Prince Rudolph turned red with anger. Meanwhile, the princess didn't waste any time. She turned her gaze to the captain and said, "Captain, it is not right to badmouth a poor girl. Maybe your tongue didn't work because of your spite? Still, you got lucky. They say the tongues of slanderers fall off for good. And their noses rot, as if from a horrible disease. Isn't that right, Martha?"

Martha stared at the prince and smiled, baring all forty of her teeth. "'Tis the honest truth," she said. "Your Highness, the Bright Saint puts a mark on an evildoer. His nose rots, his tongue withers, his eyes leak out of their sockets..."

And she used some of her power. A wave of cold spread throughout the room, driving both the prince and the captain away—quick and efficient.

The next day, the royal party started on their way back. Michelle insisted on it, saying she would recover more quickly in her homeland. Nobody said out loud that Henry needed to get away from the duchy as fast as possible, Rick had family in Radenor, and Martha didn't care about where she went as long as her friends were with her, but all of them knew that.

That was the hand fate dealt—two queens, two jacks on one side, a jack of diamonds and a queen of diamonds on the other.

On the road home, Abigail tried to get to Michelle, once, in an inn. She got more than enough, though. Martha asked her to wait a bit while her mistress had her braids done, and Abigail sat on a couch in a room. A dead rat crawled out from beneath it—a foul-smelling, half-decomposed creature—and started to climb her skirts, clearly aiming for her head.

You could hear her shrieks from half a country away. Abigail took off from the room like a shot from a crossbow, losing the rat as she went. Michelle laughed until she cried, but made a serious face when her brother came to her. He repeated the entire tirade about her servant being a necromancer and a witch who should be burned. After all, it is a real blasphemy! Attacking his beloved wife, the mother of his heirs—how dare she!

That made Michelle angry, furious, even. She carefully hid it, however, asking, in turn, for him to show her the proof. Or was there none? Then it was slander! Not to mention that rats, especially dead ones, were a sure sign of a guilty conscience. Are they plaguing her brother as well? After he had tortured his own sister, accusing her of a fratricide attempt? Prince Rudolph tried to put on a brave face but, confronted with the scathing looks of both Michelle and Martha, he couldn't do a good job. He left with nothing.

The rats, meanwhile, paid them occasional visits all the way to Radenor—dead ones, either corpses or skeletons, whatever they stumbled upon. Martha did her best. Even if she couldn't raise a rat for long, it was enough for Rudolph. When they reached the capital, he looked noticeably thinner and more haggard. Those twenty days made Abigail look much worse, as well. Too bad they didn't make her smarter, but you can't create something out of nothing. I'm talking about brains, of course. Cunning and nastiness, now those she had in abundance.

My grandfather, the father of Rudolph and Michelle, welcomed his children back in different ways. He treated Michelle with a lot of affection, showered Rick and Martha with titles, making them a baron and a baroness, affirmed all of Michelle's promises to Henry, yelled at court healers so they'd help her recover, and then turned to his son.

Grandfather gave him the tongue-lashing of his life. His only son turned out to be a rotten apple—sparkling armor and an empty head. How could he do that to his sister? Other people were doing their best to clean up their act, to spare their families any embarrassment, and he didn't just dive headfirst into the dirt but dragged the others along as well. To torture a princess! Did he have at least half a brain? Bringing shame upon the whole kingdom just like that! Why would Michelle need to burn them all if she was to be married off to a foreign groom anyway, putting her rights to the throne up in the air? And who was going to marry her now? His son was a real imbecile. No doubt about that.

Abigail got hers, too. What kind of mother was she if her children burned while she had no idea where they were? Probably sorted out her dresses first chance she could, leaving her little ones alone, even unattended! Why'd she need so many servants if they weren't doing anything? She was no queen; she could wipe their snot herself! Hadn't she shoveled dung back at home, eating white bread on holidays as a delicacy? There were lots of words about crowned whores there as well. All pure truth.

Uncle finally blew up. He couldn't bear being called Radenor's premier cuckold. He swore to Grandfather never to set foot at court until his father's death and slammed the door, leaving for the borderlands in self-imposed exile, not showing himself in public for a year and forgoing all jousts. Grandfather really rustled his feathers.

As for Michelle, she was surrounded with care and attention, but she didn't believe anyone, except for her father. Everyone around her bowed when they saw her while whispering behind her back. Even in exile, Abigail didn't waste any time, and neither did her brothers, cousins, aunts, and uncles. A stinking pack of dogs. Wretched curs.

Long story short, Princess Michelle got the classic treatment. Gossip and slander—either it was she who did it with him or he who did it with her, but something clearly happened. She lost all hope for a good marriage. Grandfather was furious, he chased down the rumormongers and ripped out their tongues, but nothing helped.

Michelle understood that. Rick knew that game inside out and could figure out any court intrigue with ease. Martha made friends among the servants, and Henry hit it off with the maids, and all three of them told everything they learned to the princess. I think it was then when Michelle started to hate and despise all that courtly dung heap, and it was then that she devised her plan. But her final decision was made after she had spoken with her father.

He came to her all weary and drawn, sat in the chair opposite her and gave her a sad smile as if he were crushed under a heavy weight. "Don't send away your friends. I know they're loyal to you."

Michelle nodded. That was how Henry and Martha learned about that talk. Henry never left the princess' side, while Martha spent a lot of time together with her as well. They became best friends. Michelle taught her to read and write, found books on necromancy for her to develop her gift.

The court's servitor of the Bright Saint hated Martha but was too afraid to touch her. Michelle would have torn him apart. After prison, her faith in the Bright Saint had waned, replaced by anger. Martha couldn't care less. She was happy and content, living next to her friend.

The king took a long pause, and then breathed out as if leaping into deep water. "Michelle, I have a year to live, at most. We have to decide what happens to you afterward."

Michelle didn't flinch. She just asked him, "Why a year?"

"I'm already seventy. The healer said my body is too worn out. Magic would give me some time. And then...do you realize what Rudolph and his whore would do to you?"

"Throw me into a convent, best-case scenario. Worst-case, kill me or marry me off to a man as awful as Abigail."

Michelle wasn't going to delude herself. And the king knew that. "Have you decided anything?"

"Yes." Michelle was direct. "First, give me Torrin, the entire county."

Torrin is a mountain castle built two centuries ago in a terribly inconvenient location near the sea with two fishing villages nearby—the third one would be a day's travel if a horse could make it without breaking a leg on the second step. Walking there by foot would take three days, at least. Nothing really grew there; you could maybe get a weed if you tried hard enough, but definitely not wheat. They made money on fishing and smuggling. If a year was successful, the local lord would get a hundred gold as the tax, otherwise, no more than fifty. And that's the entire county! Although the whole population was a thousand people, two hundred of them were in those two villages. The other settlements were even smaller.

The crown had received the castle when the previous lord, mad because of the constant lack of funds, had gotten himself involved in a failed rebellion. Well, he wouldn't need any money in the Bright Saint's abode.

"Why would you need that nightmare of a place?"

"So nobody will meddle," Michelle answered flatly. "Make me the owner with Rick as the heir. He has earned that. Second, acknowledge my son as a possible heir to the throne, equal to the children of my brother...well, the remaining son and daughter."

The king felt sick. "But...are you..."

"I'm not expecting. But before the year is through, I will bear a boy, although I doubt I will survive his birth. Prison did a number on my health."

The king went quiet. "Who's going to be the boy's father? Henry?"

"No. And you'd better not know. I can only say that he will be smart and strong. And cruel. What else would he need to rule?"

"Develop those smarts," the king snarled.

"Exactly. Which is why I need you to write Torrin a tax exemption decree for twenty years. And I'd like to take all the books from the royal library that I need. It's not like Rudolph reads them. As for Abigail...pfft!"

The king paused again. "An army, servants, money?"

"Money. I have no need of servants; I will hire the locals. No need for an army either—they'd break their legs before getting there. I want three copies of the will. One for me, one for the crown archives, and one for the main archive of the Bright Saint. And a receipt which states the copy is kept there and the contents of that copy, with all seals and signatures. I'll secure it and pass it on to my son. If anything happens, my friends will keep it safe until he comes of age."

"Michelle, are you sure of what you're saying?"

"Yes. Father, Rudolph will be a bad king, you must realize this. He's not stupid, but he's...weak, open to suggestion, easily led astray. Abigail is the one who'll rule, together with all of her relatives."

His Majesty clenched his fists. "I know. But I don't have any other sons. And your child...it's too long before he grows up, and who knows if they'll let him."

"I don't know. But he won't leave Torrin until he's of age. As for keeping him safe—I'll take care of that myself."

"Will you manage?"

"Not me. I'll just lay the foundations. Rick, Henry, and Martha will bear most of the weight. They will manage. To raise him, teach him..."

Alexander nodded. "Michelle, are you sure you don't want to tell me your plan?"

"No, Father." The princess kneeled before his chair, took his cold hands into her own, twisted and crippled by torture, and started rubbing them.

"I love you, Papa. So much. And Radenor, too. I will never do anything to harm it. Keep this in mind, will you?"

"Oh, Michelle..."

For a few minutes, they sat in silence. What was the king thinking about? Was he cursing fate, unknown enemies, who had made his daughter so cold and cruel, his son, who grew up so noble, yet so talentless, or his daughter-in-law with her relatives, who had descended upon Radenor like a locust swarm? Who knows?

Michelle, however, was calm and focused. She was resolved and had no fear—of anything or anybody. All she had was a desire for vengeance so strong, she couldn't think about anything else. So strong, she clenched her teeth in anger. So strong, she felt her mind tremble.

I think she had already gone slightly mad and hated everyone at fault for her torment. Her brother and his wife first, then all the courtiers. And thus, she decided on revenge.