CHAPTER 192: BIANCA PT 2

Duke Viktor Virelya’s study smelled like leather and old paper and the faint smoke from his pipe.

He sat behind a massive oak desk, reviewing accounts with the kind of focus that made him one of the wealthiest men in the Border Territories. Numbers didn’t lie. People did. Viktor preferred the former.

When his door opened without warning, he looked up, ready to reprimand whichever servant had forgotten proper protocol.

Then he saw Bianca and relaxed. His daughter was the only person in the estate who didn’t need to knock.

"Father." She crossed the room with quick steps, no birds this time. "We’ve been summoned to the capital."

His eyebrows rose. "By whom?"

She handed him the letter without ceremony. "The Regent Empress herself."

Viktor took it, unfolded it, read with increasing tension in his shoulders. When he finished, he set the letter down with more force than necessary.

"That foreign witch."

Bianca settled into the chair across from him, spine straight, hands folded in her lap. Perfect posture. Perfect calm.

"She thinks she can take what’s yours?" Viktor’s voice climbed, anger bleeding through his usual control. "After everything we negotiated? After the agreements, the promises?"

"Apparently." Bianca’s tone stayed even. "Though Vetra seems confident it’s temporary."

"Temporary." Viktor spat the word like poison. "We’ve spent six years positioning you for this role. Six years of cultivating relationships, learning protocols, preparing for—" He broke off, jaw working. "And some Solmire savage waltzes in and steals it?"

"She’s not stealing anything." Bianca leaned forward slightly. "She’s borrowing time. Vetra says we have nine days before the wedding. That’s nine days to remind Soren who actually belongs beside him."

Viktor studied her. His daughter’s face showed nothing but serene confidence, but he’d raised her. Knew the calculations happening behind those gentle eyes.

"You have a plan."

"I have several." She smiled. Small. Sweet. "But first, we need to accept the invitation. Show up. Be visible. Let everyone see the difference between someone raised for an empress’s role and someone playing dress-up."

Viktor nodded slowly. "We leave tomorrow. I’ll gather our household, arrange the carriages—"

"And Father?" Bianca’s voice stayed soft. "I’ll need my best gowns packed. The ones from the royal seamstress. The blue silk especially."

"The one that matches your hair."

"Mmm." Her smile widened fractionally. "Soren always noticed that one."

Viktor’s expression shifted to something predatory. "He did, didn’t he?"

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Father and daughter. Duke and heir. Two people who understood that power wasn’t about force. It was about positioning. Patience. Knowing exactly when to strike.

Finally, Viktor stood. "I’ll make the arrangements. We’ll show this foreign pretender what it means to challenge House Virelya."

Bianca rose as well, but paused at the door. "Father? One more thing."

"Yes?"

"Have the servants pack my garden supplies. The special seeds especially." She glanced back at him, green eyes catching the light. "I may need them."

Viktor hesitated. He knew what those seeds did. What they contained. The subtle mixture that made wild things docile, dependent, easier to control.

"Bianca..."

"It’s just a precaution." Her smile returned, bright and innocent. "For my birds. You know how they get when I travel. The new environment upsets them."

She was lying. They both knew she was lying.

But Viktor nodded anyway. "Of course. I’ll have it arranged."

"Thank you, Father."

She left then, footsteps light on marble, closing the door with barely a sound.

Viktor stared after her for a long moment.

Bianca was originally betrothed to Sylvan, Soreth’s first son and the crown Prince but Soreth’s Madness shortened the life of the promising young man and his brothers that followed, making Soren her last chance at becoming one with the blood of Aneithra.

His daughter was brilliant. Beautiful. Perfectly trained for imperial life.

She was also, he admitted privately, slightly unhinged.

But in his experience, the best weapons usually were.

...

The garden was quieter without the birds.

Bianca had left them in the courtyard, knowing they’d stay put. They always did. Too dependent now to wander far, too affected by the seeds to remember what freedom felt like.

She sat on the stone bench near the fountain, Vetra’s letter spread across her lap, reading it again in the fading afternoon light.

His Majesty has made an impulsive decision.

Impulsive.

That word bothered her more than the rest.

Soren wasn’t impulsive. Everything he did was calculated, planned three steps ahead. She’d watched him at state functions, studied the way he moved through court politics like ice sliding across glass. Smooth. Controlled. Deliberate.

So why this? Why now? Why her?

Unless.

Bianca’s fingers traced the edge of the paper, considering possibilities.

Unless he was being controlled somehow. Magic, perhaps. Or blackmail. Or some political necessity that required a Solmire alliance, and this Eris woman was simply the most convenient option.

That made more sense.

Soren couldn’t actually want her. Not really. Not when Bianca had been right there, available, appropriate. Not when she’d spent years making herself perfect for him.

She remembered the first time they’d met.

Six years ago. She’d been sixteen, barely out of the schoolroom. He’d been twenty-two, newly crowned, still adjusting to power with Vetra whispering advice at his shoulder.

A diplomatic reception. Boring speeches about trade agreements and border security. Bianca had worn green that night, to match her eyes, and she’d made sure to position herself where he’d have to notice her.

And he had.

Polite nod. Brief smile. "Lady Bianca, isn’t it? Viktor’s daughter?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." She’d curtseyed perfectly, exactly the depth appropriate for her rank. "It’s an honor."

"The honor is mine."

Standard pleasantries. Nothing special. But she’d caught the way his eyes lingered, just for a moment, on her face. Interest. Curiosity. Something.

They’d danced once that evening. Formal. Proper. His hand at her waist, her fingers resting on his shoulder, moving through the steps like everyone else on the ballroom floor.

But Bianca had memorized everything.

The precise shade of his eyes. The way frost seemed to cling to him even in warm rooms. The slight tension in his jaw that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else. The careful distance he maintained, never pulling her closer than protocol demanded.

She’d decided then, watching him guide her through the final turn, that he would be hers.

Not because she loved him. Love was for fools and peasants. But because he was perfect. Powerful. Beautiful. Everything an empress could want in a partner. Soren was different from Sylvan in every way that mattered to her.

Much taller, sturdier, his eyes were the most piercing colour of blue she had ever saw and his gaze was even more dangerous. One glance and she felt bare in front of him. No one had never made her feel that way. His hair was the brightest blonde there ever was and Soren unlike his brothers resembled the late Emperor too much.

But she believed they had a lot more in common than just the face. Their insanity perharps. Soreth was a loud, fearful mess in his cruelty, but Soren... She knew he wasn’t the light people saw him as. There was something much deeper... darker... more cruel than that of Soreth... lurking inside of him, something he knew perfectly well how to mask.

And she’d spent six years making herself equally perfect for him.

Learning court protocols. Studying diplomatic language. Cultivating the kind of gentle demeanor that nobles found non-threatening. Becoming exactly what Vetra had suggested she should be.

Quiet. Sweet. Harmless.

She’d been so careful. So patient.

And now some foreign bitch had stolen it all.

Bianca folded the letter with sharp, precise movements. Stood. Walked back to where the birds clustered near the fountain.

They looked up at her with unfocused eyes. Waiting. Always waiting.

She scattered more seeds. Watched them eat.

"Soren doesn’t know he loves me yet," she murmured. "That’s all right. I can be patient a little longer."

One of the sparrows stumbled. She picked it up, cradled it, stroked its head.

"This Eris Igniva is just an obstacle. A temporary distraction."

The sparrow’s breathing slowed. Eyes drooped.

"And obstacles," Bianca whispered, smile soft and terrible, "can be removed."

She set the bird down. Watched it struggle back toward the others.

Tomorrow, they’d leave for the capital. Tomorrow, she’d see Soren again. And she’d remind him, gently, sweetly, what he was giving up.

And if that didn’t work.

Well.

She had other methods.

The birds chirped softly around her feet, trapped and docile and utterly dependent.

Just the way she liked things.