Damon awoke as if emerging from the bottom of a dark, silent lake, dragged back to the surface only because his body could no longer sustain so much rest. For a few seconds, he lay motionless, staring at the bedroom ceiling without immediately recognizing it. The light filtering through the curtains was no longer that of the gentle dawn he had left behind, nor that of the lazy mid-morning. It was the slanted, golden light of late afternoon, mature and almost melancholic, cruelly revealing that he had slept for an entire day.

He let out a hoarse groan, turned his head, and found only traces of the battle fought in the bed. Crumpled sheets, pillows thrown haphazardly, a forgotten glass on the side table, the lingering scent of skin and warmth still clinging to the fabric. None of the women were there. The silence of the room seemed strange after the previous night, as if someone had removed all the music from a party and left only the echo.

He sat up slowly, feeling his body heavy, yet restored. The brutal exhaustion that had overwhelmed him that morning had given way to a solid, comfortable laziness. He stretched his shoulders, cracked his neck, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. His stomach rumbled in immediate protest, reminding him that sleeping for so many hours didn’t replace food. This, coupled with the fact that the mansion was too quiet, was sufficient sign that something important was happening downstairs.

He put on the first decent clothes he found, without much ceremony, and left the room still buttoning his shirt. The mansion’s hallway was bathed in amber light that streamed through the tall windows and cast long shadows on the carpet. The distant scent of strong tea and fresh ink came from the lower floor. There were voices too. Not casual voices. They were tense, sharp voices, rhythmic, driven by the clash of two wills incapable of retreating.

Damon recognized both even before reaching the staircase.

Morgana spoke with the cutting coldness of someone who had already decided something and was merely tolerating opposition. Elizabeth responded with that elegant calm that became even more dangerous when contradicted. The contrast between the two was almost artistic: a storm of blades against a smiling queen on a burning chessboard.

He descended the steps slowly, listening to the entire discussion unfold before appearing.

The mansion’s smaller library had been transformed into an improvised war room. Arven’s maps lay open on the central table, alongside documents, stamps, broken letters, and notes in red ink. Two open windows allowed the wind to gently move the papers. Morgana stood, leaning forward with both hands on the table, like a commander about to order a full charge. Elizabeth remained seated in a high chair, legs crossed, an untouched cup beside her elbow, as if discussing politics over an elegant tea.

Morgana was the first to notice Damon entering, but only glanced at him briefly before continuing.

"Every hour she remains in that mansion strengthens her control over my father, reorganizes allies, and erases traces. There’s no advantage in waiting."

Elizabeth slowly raised her eyes.

"There’s every advantage in waiting when waiting means winning definitively."

"Definitively?" Morgana let out a short, bitter laugh. "She poisoned the house, enslaved the Duke, and corrupted half of Arven’s noble structure. What would be definitive besides a blade across her throat?"

Damon leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. No one offered him an explanation. That meant he was officially included.

Elizabeth rested two fingers on her chin.

"Definitive is taking away her power, her name, her allies, her wealth, her influence, and her ability to return as a martyr. Killing a hated woman in secret might turn her into a victim. Exposing a conspirator before her own nobles turns her into political trash."

Morgana straightened suddenly.

"I don’t care about the opinion of parlor parasites."

"You should," Elizabeth replied without raising her voice. "Parlor parasites govern cities, sign treaties, finance guards, and legitimize inheritances."

Morgana slammed her palm on the table. The maps trembled.

"My father is being consumed now."

The phrase hung in the air with enough weight to silence even the wind.

Damon observed the change in Elizabeth’s face. The political calculation remained, but the hardness yielded for a moment. She understood. Perhaps better than she would admit.

Morgana took a deep breath and continued, now lower, but more intense.

"I saw him. The empty eyes. The mechanical posture. He doesn’t decide, doesn’t react, doesn’t live. With each passing day, she sinks deeper claws into his mind. You want to ask me for patience while I watch this?"

Elizabeth uncrossed her legs and finally leaned forward.

"No. I want you to use anger as a weapon, not as fire."

Morgana opened her mouth to reply, but Damon decided to intervene before the library was literally set ablaze.

"Before choosing between summary execution and aristocratic revolution, can someone explain to me why I woke up in the middle of a war?"

They both looked at him at the same time.

Elizabeth was the first to smile.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Wonderfully. I dreamt that people were letting me rest."

Morgana ignored the joke.

"The Duchess already controls my father beyond what was expected. We found financial links between House Arven, families bought off, and properties used by criminal networks. If we act fast, we can raid the mansion, capture her, and break the spell on the Duke."

Elizabeth raised a finger.

"Assumption. We don’t know if control breaks through capture, death, distance, or ritual." 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"Then we’ll find out along the way."

"Charmingly stupid plan."

Morgana stared at her with utter coldness.

"Say that again."

Elizabeth smiled with artificial sweetness.

"Plan. Charmingly. Stupid."

Damon ran a hand over his face. He’d only been awake a few minutes and already missed his bed.

He approached the table and examined the papers. There were names of smaller houses, trade routes, dates of banquets, records of suspicious donations, and a partial layout of Arven Manor. Morgana had worked tirelessly. Elizabeth had too. The difference was that one had arranged knives; the other, alliances.

"Right," said Damon. "Morgana wants to rip out the snake’s heart. Elizabeth wants to show the whole snake to the nest and have them all step on it together."

"Surprisingly competent summary," commented Elizabeth.

"I’m offended that you look so smart when you wake up," Morgana said.

"Thank you both."

He pulled up a chair and sat backwards in it, resting his arms on the back.

"Which nobles are undecided?"

Elizabeth slid a list toward him.

"Five smaller houses resentful of the Duchess’s growing influence. Two large houses feigning neutrality. One merchant house that follows money above honor."

"Then they follow someone in the family," Damon murmured.

She smiled.

"Exactly."

Morgana pointed to the map.

"While she collects invitations and smiles, the Duchess reinforces guards at the mansion, destroys documents, and perhaps moves my father somewhere safe."

"Your father isn’t a treasure chest," Elizabeth replied. "Moving him would draw attention."

"Controlling an empty man already draws attention."

"Only to those who know how to look." Morgana clenched her fists.

"You turn everything into a show."

"And you turn everything into a massacre."

"A massacre solves everything."

"For a week."

"Enough time."

"Amateur thinking."

Damon raised his hand.

"Enough."

The two fell silent, irritated not by the interruption, but by having obeyed.

He pointed first at Morgana.

"You’re right about urgency. If the Duke gets worse, we lose more than a political play. We lose the man."

Then he pointed at Elizabeth.

"You’re right about consequence. If we go in killing without public proof, half of Arven will call it a coup."

Elizabeth leaned back slowly, satisfied that she hadn’t been contradicted. Morgana crossed her arms, also satisfied that she hadn’t.

"I hate when you do that," said Morgana.

"Do I sound reasonable?"

"Unbearably so."

Damon looked at the map again.

"Then we do both."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"Explain."

"We create immediate political pressure while preparing surgical action. You discreetly summon the wavering nobles with partial evidence. Make it seem like something big is about to explode. Controlled rumors. Controlled fear."

Elizabeth already seemed interested.

"Morgana?"

"Morgana leads internal reconnaissance of the mansion using the secret routes. Find out where the Duke is, how many guards are loyal, and where the Duchess keeps royal documents."

Morgana inclined her head.

"I would do that for free."

"I figured."

He continued.

"If the Duchess senses the political ground crumbling, she might make a mistake. Flee. Move the Duke. Burn files. Any such move gives us public justification and a clear target."

Elizabeth tapped the table with her fingernail.

"And if she doesn’t move anything?"

"Then we gather nobles, present stronger evidence, and corner her."

Morgana narrowed her eyes.

"And if she tries to kill me before that?"

"Then I finally wake up for real," Damon replied.

Despite the tension, Elizabeth laughed. Morgana tried not to laugh and failed for a second.

The side door opened unceremoniously. Ingrivid entered with a tray of fresh tea and surveyed the room.

"Interesting. They slept together and now they’re planning domestic regicide."

"It’s not regicide," Elizabeth corrected.

"It depends on the quality of the knife," Ingrivid replied.

Cherry appeared right behind her, peeking over her shoulder. "Who are we going to ruin today?"

"No one yet," said Damon.

Cherry looked disappointed.

"What a waste of an afternoon."

Ingrivid set down the tray and began serving cups with glacial efficiency. Morgana accepted without thanking. Elizabeth thanked him unnecessarily. Damon took two cups and handed one to Morgana before she realized she was trembling slightly.

She stared at the cup, then at him.

"I’m not trembling."

"Of course not."

She took a sip silently.

Elizabeth opened another document.

"There’s one more factor. If we prove mind manipulation of the Duke, many nobles will abandon the Duchess out of pure survival instinct. No one wants a precedent of bewitchment over succession."

Morgana nodded slowly.

"Then we need witnesses."

"And material evidence," added Elizabeth.

"Or an involuntary confession," suggested Cherry cheerfully.

Everyone ignored her. Damon observed the two women before him. Morgana was direct fire, legitimate, dangerous. Elizabeth was sharp ice, patient, inevitable. Separated, they could fail through excess or delay. Together, they were a serious problem for any enemy.

"You two are going to hate this," he said.

"Promising," Elizabeth replied.

"You’ll work together. Without sabotaging each other. Without personal insults for at least an hour."

Morgana seemed offended.

"I can manage."

Elizabeth drank her tea.

"Me too. I don’t promise sincerity."

"That’ll do."

He rose from his chair.

"Tonight, Morgana enters the mansion through the old passages and confirms the Duke’s position."

Morgana already seemed alive again.

"Finally."

"Elizabeth, you send discreet invitations for tomorrow. Private breakfast. Certain houses."

"I was already doing that."

"Terrifying."

"Ingrivid, we need dark clothes, ropes, sedatives, and trustworthy people."

She nodded.

"Already separated."

"Even scarier."

"Cherry."

She flashed a radiant smile.

"Yes?"

"Stay away from any important part of the plan."

"Gratuitous cruelty."

"Basic strategy."

The room suddenly moved like a machine waking up. Papers were rearranged, names circled, schedules set. The energy of the discussion transformed into direction.

Morgana approached the window and gazed at the golden sky beyond the gardens.

"If I have a chance to finish her off tonight, I’ll want to do it."

Elizabeth replied without looking.

"And I’ll want to stop her."

"I know."

"Great."

Damon approached the two.

"If the perfect opportunity arises, we decide on the spot. Not before."

Morgana crossed her arms.

"You like to improvise too much."

"I survived because of it."

Elizabeth smiled slightly.

"And almost died because of it too."

"Details."

The sun slowly descended on Arven, tinging the room with copper and shadow. Outside, the city continued on, unaware that two extraordinarily dangerous women were discussing the best way to overthrow a duchess and free a man imprisoned within his own mind.

Morgana finally reached across the table, not to Elizabeth, but to the central map.

"So we begin today."

Elizabeth placed her own hand on the other side of the map.

"We began yesterday."

Damon placed his hand between them.

"Great. Now try not to kill each other before the enemy."