The Princess Imprint A Traitor - Chapter 33. A Toast to Sisterhood in the Belladonna's Poisoned Cup (2)

The emperor’s children — once 18, now 17 — still visited Desmond II in small groups of three or four for weekly morning greetings. Since it was a routine part of royal life, Eve asked without much interest:

“Alright, tell me the results of this week’s draw.”

“The day after tomorrow, you’ll be with the First Prince, the Fourth Princess, the Sixth Princess, and the Eighth Princess.”

“…What?”

Eve immediately snapped to attention. Rubio, Hestia, and Stephania were fine — but the last name caught her completely off guard.

“The Eighth Princess? Rosie too?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Are you sure, Lianne?”

“Yes. I double-checked, but the chamberlain definitely said the Eighth Princess would be attending.”

The information Sedella had brought earlier now became meaningful. Thankfully, it seemed Rosenitte had regained some stability.

“Then…”

Eve’s voice trembled slightly as she spoke.

“I’ll be able to see Rosie the day after tomorrow.”

The date was set for her first meeting with her younger sister, who had returned as a regressor. How their relationship would change compared to before — that was still unknown.

❇

These days, the scent of heavy perfume never seemed to leave the White Silver Room.
It was entirely due to its owner’s exceedingly refined hobby.

Snip. Snip.

“…….”

Brigitte’s elegant fingertips were stained with floral and grassy dyes. For three hours straight, she had been decapitating roses and soaking them in a marble bathtub filled with perfume. Before her lay a veritable massacre. The thick scent, sharper than blood or decay, was enough to numb the senses.

And yet, the choking fragrance only made Brigitte’s mind sharper. Her arrogant blue eyes sank into grim contemplation as she dissected the current situation.

Chansley and the nobles surrounding him had been wiped out in large numbers. As a result, the noble faction that supported Brigitte at court was weakened, and she permanently lost one of her major sources of illegal political funding. With the New Year’s banquet and the Empire’s Founding Festival — a prime season for bribes — just around the corner, it was a painful blow.

Calculating both direct and indirect damages, it was estimated that Brigitte’s political influence at the palace and capital had been reduced by about one-third.

But it’s still manageable.

Who was Brigitte?

She had long held an unshakable position as the de facto first in line for the throne. Even in simple years, she had devoted more than a decade of blood, sweat, and tears toward the clear goal of becoming Crown Princess. Her superiority as the first runner was not something that latecomers, who had only started chasing her a few seasons ago, could easily steal away.

Proof of this was the House of Raymkal, to which she was connected by blood, and the House of Belteor, soon to be tied by a political marriage. The Raymkal family had their roots and branches firmly entrenched throughout the central government, wielding considerable influence.

The Marquess of Raymkal himself siphoned off magic stones through the capital’s customs.
His two sons had risen to prominent posts in the Finance Ministry, granting favors to certain nobles and inflating unnecessary budgets to embezzle funds.

His youngest daughter, the family’s darling, worked day and night in an imperial agency responsible for royal contracts, manipulating inspections and granting illicit advantages.
Other relatives served as imperial judges, helping nobles evade taxes and commit embezzlement without regard for law or propriety.

Meanwhile, Belteor was a dominant force controlling the southern military industry.
With a historic war against the dragon of darkness on the horizon, securing full southern support was invaluable.

Conveniently, Belteor harbored ambitions to enter central politics. As long as he intended to make his third son, Antonio, an imperial son-in-law and use him as a stepping stone into government, the alliance between Brigitte and Belteor would remain strong.

‘Of course, once I ascend the throne, I’ll clean them out completely.’

War was not just a means to seize power — it was also an opportunity for tremendous profit.
The southern region, responsible for manufacturing wartime supplies, would undoubtedly experience an economic boom.

Riding the wave of their merits as war heroes and royal in-laws, Belteor and his faction would surely grow arrogant.
Brigitte had no intention of tolerating that.
She planned to use them as much as necessary and then purge them thoroughly, restoring things to how they should be.

‘Maybe I’ll spare Antonio. After all, he’ll be my official consort, and with polygyny customary, keeping one husband around won’t be a big issue.’

Brigitte’s lips curled into a cold smile. Belteor’s desire to enter central politics was fueled by a longing to elevate his family’s status. In the Empire, civil officials traditionally ranked above military ones, and since munitions production was considered part of the military sphere, Belteor remained branded as a soldier.

There were plenty of southern nobles who shared Belteor’s mindset. Brigitte had summoned them all to the capital, and now that Chansley’s faction had been removed, it would be easy to fill the vacant seats.

In truth, there was no urgent need to rebuild her faction from scratch. There was still one trump card left, powerful enough to wipe out her past failures — the discovery of magic stone hoarding, the great fire of District 13, and the exposure of the human trafficking cartel.

The Dragon Subjugation War.

War was simply another tool of politics. Throughout history, rulers had used war not only to resolve external threats but also to consolidate internal power.

A just, righteous war — it almost felt as if it had been orchestrated for Brigitte’s sake.
Of all the royal family, there was no one better suited to serve as supreme commander of the homunculus corps than herself. As she basked in this satisfying thought, a voice rang in her mind:

— Why can’t you be more like Eve?

“…….”

Snap!

A rose stem broke brutally in her hand. The thorns, the rose’s only defense, dug deep into her palm. Crimson blood, brighter than the petals, trickled down her wrist and dripped onto the floor. Her twisted lips parted.

“Father just doesn’t understand.”

She was resolute. Whether as the supreme commander of the subjugation forces or as the next emperor, there was no more qualified candidate than herself. Since she was old enough to understand ambition, she had sacrificed blood, sweat, and tears alike to pursue the throne.

‘Only I, who am willing to sacrifice the few for the many and use any means to achieve the goal, can be the ideal ruler. Anyone can pretend to be virtuous like Eve.’

A wicked ruler was a good ruler. Brigitte had never once forgotten the teachings of imperial governance.

‘The one the Empire truly needs is Brigitte Agnes Hadelamid.’

Just as every criminal has their reasons, so too does every villain have their own justice.
Brigitte laughed quietly, crushing the rose petals in her hand.
At that moment, her mind turned to her cunning half-sister.

“Eveanrose.”

Right now, Eve must be happily celebrating, thinking everything was over after toppling Chansley. But it was far from over.

“Now… it really begins.”

A chilling glint appeared in Brigitte’s ice-blue eyes — the gleam of madness.

As the floor became littered with rose petals, Elijah entered, holding his breath against the heavy perfume.

“Your Highness, everyone has gathered.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Setting aside her hobby for now, Brigitte stepped into the reception room. There, seated around a large table, were the Marquess of Raymkal, the Marquess of Belteor, her fiancé Antonio Belteor, the strategist Viscount Fritz, and her full-blood siblings, Third Prince Theobald and Fourth Princess Hestia. These were Brigitte’s closest allies.

“We pay our respects to the Third Princess.”

Everyone rose to greet her.
Brigitte first acknowledged the Marquess of Belteor.

“You traveled far to get here. Thank you for your effort.”

“Haha, when Your Highness calls, this old body must come, even if it falls apart.”

Though his family had traveled arduously by land and airships, the Marquess himself had likely teleported directly. The Marquess of Raymkal muttered under his breath, loud enough to be heard:

“Coming in a panic because you saw a chance to enter central politics, yet acting like it was some great hardship.”

“Heh heh, panic, you say? Raymkal, such words are hardly becoming of you.”

“Hmph. You’re as slippery as ever.”

“Let’s just say I’m sociable.”

As the southerner and the central opportunist sniped at each other like old in-laws, a woman at the table intervened to prevent further squabbling.

“Please, Your Excellencies, let’s not quarrel.”

It was Viscount Fritz, Brigitte’s strategist and a long-serving retainer of the Raymkal family.
She was the one who had originally suggested establishing a command hierarchy for the homunculus army — a proposal even Eve had admired.
Fritz spoke again:

“As you know, Your Highness’s forces have been considerably diminished. We must fill that gap with new allies. Since the Marquess of Raymkal has no more nobles to recruit, the best option is to fill the ranks with Marquess Belteor’s people. With the engagement to Antonio Belteor now official, they are fully on our side. Marquess Raymkal, please welcome Marquess Belteor warmly.”

“Ahem.”

Marquis Raymkal cleared his throat, while Marquis Belteor grinned incessantly. It was Brigitte who shifted the atmosphere to a more serious tone.

“Is the military supply business progressing smoothly?”

“Of course. Our Southern Alliance will lend its strength to the Third Princess. Once you become a national hero through the subjugation of the Black Dragon, everything will return to its rightful place.”

It was a satisfactory answer, especially since it was a matter of life and death for Brigitte. Antonio sat calmly next to Marquis Belteor. Brigitte, despite her personality, was sensitive to matters that benefited her, so she willingly showed courtesy to her fiancé.

“It’s been a while, Young Master Belteor.”

“It has been too long, Your Highness. It’s been since the celebration banquet for the Seventh Princess’s return.”

“I trust you have been well in the meantime.”

“Yes. I have been well, thinking of Your Highness.”

The third son of the Marquis family, who had been rigorously trained from a young age in expression, gaze, voice, and gesture solely to become Brigitte’s partner, spoke as if whispering sweet nothings. However, Brigitte, whose taste leaned towards mischievous pretty boys rather than refined handsome men, was not particularly moved. Brigitte then turned to Marquis Raymkal.

“Soon, a rather lucrative imperial delegated project will begin. Uncle, please prepare.”

“Heh heh, do not worry. I will handle it well, as always.”

“Doing as always is not enough. Please make sure to handle it even better than usual.”

“Yes, I will keep that in mind. But…”

Marquis Raymkal cautiously added at the end.

“Remieu, or rather, the Fourth Consort, mentioned that some internal discipline within the Imperial Palace seems necessary.”

“Mother…”

Brigitte lowered her eyes. In fact, she was aware of it herself. To solidify her support base among her siblings and to facilitate the operation of the Knights during the Black Dragon subjugation, Brigitte had long been working to win over the royals.

However, with the outbreak of the District 13 Fire, the First Princess Roxandra, who had supported Brigitte, was severely reprimanded, and Chancellor Chansley was dismissed, greatly reducing Brigitte’s political standing.

Anyone with a brain would know that it was more advantageous for their own safety to cautiously play both sides between Eve and Brigitte, rather than attaching themselves to Brigitte early on. The Fourth Princess Hestia and the Third Prince Theobalt added their thoughts on the matter.

“Even Aiselle’s attitude is displeasing. The one who always came to me first is now avoiding me with various excuses.”

“Sister Carola and Brother Winfried also refuse to meet me, saying they are sick or need to focus on their studies.”

From Brigitte’s perspective, it was as if the discipline of the detached palace had collapsed. Action was essential. A snort of laughter escaped from her twisted lips.

“First, we need to bring Aiselle to her senses. If we set an example, my sister and brother will also feel something.”

“Is it enough to just retaliate… no, discipline Aiselle?”

“Of course not.”