"I'm running out of ideas."
"To whom should that concern be addressed, Your Ladyship?"
Ett hummed and rolled onto her side, finally acknowledging Akan's presence by the door. He had been there a while quiet, patient, as always.
At the moment, her days were filled with little more than sleeping and staring at the ceiling of her room. There were times meant for idleness and times meant for resolve. Times for war, for love, for rest, for waking. The world could fracture along those neat divisions if it wished but right now, none of them offered her anything useful.
She needed a plan. A subtle one. One that didn't require her to step into the light or place her hand directly on the reins. One that kept her tyrant of a son from becoming worse without making her his visible restraint.
A quick, silent death would be kinder than a slow one watching it come, second by second.
If the story refused to follow its script, then that alone was dangerous. She couldn't simply walk up to the Emperor and demand change. Not like that.
She wanted to see the ending. Just not that ending.
"I can't hear you."
Ah. Had he spoken?
"My apologies." Akan stepped closer.
"Find a chair."
"Thank you, Your Ladyship."
"Go on."
He was careful. Always had been. A man who weighed survival against loyalty and chose whichever tipped heavier. In Adiand, that made him intelligent.
For now, the royal family still stood at the apex. The nobles, fractured into their three neat factions, could do little more than circle and wait. Everyone was waiting. Everyone was baiting.
And then—clarity struck her.
Ett sat up slowly, the movement unhurried, and let her thoughts settle. The butterfly effect was already at work. Small changes. Delays.
Accelerations subtle enough not to be noticed until it was too late.
If events began to rush, then Guren's death would draw closer.
So would hers.
She blinked and found Akan already seated, watching her with polite attentiveness.
"What was your question?" she asked.
"To whom should that notion be referred, Your Ladyship?"
"My death."
She said it lightly, as if death were a guest she was merely acknowledging.
She didn't fear it. If it came now, she would accept it. If the story demanded she live until the end, she could do that too. Lately, everything felt distant like a stage play she had wandered into, uncertain whether she was audience or actor.
Letting Guren live was easy to justify. She could blame it on a fondness for villains. But the truth was simpler: she didn't care enough to force a different shape onto the world.
Peace, even borrowed, was comfortable.
"Your Ladyship," Akan said carefully, "please don't speak of your death so casually."
"Akan."
"Yes?"
He was her most reliable piece. In another world, he would have ruled boardrooms or black markets with equal ease. Information bent toward him. Secrets obeyed.
"I've just had an idea," she said. "Thanks to you."
He smiled, uncertain whether to be flattered or wary. "Then I am honored, even if I don't yet understand how."
"Ask."
The word made his smile stiffen.
"Ask… what, exactly?"
"You will betray me."
Like a bombshell it just dropped without any slow take.
The silence that followed was sharp.
Akan froze. Offense flickered across his face real this time followed by confusion, then something quieter.
"Forgive me," he said slowly. "I don't understand what Your Ladyship means."
"It is exactly what I said."
Ett lay back against the pillows, staring at the canopy above her, eyes open, unblinking.
She hadn't planned to say it so soon. Or so plainly. But once spoken, it rang true.
"You value your life more than loyalty," she continued. "If this empire fractures if rebellion comes and the imperial family falls you will side with whoever benefits you most."
He drew breath to speak.
What does fractures mean?
Ett lifted a finger. "Don't deny it. I didn't say this to warn you."
Akan's head tilted. Slowly. His eyes slid back to hers.
Ah. There it is.
The wounded look vanished. The confusion drained away. What remained was interest.
A thin, crooked smile surfaced. "Oh."
It was as if a porcelain vase had been shattered and reassembled almost perfect, except for one missing piece replaced with something close, but not quite the same. Ett felt it clearly now: something in her had shifted, and Akan could see it.
Fascinating.
"How long," he wondered aloud, "will I serve you, I wonder?"
"Longer than you expect," she replied.
He laughed softly. "It seems I've been exposed as a selfish bastard."
"You're a useful bastard."
That earned a genuine laugh.
"You do realize," Akan said mildly, "that I could kill you right now?"
"I don't like being stabbed in the back."
"And yet," he murmured, "you long for death."
"That," she admitted, "is true."
Ett had schemed endlessly, but no blade ever reached her. Guarded. Sealed. Trapped in safety. Waiting for an end that refused to arrive.
"I know you too well," she said.
"Then I'll be more careful."
He already was. But her gaze cut too cleanly.
She narrowed her eyes.
Psycho.
In the story, Akan followed her out of curiosity. Out of fascination with dead eyes that learned to beg for life. He admired how she schemed, how her mind folded cruelty into elegance. Serving the Empress Dowager was more interesting than serving the Emperor.
"Do you want me to serve you loyally until death?" he asked.
"Is that what you think?"
He bowed his head slightly. "I have much to learn."
"Just tell me when you leave," she said. "So I know who to blame for burying my body."
"Wouldn't that reveal my intentions?"
She stared at him.
"Are you stupid enough not to have a second plan?"
Akan merely chuckled. "Fair enough."
"And while you serve me," Ett emphasized, "don't drag Adiand into unnecessary danger."
"I'll remember."
"You're more carefree than you pretend."
"Thank you for your observance."
After a pause, Akan added lightly, "Have I ever mentioned that you speak far more than you used to?"
Ett shrugged.
"Did it offend you?"
"No, it brings me joy Your Ladyship."
"Life is a continuous lesson," she replied flatly.
"I see." He inclined his head. "Then I thank the Empress Dowager for her wisdom."
Ett scoffed internally.
"…Enough," she thought. I really hate fake compliments.
The room fell quiet again, but not empty.