Transmigrated Into A Women Dominated World

Viora's focus sharpened after she heard the servant's words. "Were you able to hear anything they were discussing?" She asked.

Kessa shook her head, looking apologetic. "No, Your Highness. I'm not permitted inside when the Princess has visitors. I only saw her enter."

Viora processed everything, nodding.

"Is she still there?" She pressed, her tone carrying an urgency that would have surprised those who knew her usual composed demeanor.

"Yes, Princess," Kessa nodded. "Lady Calyra and your mother are still in her chamber."

"That's interesting." Viora commented. She could already imagine what her aunt was doing in her moms chamber. Honestly, she was surprised that it had taken Calyra this long to report to Athea.

Viora's lips curved into a faint smile. This didn't prove her mother was hiding something and committing a treason against the matriarch order, or that Princess Calyra was involved in whatever secret might exist. But intuition whispered that both women were deeper in this mystery than they appeared. Whatever her mother was concealing, Calyra likely knew about it.

She moved closer to Kessa, her voice dropping to a confident murmur. "Thank you, Kessa. You've done well."

"You're welcome, princes." Kessa smiled, glad that she could be of help to her highness.

Viora paused, then withdrew a small metallic disc from a concealed pouch on her belt. It was not bigger than her thumbnail, its very small size was precisely what made it so valuable, and so dangerous.

"I need you to do one more thing for me," she said, her tone warm enough to soothe, but threaded with an undercurrent that made Kessa's stomach tighten.

Kessa's eyes widened at the sight of the small device. Her earlier excitement slowly got replaced by a creeping suspicion that made her stomach clench. The innocent story of a surprise was beginning to feel as thin as morning frost.

"Your Highness... what is that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The wrongness of the moment settled over her like a heavy cloak. She was being asked to become a tool in something that felt unlawful, against her own mistress, the Princess Athea. Her feet carried her a half-step backward without conscious thought.

"I... I don't think I should." She objected with a shake of her head.

Viora's expression transformed, harsh calculation turning into calculated warmth. By now she already knew how to make the servant do what she wanted, and it wasn't even hard.

She placed a gentle hand on Kessa's arm, her ice-blue eyes radiating the kind of sincerity that could convince a drowning man to release his rope.

"It's alright," she said, her voice like honey over steel. "You're not going to do anything illegal, It's just to ensure the surprise is perfect. My mother and my aunt... they talk for hours. I need to know the moment they finish so I can coordinate everything properly."

She took Kessa's arm into hers, and then pressed the device into her palm. The metal felt unnaturally cold against her skin. "Don't lose this." She instructed, "The next time you're asked to clean her chambers or bring her tea, place this somewhere hidden. Under the desk, behind a tapestry... anywhere it won't be discovered."

Kessa stared at the device, her heart beat rapidly against her ribs. Spying on the royal family was treason, she knew this as surely as she knew her own name. But Viora's smile was a masterwork of persuasion, her explanation balanced perfectly on the knife's edge of plausibility.

'It's just for a surprise,' a desperate part of her mind insisted. 'What harm could there be?'

But even as she tried to cling to that hope, cold reality formed in her chest. This was no surprise. Princess Viora was asking her to spy on Princess Athea, and they both knew it. The pretense was paper thin, maintained only because it gave them both something to hide behind.

Yet what choice did she have? Viora was a Princess. Kessa was a servant. In the mathematics of power, the equation was brutally simple.

Swallowing the bile of her fear, she gave a trembling nod. "I... yes, Princess. For the surprise."

The lie tasted like ashes in her mouth.

A little earlier that day.

The crystal doors sealed with a soft hum, cutting off the distant, sterile sounds of the palace corridors.

Lady Calyra, Athea's elder sister, moved into the chamber with a serene confidence that bordered on arrogance.

Her beauty was undeniable, a masterpiece of ageless elegance perfected through royal breeding. Her silver white hair was pulled into a tight, elegant coil, and her formal outfit, threaded with silver that shimmered like captured starlight, clung to her voluptuous figure.

The sleek, fitted fabric hinted at curves that commanded attention, radiating a sensuality that was both intoxicating and dangerous. Calyra stood before her younger sister, a queen-in-waiting who remained seated behind her polished obsidian desk.

Athea's posture, usually a study in languid grace, had become as stiff and unyielding as a statue.

"Is something wrong?" Athea asked with a friendly look on her face that showed she was happy to see her sister. She gestured to the chair across from her. "Why don't you sit?"

Calyra's a little serious as she remained standing and ignored the invitation. "I'm surprised you can be so calm, sister. Especially when your daughter is actively trying to uncover a secret you've kept buried for nearly two decades."

Athea's smile vanished. Her eyes widened for a split second, a flicker of alarm she couldn't hide. It was a statement that came out of nowhere, completely unexpected.

"Aphrodite? What is she up to now?" she asked with a growing frown, the idea of her daughter, the only one who was troublesome causing more problems making her blood boil.

"It's not Aphrodite," Calyra corrected, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper as she stepped closer. "It's Viora who suspects. She came to me yesterday and asked pointed questions about Aphrodite's appearance, wanting to know why she has dark hair and green eyes unlike the rest of us, and why she doesn't resemble a single soul in our Lumina bloodline."

Athea's perfect composure fractured completely. "That's ridiculous," she snapped, her voice a low, "Family traits can skip generations. Aphrodite is my daughter."

"Is she really your daughter? I already know the truth sis."