The council chamber was smaller than the Grand Hall.

  That was intentional.

  Smaller rooms forced proximity.

  Proximity forced discomfort.

  Celia entered first.

  White and silver again — neutral, deliberate.

  Moments later, Duke Harrington stepped in.

  Dark blue.

  Measured.

  Controlled.

  Other members followed:

  Minor nobles. Merchant lords. Two royal financial ministers.

  And at the head of the table—

  An empty chair.

  Rotational leadership.

  Today, by random draw—

  Celia.

  How convenient.

  She took the seat without ceremony.

  “Let us begin,” she said calmly.

  Harrington watched her carefully.

  The first hour was predictable.

  Resource mapping.

  Territorial balance reports.

  Audit reconciliation.

  Then—

  The fracture.

  Lord Benton, a minor noble with significant canal investments, slammed a document onto the table.

  “This redistribution proposal unfairly targets eastern merchants!” he snapped.

  Celia did not flinch.

  “It equalizes grain reserve distribution.”

  “It cripples private margin!”

  Ah.

  There it was.

  Profit.

  Always profit.

  Harrington leaned back slightly, observing.

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  He did not intervene.

  Interesting.

  Celia turned toward Benton calmly.

  “The margins you reference increased during the shortages.”

  “That is speculation!”

  “It is documented.”

  She slid a ledger copy across the table.

  The room shifted.

  Benton’s face paled slightly.

  “You’re weaponizing data,” he accused.

  “No,” she replied evenly.

  “I’m clarifying it.”

  Murmurs began rising.

  Two merchant representatives started whispering to one another.

  Too coordinated.

  Celia noticed.

  Harrington noticed that she noticed.

  And that—

  Was when the real move happened.

  One of the royal ministers cleared his throat.

  “There is another matter,” he said cautiously.

  “A shipment under Valmont territory has gone missing.”

  Silence.

  Celia’s gaze shifted slowly.

  “Explain.”

  “Three wagons. Registered under your seal.”

  Marianne, standing behind Celia, stiffened.

  “That’s impossible,” she whispered.

  Celia raised a hand slightly.

  Calm.

  Always calm.

  “When did this occur?” Celia asked.

  “Two nights ago.”

  Interesting timing.

  Benton smirked faintly.

  So that was the play.

  Create a public fracture.

  Expose her to suspicion.

  Destabilize the council immediately.

  Harrington finally spoke.

  “Lady Valmont,” he said smoothly, “would you care to clarify?”

  A trap.

  If she reacted defensively, she appeared guilty.

  If she dismissed it, she appeared careless.

  Instead—

  She smiled faintly.

  “Of course.”

  She turned toward the minister.

  “Where were the wagons last recorded?”

  “Western canal junction.”

  She nodded once.

  “Under whose inspection authority?”

  The minister hesitated.

  “… Joint oversight.”

  “Meaning?” she pressed calmly.

  “Shared between Valmont and Benton territories.”

  Ah.

  There it was.

  She turned her gaze slowly toward Lord Benton.

  “You accuse quickly,” she said evenly. “Yet the inspection point lies under your patrol supervision.”

  The room went quiet.

  Benton flushed.

  “That is irrelevant—”

  “It is central.”

  Her voice remained soft.

  “But let us not speculate.”

  She leaned back slightly in the chair.

  “I propose a simple solution.”

  Harrington’s eyes narrowed just slightly.

  “Joint investigation,” Celia continued. “Led by myself… and Duke Harrington.”

  A pause.

  Sharp.

  Precise.

  If Harrington refused, he appeared avoidant.

  If he accepted—

  He tied himself publicly to the outcome.

  Benton stiffened.

  “That’s unnecessary!”

  “Transparency protects us all,” Celia replied smoothly.

  She held Harrington’s gaze.

  A silent challenge.

  He considered her for three long seconds.

  Then—

  “Agreed.”

  The word landed like a gavel strike.

  The council murmured again, tension shifting direction.

  The fracture attempt had failed.

  For now.

  The meeting adjourned an hour later.

  As members dispersed, Harrington approached her quietly.

  “You anticipated it,” he murmured.

  “No.”

  “You redirected it.”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes studied her carefully.

  “The wagons truly went missing.”

  “I know.”

  “So this wasn’t Benton alone.”

  “No.”

  They stood in silence.

  Someone had deliberately chosen a shipment under her seal.

  That required inside information.

  Which meant—

  The council had a leak.

  Harrington spoke first.

  “If this destabilizes further, the king will dissolve the council.”

  “I am aware.”

  “And you would lose access.”

  “And you would lose dilution.”

  A faint, almost amused exhale left him.

  “We are temporarily aligned,” he said quietly.

  Celia tilted her head slightly.

  “Do not misunderstand,” she replied. “I am not aligned. I am invested.”

  He gave the faintest nod.

  “Tomorrow at dawn,” he said. “Western canal.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  That night, Celia stood alone in her strategy room.

  Marianne entered cautiously.

  “You think it’s Ardentis?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Or Harrington?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Celia’s gaze sharpened.

  “Because if he wanted me destabilized, he would have ensured it succeeded.”

  Marianne hesitated.

  “Then who?”

  Celia turned toward the map table.

  She placed her fingers lightly over the canal junction.

  “Someone who benefits if both of us fall.”

  The hero stepped into the doorway quietly.

  “You’ve narrowed the field,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “And if the leak is inside the council?”

  Celia’s expression cooled.

  “Then tomorrow,” she said softly,

  “we start cutting quietly.”