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### **Chapter 6: Of Daggers and Dowagers**
Dawn crept over the capital like a cat—slow, silent, and golden-pawed.
By the time the first bell rang from the Cathedral of Thorns, Seraphina was already seated in her private study, a pale green velvet robe draped over her shoulders, her hair unpinned and cascading like dark ink over parchment.
She stared at the chessboard on her desk—onyx and pearl pieces mid-match, locked in a quiet war of stalemates.
The Queen Mother had moved.
Seraphina hadn't anticipated her as a player.
"A sickly widow with no sons of her own," Seraphina murmured, moving the black bishop forward two spaces. "But she watched everything. And I—fool that I was—watched only the men who thought they ruled."
A quiet knock.
"Enter."
Felix slipped in, dressed in gray, his eyes sharper than any dagger he carried.
"She's requested an audience," he said without preamble. "The Queen Mother."
Seraphina did not flinch. "Private?"
"Entirely. No advisors. No guards. Her carriage is already waiting."
"…Risky," Seraphina murmured. "Too bold to be a trap. Too specific to be diplomacy."
"She has something to lose," Felix said. "Or something to gain."
"Then I'll bring both."
---
The Queen Mother's carriage was black and discreet, its crest hidden beneath layers of paint. Inside, it smelled of lavender and dried books.
The Queen sat swathed in shadows, veiled in mourning lace. Her skin was like ivory parchment, and her eyes—oh, those eyes—were the same silver-blue as the late Emperor's. Cold. Distant. Calculating.
"I did not summon you for pleasantries, Duchess," she said, her voice like old silk—soft, but woven with iron.
"Good," Seraphina replied, seating herself without being invited. "I left my courtesy in the ballroom."
The Queen did not smile. But something like approval flickered in her gaze.
"You have seen it, haven't you?" the older woman said. "The book."
The air in the carriage dropped ten degrees.
Seraphina did not respond.
"I knew the moment I saw your eyes. The way you've been moving this season. Planting false rumors. Trimming loose tongues. Refusing proposals from men who think they deserve your grave before your hand." She leaned in slightly. "You're not trying to survive, Seraphina. You're trying to *rewrite*."
"…And if I were?"
"Then I would offer a bargain," the Queen Mother said. "Help me destroy what's left of the royal bloodline."
Silence.
Then: "That includes your son."
"My *stepson*," she corrected coldly. "A stupid boy led by weaker men. I warned the court what would happen if the Western War was waged, but they listened to generals and gamblers. Now the kingdom crumbles, and my enemies play at thrones."
Seraphina tilted her head, calculating. "Why me?"
"Because you've seen the ending. And more importantly—because you're already a villain in their eyes. You have nothing left to protect."
"Incorrect," Seraphina said quietly. "I have one thing left."
The Queen's eyes narrowed. "And what is that?"
"My own story."
---
By the time the carriage returned Seraphina to her estate, her hands were stained with ink and intent.
The Queen had offered her everything she needed: names, allies, hidden scandals, documents long buried by the royal archivists. A dagger wrapped in royal seal.
But Seraphina knew better than to trust gifts from ghosts.
This alliance was temporary. Mutual destruction was merely the opening act.
And so she sat again at her desk, opened the cursed chronicle to its midpoint, and read:
> *"On the eve of the Queen's death, whispers named Duchess Seraphina her executioner—though no proof was ever found. The Crown passed swiftly to an heir too weak to hold it, and the empire fractured soon after."*
So. That was the next step.
She closed the book.
"Felix," she called.
He appeared a moment later, silent as breath.
"Prepare our next move. A visit to the Varemaine estate."
"The Duke?"
"Is about to discover that being a loyal dog to a dying monarchy… earns nothing but a collar and a grave."
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**End of Chapter 6**