Chapter 2: A Lesson in Thorns

The next morning arrived wrapped in velvet skies and a deceptive calm. Snow dusted the capital like powdered sugar, masking the rot beneath the cobblestone streets and the silver-tongued lies behind every noble's door.

Evelynn Thorn stood in front of her mirror, a quiet storm in silk.

Today was not a day for war.

It was a day for calculation.

The soft morning light illuminated her reflection—cool, collected, and hauntingly beautiful. Her eyes, once wide and filled with wonder, now held something far colder: clarity. The kind that came from betrayal and survival.

She reached for a perfume vial—lavender with a hint of belladonna. Elegant. Poisonous. Appropriate.

There was a knock. Sera, her maid, entered quietly, balancing a silver tray.

"My lady," she said, bowing her head. "You've received a summons. From Lady Mirelle."

Of course.

Step One: Watch the snakes slither back.

Lady Mirelle had been her closest friend once. Or so Evelynn had believed—until Mirelle's sweet smiles masked daggers and betrayal. She'd testified against Evelynn at her trial, weeping into embroidered silk as she called Evelynn a manipulative temptress who tried to poison the crown.

Now she wanted tea.

Evelynn smirked. "Prepare the carriage. And pick the black gloves."

---

Lady Mirelle's salon was as gaudy as Evelynn remembered: all soft pastels, gilded trim, and an air of desperate relevance. The air was thick with rosewater and pretense. Tea cups shaped like petals sat untouched on silver platters, and too many mirrors reflected too little truth.

"Evy!" Mirelle greeted, sweeping into the room with open arms, like Evelynn hadn't once bled because of her words. "You look radiant! The gala last night—stunning."

"So I've been told," Evelynn said coolly, brushing past her and sinking into a velvet chair. She moved with the grace of someone who knew her value—and wasn't interested in pretending otherwise.

Tea was poured. Compliments were exchanged like currency.

Then came the real reason for the invitation.

"You know," Mirelle began, tone light but her smile too sharp, "some of the court wondered if you'd return from your... retreat with resentment. But it's so good to see you're still you."

Retreat. As if being exiled, humiliated, and sentenced to death was a spa vacation.

Evelynn stirred her tea slowly. "Oh Mirelle," she said, voice soft, "I've never been more me than I am now."

Mirelle laughed too loudly. "I always admired your strength."

Liar.

The conversation became a careful dance. Mirelle spoke of parties, of dresses, of meaningless gossip. But Evelynn knew how to listen now. She heard the shift in tone when Alric's name came up. She caught the flicker of envy when Mirelle mentioned the Prince's increasing attention elsewhere. She noted how Mirelle deflected questions about her husband's recent business dealings.

By the end of the hour, Evelynn had gathered more than Mirelle would've confessed under oath. Tensions were high in court. Alric was planning something—a shift in alliances. The Empress was ill, and her absence from the Gala had raised questions. And a rumor—unconfirmed but dangerous—about a noble family considering rebellion.

Evelynn left the salon with her gloves pristine and her mind buzzing. Snowflakes clung to her coat like ash.

She didn't need to chase the crown anymore.

She needed to control who wore it.

---

Back at Thorn Manor, the fire crackled in her drawing room. She had barely stepped through the door when she heard the familiar clink of glass.

"Took you long enough," said a lazy voice.

Kael was sprawled on her chaise lounge, boots off, sipping her wine like he paid the taxes on it.

"You let yourself in?" Evelynn asked, raising a brow.

"Your guards like me. I bring pastries."

"They're supposed to like me."

"Then maybe you should bring pastries," he said with a smirk.

She didn't smile, but she did take the glass he offered.

"Mirelle's talking," Kael said, dropping the sarcasm. "And the court's buzzing. Apparently, the wicked witch of the West Wing has returned."

Evelynn sipped the wine. "Let them buzz. Bees die after one sting. I don't."

He studied her. "You're serious about this."

"I died once already. I don't intend to do it again."

Kael leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest. "What's the plan?"

"Step two: remind them why they feared me."

She turned to the window. The city stretched out before her, beautiful and broken. Somewhere out there, her enemies were still celebrating. Still underestimating her.

Good.

Let them.

The villainess wasn't just back.

She was calculating every move.

And next time, she wouldn't wait for the knife.

She'd wield it.