The week that followed was a study in excruciating duality. In public, the commission moved towards its critical vote on the primary wetland funding. Seraphina presided with a calm that felt brittle as thin ice. Hadrian attended as her advisor, his contributions sharp but his gaze distant, as if preoccupied. They performed the narrative of a leadership under quiet, growing strain.
In private, they were a war council of two. They met in the old, disused music room—a place with no sentimental echoes and thick, sound-absorbing tapestries.
"The vote is set for Friday," Seraphina said, tracing a line on a map of the proposed wetland with a tense finger. "Berrick will call for a review of the chair's 'fitness,' citing the model as evidence of misplaced priorities and emotional instability. He'll have Vayne and Corso with him. Lady Thorne will defend me, but it will be bloody."
Hadrian nodded, his own plans laid like siege lines. "The same day, Greymont is presenting his 'value-engineered' opera house proposal to the King. A brick-and-marble box with all the imagination of a tomb. He'll use our 'childish' model as a contrast to his 'serious, fiscally responsible' design."
"A coordinated pincer movement," she murmured. "Discredit me, discredit your vision, and gut the commission's flagship project in one day." She looked up, her eyes haunted. "And all the while, Miss Elda is in the nursery, whispering to our children that their parents are too busy with their failing dreams to tend to their nightmares."
Hadrian's jaw tightened. That was the wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. "We pull the thread on Friday. But not before they've fully committed. We want their words on the record, their votes cast. We want no room for retreat or apology."
They had gathered their weapons. Bowen's signed testimony. A discreetly obtained record of payments from an obscure Berrick family account to a cousin of Miss Elda. And the most potent weapon of all: the children themselves.
With immense care, and the help of the only servant they now trusted implicitly—Maila—they had begun a gentle, counter-whisper campaign. Maila, under the guise of helping Isla with her marsh-project notes, had conversations about "clever plans" and "waiting for the right moment to show the truth." Leo, enlisted by Hadrian to help "debug" a structural flaw in a bridge model, was taught about "load-bearing traps" and "false structures that look strong but collapse."
The children, bright and sensitive, absorbed it not as manipulation, but as a secret game. Their natural loyalty, previously confused by the nanny's insinuations, was being consciously rallied.
On Thursday night, the night before the vote, Seraphina went to the nursery at bedtime, as was her newly reinstated habit. Miss Elda was there, folding linens with an air of martyred devotion.
"Mama," Isla said, her voice small. "Nanny says you and Papa might be very sad tomorrow after your big meeting."
Seraphina's heart squeezed.She sat on the edge of Isla's bed. "Why would we be sad, my starfish?"
"Because your mud-puddle might not get built."Isla's brow was furrowed with a worry too old for her face.
Seraphina shot a look at Miss Elda, who had the grace to blush and look away. "Is that what Nanny said?"
"She said it's very important,and sometimes important things don't happen, and it makes people cry." Leo added from his bed, his voice matter-of-fact. "But Papa said the strongest bridges get tested the most. And you don't cry during a test. You check your blueprints."
The perfect, unwitting parroting of their counter-narrative. Seraphina felt a surge of fierce pride. She kissed them both, her voice firm and clear. "Nanny is right that the meeting is important. But Papa is right too. We've checked our blueprints. We are ready. No matter what happens, we are not sad. We are strong. And we love you more than any mud-puddle or meeting. That is the most important thing. Do you understand?"
Two small heads nodded solemnly. They understood. They were part of the secret now, the true one.
After the children were asleep, Seraphina turned to Miss Elda. The woman flinched under her gaze.
"A word in the hall,Miss Elda."
Outside, in the dim corridor, Seraphina didn't raise her voice. It was low, cold, and carried the full weight of her lineage. "You will be present in the nursery tomorrow from noon until I personally dismiss you. You will not leave. You will not send any messages. You will engage the children only in cheerful, neutral activities. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, Your Highness. Of course." The nanny's eyes darted like a cornered mouse's.
"Good."Seraphina leaned in, just an inch. "The west terrace is lovely at night, isn't it? So private. One can hear all sorts of… interesting conversations."
The blood drained from Miss Elda's face so completely she looked like a marble statue of fear. She understood. The trap was not just around Berrick; it was around her throat.
Seraphina walked away, leaving the viper frozen in the hall. The wolf had entered the nursery, and found the pack waiting.