satisfied, as four knights trailed behind her—each one a powerhouse granted by royal decree generations ago. Their armor gleamed faintly, reflecting the last rays of sunlight.
An enormous carriage awaited her outside, drawn by six well-conditioned horses eager to pull her through the city streets. As she stepped inside, her gaze swept over Krueger City—the land of Phinixia bathed in amber hues. Her smile widened, sharp and triumphant.
"…it's all mine now," she declared softly, leaning back against the plush velvet seat. "Thanks to Atlas doing his part."
Turning to her assistant mage, Valora, who fidgeted nervously beside her, Claire asked, "Valora, any updates on Atlas?"
The young mage tugged anxiously at her tight skirt, waving her hand to summon floating letters around her. They swirled like moths drawn to flame, each bearing news or messages from distant corners of the realm.
"Ummm...I'm sorry, Madame," Valora stammered, her voice trembling. "Still no news about Atlas. Our party is still searching for him in the forest."
Claire's grip tightened imperceptibly on the newspaper clutched in her other hand. The headline screamed in bold letters: 'The Mad Prince Is Dead.' Her jaw clenched briefly before she tossed the paper aside with disdain.
"...Lady Claire," Valora continued hurriedly, trying to change the subject. "I have letters from most houses congratulating you, a letter from Warrior Kury, and then—" She paused, glancing up cautiously. "—a letter from Queen Isabella."
At the mention of the queen, Claire froze momentarily, then smiled—a slow, dangerous curve of her lips. Something worth defying stirred within her.
"What about her?" Claire questioned sharply.
"She is already at the Phinixia Palace, waiting for you," Valora replied, confirming what Claire had suspected.
"Then why the wait? The queen just visited; we must welcome her." Claire rose gracefully, determination sparking in her eyes. "No, as the new Matriarch, I will welcome her personally."
The palace itself was a marvel of architecture, constructed by the same engineers responsible for the royal palace. Every corner bore intricate masterpieces carved by stone masons whose names were whispered with reverence. It was a structure that commanded awe, blending gentle elegance with peak engineering and tasteful artistry.
As Claire entered, familiar faces greeted her—her two older brothers, three sisters (one elder, two younger). Each wore expressions of forced respect, gritted teeth barely concealing resentment.
"We welcome the Matriarch," they chorused stiffly, voices laced with bitterness.
But Claire didn't spare them a glance. Not even when Vanessa, the youngest sibling, shouted defiantly, "...Who do you think you are!"
Her outburst startled everyone except Claire, whose pause spoke louder than words. Slowly, deliberately, Claire turned toward Vanessa, her cold eyes freezing the room. One by one, the siblings took involuntary steps backward—except Vanessa, who found herself unable to move under Claire's piercing glare.
"Valora," Claire called calmly, yet there was an edge to her voice that made the air crackle.
Valora raised her staff, summoning five papers that floated toward each sibling. Confusion flickered across their faces as they reached for the documents.
"This is my first verdict as Matriarch of the Phinixia family," Claire announced, her tone cutting like glass.
"Claire!"
"Claire, how could you?"
"Claire."
The older brother's voice cracked as he grabbed her shoulder, desperation clawing at his words. "We understand what we did to you in the past was... pathetic. But this—disowning all of us—is too cruel. You can't rule a family with thousands of years of history on your own!"
Before he could finish, a knife pressed coldly against his throat. The assassin behind him—a shadow draped in pure black—spoke two words that silenced the room.
"Move. Away." Claire's tone carried no room for argument.
He obeyed instantly, raising his hands in submission. His siblings watched in stunned silence, their faces masks of shock and betrayal.
"…I will give you all three days to empty the mansion and move out," Claire announced, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade. "Your part of the inheritance is already detailed in that announcement." She gestured vaguely toward the floating papers still hovering around them. "Now, get the fuck out of my home." She beloud, her hidden rage leaking out.
With that, she turned away, leaving behind cries and whimpering tears. As the door clicked shut behind her, Claire smiled—a slow, dangerous curve of satisfaction. This was it. This was why she had worked so hard, schemed so ruthlessly. For this moment. This intoxicating rush of power coursing through her veins like liquid fire.
She opened the guest room door wide, her smile widening further when she saw Isabella seated there, flanked by useless nobles who fidgeted nervously under her gaze.
"Oh, isn't it Isabella, my old friend," Claire purred, her tone dripping with disdain rather than warmth.
Isabella's face flushed red, fury bubbling just beneath the surface. Yet all she managed was a stiff, respectful greeting, her pride choked back down her throat where it belonged.
"Yes, it's been a while, Claire," Isabella replied coolly, tucking a strand of green hair behind her ear. Her laugh tinkled falsely as she covered her mouth with a handkerchief. "I heard you were promoted from planning others' demise to actually running the family. Hahahaha."
"Indeed," Claire drawled, ignoring the queen entirely as she took a seat opposite her. Her expression remained blank, unreadable, like polished marble. "Why are you here, Isabella?"
Her question hung heavy in the air, sharp and unyielding. There was no trace of respect or deference in her tone—only steel. And they both knew why. None of them—not even the queen herself—had any real power over Claire anymore. Not after Atlas had stripped it away piece by piece, handing her the keys to an empire she'd long coveted.
Isabella seethed but contained it, waving her hand dismissively. The nobles scurried out of the room like rats fleeing a sinking ship, heads bowed low in submission. They couldn't even meet Claire's eyes now.
"…useless trash…" Isabella muttered under her breath as the door closed behind them.
Claire clicked her teeth in annoyance, leaning forward slightly. "So?"
"I'm busy, Isabella. Did you forget? Your son is missing."
"Don't you dare call him my son!" Isabella snapped, rage flashing across her features. "He's nothing but a scum who seduced his own sister!"
Claire smirked triumphantly, savoring the venom in Isabella's voice. "Well, I don't blame her. He has his qualities."
Isabella's glare intensified, her jaw tightening as she slid a crumpled piece of paper across the table. Claire picked it up casually, her eyes scanning its contents quickly. By the time she reached the end, her pupils dilated slightly, betraying the storm brewing within. With a snap of her fingers, purple flames devoured the paper, reducing it to ash.
"…now you know," Isabella declared smugly.
"…are you sure this is true?" Claire asked, her voice dangerously calm.
"You know my sources are impeccable."
Claire leaned back, exhaling sharply. Pieces began falling into place—the reason Henry had given her permission, the fear lurking in his gaze, his willingness to save the son he once despised. It all made sense now.
"Valora, we need some privacy here."
With a tap of her staff, Valora sealed the room in a shimmering blue barrier. No sound could escape; not even a whisper would leak outside.
"Haaaa… so the regent empress, huh?" Claire mused aloud, her hand resting on her forehead. She stared at the ceiling, her thoughts spiraling toward Atlas.
'Atlas, you and that woman better be alive. And I hope—I really hope—you aren't fucking her as well.'
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