Cats.

Arisa needed more cats.

It was a given that no matter how meticulous a scheme was, none could still have quite enough cats.

Empress Halyconia discovered that first hand. The finest unified empire the continent had ever seen, its citizens submitting before a black iron heel. 

She had enough legions and wealth to take to the uncharted horizons, beyond the frozen hinterlands north of Ouzelia, beyond the sands of the Dunes, and beyond shimmer of the Emerald Sea, sailing her fleets towards faraway lands where only magic and secrets awaited. 

She could do all of them at the same time, all the while enjoying an afternoon nap with a foot rub.

In the end, it wasn’t the horns of the barbarian clans which silenced the thundering charge of her knights. It wasn’t the gallons of sweat dripping from countless brows which halted her legions’ footprints in the sand. And it wasn’t even the horrors beneath the waves which sent her sailors to the depths.

It was a lack of cats.

Allergy combined with personal dislike had resulted in sweeping criminalisation of feline domestication. The results struck deeper than any blade. Riots and civil unrest unseen during times of rising wealth and prosperity. But greatest was the plague which swept across her land, spread amidst dense alleys by rodents now unchecked by their most common predator.

Arisa was no empress. 

At least–not yet. 

She was still several schemes away from that. But she recognised the importance of cats nonetheless. All who plied their trade in the underworld did. They were a vital part of the ecosystem, performing a function which full-time clerics would struggle to achieve. 

Should even a small amount of foodstuff flow beneath the ground, it was a practical necessity to employ as many felines as possible to ward away the litany of pestilence which sewer rats brought. 

And for Arisa, she had more than a small amount to lose.

She hummed as she leaned forwards, clipboard in hand as she examined one of the many sacks of grain which made up her underground storehouse. As she did, a dozen differently coloured tabbies swept around her ankles, their mewing echoing against the stone tiling.

It still wasn’t enough.

This was no common granary.

Most only held enough to feed the population through a single harsh winter. 

But here, Arisa possessed enough to last through every season and more.

She didn’t expect to need all of it. But she hardly wished to see her plans flounder due to miserliness. And this included ensuring there were enough cats. 

Which was why–

She let out a sigh, before flipping through the inventory sheets.

“A handful of tabbies … is this all?”

The smuggler beside her gulped at once. 

A nameless vagabond. One amongst many she’d scooped from the Crown Prince’s scouring of Reitzlake’s docks. She lifted them by the armful, away from the lows of roadside gutters and to the highs of … well, no, these were still gutters.

But nicer ones, at least. Especially if she could continue to keep them rodent free.

An aspiration the nervous expression beside her threw into doubt.

“Uh, apologies, ma’am,” said her smuggler meekly. “But these are near enough the last tabbies we could find, at least in Hartzwiese. We’ve ordered more deliveries from Trierport, but, well, the main operation was closed down, so it’ll be awhile before we get shipments like before.”

“Very well. And what about our deliveries from across the border?”

“We’ve shorthairs from Granholtz and bobtails from Lissoine. Most of them orange. They should be on the way now.”

“Words I believe I’ve heard before. Has there been an issue?”

“A bit, I’m afraid. Cats aren’t prone to silence. The guards at the smuggling points keep upping their rates. They can turn a blind eye, but it’s harder to turn a deaf ear.”

Arisa rolled her eyes. 

Of all the unloyal cads she’d come to bribe, those at the borders were forever the most opportunistic. 

This was why she preferred keeping everything in-house. The dock gangs at Trierport were far more accommodating. There were no import fees and their supply was broadly consistent. At least for a time. Now Trierport had fallen the way of Reitzlake.

Compared to bustling ports and all the catches the morning fishermen brought to them, Hartzwiese was a barren emptiness. It was little wonder only a few tabbies were left to be caught.

Even so, it didn’t stop her from sighing.

“It’s as hard as holding out a palm and accepting whatever we offer them,” said Arisa, before handing the clipboard back to her subordinate. “Pay their rates. However exorbitant they are now, they’ll be greater in the coming days. I won’t see our stores gone due to haggling.”

“I’ll do that straight away, ma’am.”

The servant dipped his head. It was no bow. But she neither expected nor asked for propriety.

Only loyalty. And cats. 

She watched as the man hurried away, leaving the granary door ajar as he went. She very nearly clicked her tongue, but maintained her calm exterior nonetheless. And not even because it was expected of her.

Overall, she was satisfied. 

There were always hiccups as far as treason went. The gallows being one of them. 

With that in mind, this could have been a lot worse. 

Crucially, it could not have gone much better.

She’d acquired more followers in the past month than she’d done in the previous year. Scoundrels fleeing as much from their debts as they did from the Crown Prince, they were desperate, but experienced in the logistics of following commands. Especially by those who could promise them shelter from their moneylenders. 

The Rimeaux daughter wasn’t quite who she envisaged to appear. But at the same time, she never expected the kingdom to remain idle. Her escape was mildly irksome, as was the sheer mess she left behind. But her schedule remained unchanged.

Even better, her customary visitor from Lotus House had come and gone, offering a carte blanche signed with a laughable word of caution. 

Even now, they stuck to whatever rulebook only they observed. 

Arisa didn’t mind. 

She didn’t need their interference. Only their guarantees. 

And when the time came, their unconditional compliance.

Arisa left the granary behind, ensuring the door was closed before making her way down well chiselled tunnels. She was already sheltered. Another thing her fellow nobility would balk at. She didn’t understand why. Had Lady Lucina Tolent kept to the sewers instead of waiting to be caught in a well-lit room, she may have been in a position to actually escape her fate.

She had no intention of following that woman’s footsteps.

Not least because of how meandering they were.

If she did, it’d be another 7, perhaps 8 years before she sufficiently backstabbed the requisite amount of people to earn a nod towards ladyship. And then she’d just be another beautiful, plotting woman in Reitzlake. And Arisa of all people knew there were enough of those to last the next century.

No, Arisa had no intention of climbing that particular ladder. 

Not when there were far better ones to be found. And the first rung could be found underground. Right here where she’d placed it.

She swept through her winding tunnels.

It was, by her own admission, slightly ridiculous. An underground fortress beneath an inconspicuous farmstead, shaped with little resemblance to the sewers they’d been painstakingly hewn from. Secrecy was her first defence. Traps, guards and bedrock her next. But rather too much than too little. And in the days ahead, she fully expected to see it thoroughly tested. 

Which was why the walls around her bedroom were the sturdiest.

At the end of a maze of corridors, the sound of cogs filled the air as her bedroom opened up to her, its door reinforced as great as any vault. 

Because inside, it wasn’t the lavish bed, the expensive furnishings or the glittering chandelier which was first to meet the eye.

It was the mass of gold and silver crowns.

This was no dragon hoard she slept on, of course. It was neatly arrayed inside chests ready to be hauled away. The accumulated wealth of everything she could borrow, sell and steal. 

All organised. All counted. And all earmarked to be spent.

Had she cared, this would have been enough to have high lords tripping over themselves to invite her to join the Oldest Dance. 

Instead, she preferred things as they were. With herself as the last to be chosen.

After all–

It meant her hands were free to dance with those she wished instead.

Ensuring the door was fastened and bolted behind her, she swept past the chests adorning her floor and went instead to the nearest wall. 

There, she retrieved the last addition to her wallpaper. 

A repaired, repainted and renosed portrait of the 3rd Princess.

And then–

“Hehehheheheheheh …”

She spun.

Wearing an expression unknown to any under her employ, Baroness Arisa Sandholt twirled on the spot, her golden hair shimmering like a waving flag.

Holding the portrait out at arm’s length, she danced on the spot, a moment of childish euphoria taking her as she imagined what was to come.

Everything was in place. 

Between her own stores and Lotus House, she had enough contingencies prepared. Once the heads started rolling, grain would become a commodity as expensive as gold. And for the farmers, orphans and shoe cobblers who marched on their stomach, their payment would be in her bread.

Arisa imagined the sight. 

The riots and the flames. The cacophony of war as it all came crumbling down around the 3rd Princess’s feet as she sat in her tower, alone and diminished. A picture of regret and apology amidst a sea of nobility turned to vultures. All of them would come to meet their own ends. 

But the princess would be first.

Arisa stopped twirling, her dance coming to an end as she merely smiled towards the portrait.

A beautiful smile which did nothing to capture the aura of menace which should accompany it.

She sometimes thought about her. 

Not often. But sometimes. Once an hour at most.

After all, even if the years had gone, the humiliation she suffered was fresher than anything she served in her tavern. Those memories were as crisp as the bergamot at a table where all her efforts had gathered. 

She remembered the sunshine pouring through a window, smiling down at her preparations. 

The etiquette lessons. The obsessive research. The untold stress. The chronic insomnia. The hives and rashes on her arms. The 21,187 conversation topics and all their branches mapped out. And also the creak in her back she purposefully chose never to think about.

All to enable a young baroness from the countryside to leap in status, each word and action crafted with cold, mathematical precision to endear herself to a member of the Contzen family. 

Not one of the princes. Nor one of the prominent sisters. But the least of them. 

But it was enough. 

A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

She wouldn’t spurn this chance like the giggling daughters around her. Arisa was smarter than that. She would engineer a rise in prominence with meticulous preparation. The only time she had ever attempted to climb the kingdom’s ladder.

And what she was met by … was the face of a princess who’d clearly fallen asleep.

“Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!”

Suddenly, Arisa gripped the edge of the frame so hard that the metal bent. 

Her lips twitched as she felt the familiar feelings of injustice surging through her, boiling her blood and making her nails dig into the portrait.

A moment later, she calmed herself.

Indeed … it didn’t matter.

None of it did anymore.

Everything was ready.

All she had to do was sit here and wait, and allow the pieces to crumble around her, until she remained as the sole queen on the board. Patience was her weapon and a continent was her reward.

She was safe here. Nothing could draw her into a mistake.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Not even a frantic banging on the door she’d barred.

Arisa raised a brow as she swiftly headed over, portrait tucked under her arm. Nobody was allowed to even approach her bedroom. A message she made clear with her frown as she opened the door.

A face as panicking as the banging would suggest met her.

“B-Baroness, I’ve … I’ve a message.”

She pursed her lips tightly.

“Very well. What is the message?”

“It’s the maid. The one we lost earlier. She’s … well, she’s reappeared.”

Arisa smiled in delight. An extra titbit of good news to mark the start of something greater. The needless rush and banging was forgiven.

“Excellent. And where did we find her?”

“Uh … outside.”

Arisa blinked.

“Outside? Outside where?”

“Here. The entrance to the safehold. She appeared just now.”

To be stunned speechless wasn’t something Arisa experienced often these days.

She didn’t know whether to be amazed by the girl’s knowledge of where she was or by her audaciousness. 

Had she somehow made her way through the endlessly trapped sewers? To what end? Had she walked back to the knives without any swords by her side? The garrison couldn’t have been summoned. She had more spies there than she had tabbies in her granary.

Arisa hummed. 

Second thoughts, perhaps.

The lure of waking her parents may very well have bitten at her heels until she turned around.

If so, it was a chance to win her over again. She could be useful in the days ahead. The discord she could sow in the royal capital would be significant.

“She’s, uh, she’s with a pair of others. I think, well … I think they may be adventurers.”

But also, she could be a liability.

Arisa frowned. 

Contact with the Adventurer’s Guild? Now that was desperate. And also unexpected. 

It took more inventiveness than anyone raised as a noblewoman usually displayed to seek their aid. They were unpredictable. And they were nosy. An organisation Arisa intended to handle when the time came. Which wasn’t supposed to be now.

No … Renise Rimeaux was an unnecessary extra. As well as any others with her.

“Take them to the dungeons,” said Arisa with a dismissive wave. “I will interrogate them later.” 

“Uh …”

The man paused, sweat rolling down his face. 

Arisa raised her palms in mild bewilderment. If they were outside, then that meant they were already surrounded, morons that they were. What was the problem now?

“Yes? What is it?”

The man pointed at the portrait tucked under Arisa’s arm.

“Well … it’s just that one of the ones with the maid … I’m pretty sure that’s her.”

“Who?” 

“The … The girl in the portrait. I’m pretty sure she’s outside, too.”

Arisa blinked at the words.

And then, she did only what anyone in her situation possibly could.

She wore a look of deep confusion. 

“Hm? Don’t be absurd. Someone of similar appearance, perhaps. There isn’t the slightest possibility or reason why that girl would be standing at the front of my hidden sanctuary. That’d be utterly ridiculous.”

Arisa bit her lips, her fingers absently tapping on the edge of the portrait.

“... Why? Has she said anything?”

“Um, she asked us to fetch you. She took one of our tables. Now she’s just waiting.”

The man paused.

“Menacingly.”

Arisa’s mouth slowly fell open.