I stared at my nineteen-year-old reflection until my eyes watered.
Then, I smiled.
It wasn't a happy smile. It was a terrifying, dead-eyed stretch of lips that made me look completely unhinged. I immediately dropped it, rubbing my cheeks until the color returned.
No, Eris. You can't look like a villain yet. You have to look like a victim.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and let my shoulders slump. I thought about the sheer, absolute exhaustion of the dungeon. I let the corners of my mouth tremble. I widened my blue eyes until they looked like they were swimming in unshed tears.
When I opened them and looked in the mirror, the mastermind was gone. Staring back at me was a fragile, pitiful glass doll. A gentle breeze could snap her in half.
Perfect.
Bang!
My bedroom door flew open, rebounding off the wall with a thunderous crack.
"Eris! Tell Mom I'm old enough to take a real sword to the academy!"
"You can barely lift a wooden practice sword without crying, you idiot!"
Two boys tumbled into my room, wrestling each other to the floor in a tangle of limbs and knocked-over chairs.
Finn and Felix. My little brothers. They were painfully loud, currently trying to put each other in a headlock on my expensive rug.
My breath caught in my throat.
They were so small. Their faces still held the soft roundness of childhood, their voices pitching high when they yelled. They were only twelve years old.
The last time I saw them, they were fifteen. Their faces had been bruised and bleeding, their teenage voices cracking as they screamed for our mother from the execution pyre. They had died at fifteen, terrified and in agony, while my husband watched from his balcony.
Before my brain could process what was happening, my knees hit the floor. I grabbed them both, pulling them into a desperate, crushing hug.
"Hey—Eris, what the heck?" Finn squawked, trying to pull away.
"Gross, she's squeezing me," Felix complained, his elbow digging into my ribs.
But I just buried my face in their messy blonde hair and breathed in. They smelled like sunlight, dirt, and the sweet bread from the kitchens, not smoke and ash. They were warm. They were alive. They were twelve, and I had exactly three years to make sure they actually got to turn sixteen.
The boys instantly froze. In our aristocratic household, random hugging—especially from their usually strict, perfectionist older sister—was highly suspicious.
"Uh... Eris?" Finn's voice lost all its bravado, suddenly laced with pure panic. "Are you okay? Did Felix break one of your perfumes again?"
"I didn't do it!" Felix squeaked. "I swear, Eris, whatever it is, I didn't do it! Please stop crying!"
"Crying?"
A sharp, elegant voice cut through the chaos.
I looked up. Standing in the doorway was my mother, Marchioness Genevieve la Blanche. She looked as immaculate as ever, her blonde hair pinned up perfectly, though there was a familiar, stressed tightness around her eyes.
"Eris, why are you on the floor? And why are you weeping?" Genevieve sighed, waving a feather fan rapidly in front of her face. "Boys, out. Your sister needs to prepare. Tonight is the Imperial Foundation Banquet."
Finn and Felix didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet and bolted down the hall like they were escaping a dragon.
I stayed on the rug for a moment, letting the words wash over me.
The Imperial Foundation Banquet.
Right. Today was the day.
In my past life, this was the exact night my family's desperation peaked. House la Blanche was failing. My father, Marquis Alistair, was a kind man but a terrible politician. Our influence was waning, our debts were secretly piling up, and my parents needed a powerful backer to keep the wolves—and the creditors—at bay.
"Eris, please get up," my mother urged, stepping into the room and offering her hand. "You know how important tonight is. Your father, Alistair, has practically begged the court mediators to secure us an introduction with Duke Cesare del Marque."
Just hearing his name made my stomach violently turn. A phantom spark burned the back of my throat, making me cough.
"The Duke of the North?" I asked softly, playing dumb as I took her hand and stood.
"Yes. The Emperor's cousin," she said, lowering her voice as if the walls were listening. "He is dangerous, yes, and entirely uncivilized compared to the central nobles, but his wealth and military power are absolute. If you can catch his eye tonight, our family will be saved."
In my first life, I had done exactly what she asked. I spent six hours getting laced into corsets and smothered in jewels. I tried to look like a fierce, dignified future Duchess. And Cesare? He took one look at my stiff, arrogant posture, gave a bored nod, and completely ignored me for the rest of the year. He only married me later because the Emperor politically forced his hand.
I was a convenient piece of furniture to him. A shield to keep the Emperor off his back while he hid his true love, Ornella.
Not this time.
I slowly stood up, brushing off my skirts. I looked at my mother and gave her a soft, trembling smile.
"I understand, Mother. I will make sure the Duke notices me."
"Good girl," she sighed in relief, the tension leaving her shoulders. "Clara! Come in here and start the preparations! Bring out the ruby gown!"
My head maid, Clara, bustled into the room, hauling a dress that looked like a sparkling torture device. It was blood-red, encrusted with heavy jewels, and had a corset that required two people to pull the strings.
"Oh, Lady Eris, you are going to look so fierce tonight!" Clara beamed. "The Duke won't know what hit him!"
I stared at the ruby dress. I remembered the way it dug into my ribs, the way it made me look old, rigid, and completely unapproachable.
"Burn it," I said.
Clara stopped in her tracks, nearly dropping the heavy velvet. "I... I beg your pardon?"
My mother stopped fanning herself. "Eris, what are you talking about? That dress cost your father a fortune."
"I am not wearing it," I said, my voice gentle but absolutely firm. I walked past them and opened my wardrobe. I pushed aside the heavy silks, the dark velvets, the glittering gold.
I reached all the way to the back and pulled out a simple, flowing gown. It was made of pale, powder-blue chiffon. It had no corset, no heavy gems. Just delicate white lace at the collar and a skirt that flowed like water. It was incredibly beautiful, but by aristocratic standards, it was hopelessly plain.
Clara gasped as if I had just pulled out a dead rat. "My lady! That is practically a day dress! You can't wear that to the Imperial Palace! You'll look... you'll look poor!"
"You will look like a commoner, Eris!" Genevieve scolded, her face flushing. "You are trying to seduce the most powerful predator in the Empire, not attend a garden tea party!"
I turned to the mirror, holding the soft blue fabric against my chest.
They didn't understand. Cesare del Marque was a predator, yes. He was a man who spent his life dodging assassins, navigating the poisonous, flashy nobility, and dealing with his paranoid cousin, the Emperor. If I walked up to him dripping in rubies and looking like a calculating politician, he would instantly put his walls up. He would see me as a threat, or worse, a nuisance.
If I wanted to trap a monster, I couldn't look like a hunter.
I had to look like a wounded bird.
"Mother," I said softly, looking at her through the mirror. I let my eyes widen, biting my bottom lip until it trembled. "Please. I am so nervous. The heavy dresses make it hard to breathe, and I'm terrified I will embarrass father by fainting in front of the Duke. Let me wear this. It makes me feel... safe."
Genevieve froze. Her mouth opened, then closed. She looked at my teary, wide blue eyes, and all the fight instantly drained out of her.
"Oh... oh, darling," she sighed, rubbing her temples. "If you are that anxious... fine. Wear the blue. Clara, just make sure her hair looks decent. We can't have her looking like a complete stray."
As they hurried around me, setting up the vanity, I stared at my own reflection.
Step one is complete.
I knew exactly how tonight was going to go. I wouldn't seek Cesare out. I wouldn't initiate a polite, boring political conversation alongside my father.
I was going to find Viscount Aris. He was a disgusting, arrogant noble who loved to bully women with less political backing. In my past life, I had avoided him.
Tonight? Tonight I was going to throw a glass of red wine right onto his expensive trousers. I was going to make him furious. I was going to let him corner me, grab my arm, and scream at me right in front of the balcony where I knew Cesare liked to hide from the crowds.
Men like Cesare didn't fall in love with politicians. They fell for things they had to protect.
I was going to hand him a broken, weeping, desperate girl on a silver platter. I was going to let him "save" me. I was going to marry him, carry his royal heir, and become the most untouchable woman in the Empire.
And when the purge came in three years... I was going to watch him burn.
"All done, My Lady!" Clara chirped, pulling me out of my dark thoughts.
I looked in the mirror. My pale blonde hair was pinned half-up with a simple white ribbon, falling in soft waves down my back. The blue dress made me look small, delicate, and devastatingly innocent.
I gave my reflection one last, dead-eyed smile.
"Perfect," I whispered. "Let's go catch a Duke."