Tenebris Renasci: A World of Magic and Gunpowder

Standing from her desk, Béatrice had an expression of disgust and frustration. Her lips curled into a low frown as her hands gripped the edges of her desk.

She had been played for a fool and had no way to walk herself out of it. 

Plans and potential counters swirled in her mind like a violent hurricane, but each idea that was spit from the eye of the storm was insufficient. 

Gritting her teeth Béatrice's grip tightened on her desk, how could she have let this happen?

How did she manage to fall into Charlotte's web of lies and manipulation?

How could she have planned this?

How could she have foreseen it?!

How?!?!

Béatrice slammed her fist against her desk before leaning away from it, jostling the liquor that sat in her wine glass, causing droplets to split out onto her desk. 

She then placed her hand over her face as she used the other to lean against the wall.

This was bad, this entire situation was critical, and there was very little Béatrice had in the way of reversing, let alone fixing it. 

All Béatrice had to her name were her pathfinders, elite shock troops that flew the banner of House Nova. 

And while her pathfinders were powerful in their own right, there was little they could do when it came to games of espionage and political power moves, at least, not without starting an outright civil war.

But that would be akin to crown-assisted suicide, as not only did the Queen have the royal Pathfinder to her name, but also the military as a whole, not even mentioning the other Noble/Pathfinder Houses. 

Béatrice's mind continued to spin a thousand thoughts, creating and discarding plans all within the same minute. 

Until suddenly she stopped, and took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. 

She was spiraling, a bad habit she developed as a response to unexpected circumstances. 

The last thing Béatrice needed now was to spiral into madness and do something regrettable, at least, not a second time. 

Closing her eyes, Béatrice calmly examined her next logical moves. 

If the Queen had truly set a trap to ruin Béatrice, then the key to undoing the trap lies with Alexander. 

He was the catalyst for this series of unfortunate events, so it's only logical that if she had him back in her hands, then the situation would stabilize.

But there lies the problem, Alexander is lost in the bowels of a shadowy organization that evaded Béatrice's best, on a continent engulfed with war, crime, and wildernesses. 

Béatrice, whether she liked it or not, lacked the resources to find Alexander promptly. 

Few people did, as what was needed in this situation were not soldiers, but operatives, agents trained in infiltration, surveillance, and sabotage.

What was needed were the royal blades. 

Top-notch assassins who rarely knew failure, and specialized in turning the impossible into a matter of when, not if.

Béatrice then took another deep breath as she tapped the side of her chin. A royal blade is exactly what she needed at this moment, but the only way she could get one… 

Was though the Queen herself. 

A foul, sour taste rolled onto Béatrice's tongue. 

The irony wasn't lost on her, not one bit. 

It was Charlotte who put her in the situation, and it was only Charlotte who could get her out. 

Though it seemed impossible, it wasn't entirely unrealistic for Charlotte to provide an asset such as a royal blade, but at what cost?

It surely wouldn't come cheap, especially if it was Charlotte who put Béatrice in this situation from the beginning. 

It would almost certainly be something significant asked in return, something that would strengthen Charlotte's position and greatly weaken Béatrice's. 

"Damned if I do, damned if I don't," Béatrice muttered under her breath as she turned her attention back towards her desk, her gaze landing on the funeral guest list. 

Reading the names on the list, her eyes stopped dead on Charlotte's name. "I have two days to make my move." She whispered to herself. 

The funeral would be an ideal place to meet with the Queen, a neutral ground where both women could meet in person to discuss the details of Alexander's abduction. 

But it was also ripe for disaster if Béatrice played her cards wrong. 

Charlotte was always several steps ahead of the competition, in fact, she probably already had this upcoming conversation planned out in her head, and her assets moved into position.

There could be a royal blade watching her at this very moment.

A grim smile crept onto Béatrice lips as she looked out the window of her study, and into the dimly lit courtyard. 

Two pathfinders marched past the window, their expressions firm and movements stiff.

In two days she had to prepare herself for another brush with the devil, and in two days either Béatrice would have a new asset, or have her legacy ruined. 

— — —

The two days passed in the blink of an eye, and the day of the funeral had finally arrived. 

Béatrice and her entourage had just arrived at the main Ambur island via ship and were now stepping onto the docks. 

Her entourage consisted of her daughter Louise, the head butler Charles, and several pathfinders. 

Both Béatrice and Louise were clothed in long black Dresses that were adorned with elegant patterns and crafted from the finest of fabrics.

Their makeup consisted only of a white base, with black lipstick and eyeshadow, along with long earrings and curly hair. 

Charles was dressed in a fine, black tailored suit with white gloves.

The pathfinders were dressed in ceremonial uniforms, along with light armor and feathered-tipped helmets.

The sun was shining high in the sky, with large white clouds brushing underneath its glaring rays.

Before the group, was a convoy of carriages lined on the dock, all adorned with the royal crest, and personal gifts from the Queen and King themselves. 

"Ah, Lady Béatrice, you made it." A familiar voice echoed from one of the carriages.