The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 474: Cornered

The day after the final arrival, the pre-tribunal consultation was called to order in the High Council Chamber. It was a formal gathering, the air smelling of old paper and the sharp, metallic tang of the magical lamps.

Soren sat at the head, Eris at his right, while the Great Dukes and senior magistrates occupied the heavy oak chairs.

The Magistrate of Records stood, his voice droning as he read the formal charges against Vetra Nivarre.

The list was extensive, a catalog of a thirty-year reign of terror: Conspiracy against the crown, the systematic murder of political rivals, the unauthorized use of dark magic, and the corruption of the Imperial Grain Guild.

Document after document was produced, signatures verified, and witness statements summarized.

"The evidence seems... overwhelming," Konstantin muttered, leaning back and stroking his silver beard. He looked at the stacks of parchment with a grim fascination.

"She must face the full punishment," Duchess Maren added, her voice hard. "She has bled this empire dry for her own vanity. Death is too kind for what she has done to families."

"What punishment is appropriate?" Klaus asked quietly, looking around the room. He seemed overwhelmed by the bloodlust of the older nobles. "Is it death? Or exile? If we kill her, do we make her a martyr for the hidden loyalists?"

The debate raged for hours, imprisonment in the Void Towers, execution by the headsman, or permanent magical binding.

They were so focused on the fate of the woman in the dungeon that they failed to see the shadows lengthening in the corners of the room.

The sun had long since "set" when the informal briefings began. The palace had settled into a nervous quiet, but in the private chambers of the guests, the first tremors were felt.

Aldric visited Duke Konstantin late that evening, ostensibly to discuss the procedural order of the next day. He found the old man standing by his window, staring out at the darkness.

"Something’s wrong, Aldric," Konstantin said without turning around.

"The trial, Your Grace? The security?"

"No. Back home," Konstantin said, finally turning. His face was etched with worry. "My deputy, Lord Valerius... he is a man of clockwork habits. He sends a magical bird every three days to confirm the western patrols. I haven’t heard a word from him in five days. The last message was cut short."

Aldric’s expression sharpened. He pulled a small notebook from his sleeve. "Could be the weather, Your Grace. The mountain storms interfere with bird-magic."

"Could be," Konstantin whispered. "But Valerius would have sent a rider. I feel... blind."

Across the palace, Ryse was hearing a similar story from Duchess Maren. "The grain tallies I saw before I left," she told the Commander of the Guard, her eyes narrow and suspicious.

"They didn’t match the central ledgers. There’s a discrepancy of three thousand bushels in the Oakhaven silos. Has there been an imperial order for a redistribution that I wasn’t informed of?"

"Not that I know of, Duchess," Ryse said, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. "I’ll check the treasury records immediately."

In a smaller, more spartan room, a senior magistrate was listening to a trembling Klaus Sivrre.

"I received military orders just before I departed," the young Duke said, his voice shaking. "Orders for troop repositioning along the border. They were signed with my seal, Magistrate. I recognized the wax, the ring-mark... but I never wrote them. I never authorized the movement of the Third Infantry."

"Forgery?" the magistrate asked, his voice sharp.

"Worse," Klaus whispered. "If they’re moving, they’re moving into the passes. They’re leaving the gates open."

That night, the reports converged on Soren. He sat at his desk, the flickering light making him look like a carved statue of grief.

Aldric stood before him, listing the irregularities with a flat, clinical voice that couldn’t hide the underlying panic.

"Konstantin’s communication is dark. Maren’s grain is missing. Klaus’s army is being moved by a ghost. And there are three more reports from the smaller baronies, missing tax collectors, ’accidental’ fires in record halls, and local magistrates being replaced by ’emergency appointees’ while the lords are away."

Soren listened, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. He didn’t show panic; he couldn’t afford it.

But in his mind, he saw the web. He saw Vetra’s network finally pulling the strings, realizing that with the heads of the provinces gathered in the palace, the body of the empire was paralyzed.

"It’s starting," Soren whispered. "She isn’t waiting for the trial. She’s winning it before it begins."

...

Later, in the silence of their bedchambers, he shared everything with Eris. They lay in the dark, the warmth of the furs unable to touch the chill in their bones.

"They’re striking while everyone’s here," Eris said, sitting up, her white hair glowing like a phantom in the moonlight. Her mind, honed by years of Southern treachery, went straight to the tactical core of the problem.

"They’ve turned the trial into a trap. By gathering your allies, you’ve decapitated the provincial defenses."

"Yes," Soren said, his voice grim. "Exactly."

"Can we send them back?" Eris asked, her mind racing through options. "If the Dukes leave now, they might be able to restore order."

"And abandon the trial?" Soren shook his head. "That’s exactly what she wants. If the tribunal collapses, she remains the only legitimate authority in the eyes of the old guard. If I let them go, I admit I can’t hold the center. If I keep them here, I lose the provinces. We’re damned either way."

"Then we proceed with the trial," Eris said, her hand finding his in the dark.

"We hold the center with one hand and strike back at the provinces with the other. We use the couriers, the ice mages, and whatever loyalists we have left. I’ll help you coordinate. You deal with the lords; I’ll deal with the logistics."

Soren pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. "Thank you," he whispered.

The week that followed was a week of suffocating silence. The palace felt like a ship lost at sea.

No news arrived from the provinces, and the lack of information was more terrifying than a declaration of war.

The visiting nobles grew increasingly anxious, their conversations in the dining hall turning toward the home they had left behind.

"Is everything fine?" they whispered. "Should we return?"

Soren maintained a mask of absolute calm. "Proceed as planned," he told the court. "The trial continues. The empire is stable."

But privately, he was scrambling. He sent scouts into the blizzards, men who didn’t return. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

He ordered magical investigations into the forged seals, only to find the trails led to dead ends or murdered clerks. The tension was a piano wire stretched to the breaking point.