From within her bodice, Kristina Petrova retrieved a small vial, the pale yellow liquid within swirling gently against the glass. (I pray this still works.) she thought. For three consecutive nights, she had tested the Drowsy Goldbloom Potion by slipping it into Mistress Hubbard's evening drinks. The results proved conclusive: even when Kristina had delivered several stinging slaps to her face in the dead of night, the nursemaid's snores continued uninterrupted. (Beth Keton remains the only true obstacle.)

  Beth never consumed anything that had left her sight. Whether wine, water, or other beverages—if she hadn't poured it into the cup herself, she wouldn't touch it. Mistress Hubbard had once inquired about this peculiar habit. "My stomach is delicate," Beth had replied tersely. Mistress Hubbard hadn't pursued the matter further. Having someone willing to wash her cups and kettles was a convenience she welcomed; in fact, she considered it a commendable practice. Consequently, Kristina Petrova had failed to find an opportunity to administer the potion and had resorted to alternative means to remove Beth from her path tonight. "Scholar Vito requires a Cynthian Bobtail Lion's tooth," she had informed Beth Keton half an hour earlier. "Could you possibly procure one for him? I must deliver the routine report to the Queen tonight."

  "The routine reports are Mistress Hubbard's responsibility," Beth had responded, her words carrying the same darkness as her demeanor.

  "Mistress Hubbard has been rather exhausted these past days, so she requested I deliver the report in her stead." Kristina had been terrified that Mistress Hubbard might return from her bath at any moment.

  "Then you should be the one to go."

  "Enough! Will you go or not!?" Kristina Petrova had snapped, her bearing suddenly imperious, as though she outranked Beth by several positions. "The lion's tooth is a research material requested by Archmage Hamilton himself. You may certainly refuse," she had added with icy precision, "but the consequences will be yours alone to bear. Don't claim I failed to warn you."

  Beth had retreated into the shadows. "...Very well."

  (She still hasn't returned. How fortuitous.) Kristina felt a surge of smug satisfaction. (At this hour, unless she scales the mountain herself, there's absolutely no possibility she'll acquire any such preposterous lion's tooth.)

  Mistress Hubbard lay unconscious, limp as sodden clay. "Rest well, my dear lady," Kristina murmured, delivering another sharp slap to the nursemaid's cheek. "How delightful. Seeing you slumber so profoundly warms my heart."

  Though Princess Rebecca's cries had diminished somewhat in volume, she remained far from silent. "Such an adorable babe; I could never bring myself to strike you," the short-haired maid crooned, retrieving her personal trunk from beneath the wardrobe and unlocking it with a small key. "You must forgive the deception, 'Princess Number Two.'" The infant doll she withdrew had been crafted with such exquisite attention to detail that any child under eighteen months might easily mistake it for a living peer. "What do you think, Princess Rebecca? Does she resemble you?" Kristina Petrova dangled the doll before the infant princess. Initially startled, Rebecca's cries escalated in volume. "Indeed, the likeness is remarkable, isn't it? Absolutely fucking uncanny," the maid declared with raucous laughter.

  The absence of guards patrolling outside the chamber made executing Kristina's plan considerably more straightforward. "Hush now, little princess. It's time for your slumber." She uncorked the glass vial and carefully poured the pale yellow liquid into the baby's open, crying mouth. "You must sleep deeply, Princess. Regardless of what transpires tonight, you simply cannot awaken." The short-haired maid muttered absently as she tilted the vial, inadvertently emptying nearly half its contents. "Oh!" she hastily recorked the bottle. (Too much, you wretched fool. The princess has fallen silent as death itself. At least she still breathes.) Her fingers detected the infant's faint but warm exhalations.

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  Kristina secured Princess Rebecca to her back with a binding cloth, placed the doll into the cradle, and extinguished the candle. "This way, our dear Beth Keton will believe you remain peacefully asleep." She suddenly recalled an additional precaution. "Ah, yes. I must create the illusion that I, too, am asleep." The maid extracted a substantial bundle of garments from the wardrobe, arranged them beneath the blankets, and carefully positioned the sleeves to mimic the appearance of hair. (Perfect.) she thought with satisfaction. (But Beth and I share this bed. She might still detect the ruse when she retires. She sits on the edge before sleeping. What now? Should I eliminate her? ...No, if I resort to that, I might as well dispatch Mistress Hubbard too. That way, even by morning, no one will have realized the princess has vanished.)

  She calculated her options with cold precision. Killing Mistress Hubbard would be relatively simple—suffocation with a pillow would suffice. Yet silencing the other handmaiden might prove considerably more arduous; Beth Keton might offer formidable resistance. Alternatively, she could wait until Beth succumbed to sleep before taking action. (But that would mean sacrificing the optimal window for escaping the palace with the princess.)

  She recoiled from the prospect of murder. Kristina Petrova's assignment was solely to extract the Princess of Cynthia from the palace. There were no supplementary directives. Apart from menstrual blood and occasional nosebleeds, her hands remained unstained by violence. (No killing.) she decided with unexpected nobility. (If Beth Keton discovers me, so be it. Perhaps fate has ordained this outcome.) She methodically extinguished all remaining candles, crafting the illusion of a household deep in peaceful slumber. (Even if she alerts the guards, I shall be long departed.)

  After meticulously verifying her belongings and disguise, Kristina approached the side door. "Well then, little princess. We embark on a considerable journey. But have no fear; soon you'll be..." She opened the door.

  "Going where?" The familiar voice struck Kristina Petrova like a blade to her heart. She stumbled backward, nearly losing her balance.

  Beth Keton stood motionless in the doorway shadows, spectral and foreboding, expertly positioned to avoid the revealing moonlight.

  The chamber was spacious and brilliantly illuminated. The conference room's ambiance closely resembled that of the banquet hall, ensuring the sorcerers experienced no sense of diminishment. The sole distinction was the absence of refreshments.

  Royce Paul Sain occupied the seat at the room's far end, with the assembled sorcerers positioned along either side. "I trust everyone found the evening's festivities agreeable?" the king inquired with a measured smile, his gaze sweeping deliberately across those present. His eyes lingered briefly but noticeably upon Monica Dunston. "Reports suggest the banquet proved quite diverting."

  "It was indeed most enjoyable, Your Majesty," Augler Prescott confirmed with a respectful inclination of his head. "A splendid array of culinary delights and musical entertainment." He occupied the seat adjacent to Monica.

  "And... captivating company," Gregory Monroe Longinus, the Dud representative, added with a poorly concealed glance toward Monica.

  "Your Esteemed Majesty, King Royce Paul Sain," Delores Zimmerman's melodious voice commanded attention. "We extend our sincere gratitude for your generous hospitality. I believe all present derived considerable pleasure from the evening. However, with the pressing circumstances of imminent conflict, I believe the time has come for you to elucidate your purpose in gathering sorcerers from across the northern kingdoms."

  King Royce maintained his characteristic composure, his smile unwavering. "Your observation is entirely justified, Madam Zimmerman. However, before I unveil my modest scheme of questionable virtue, it appears Lady Borealis has matters she wishes to address."