Power feels colder when it’s inherited through death.
The halls of the Presidential Wing were quieter than usual. Security had doubled overnight. Staff spoke in low tones and walked like they were waiting for ghosts to pass. My father’s office—now mine—still smelled like him. I hadn’t touched a single thing on the desk.
They hadn’t announced my interim title to the public yet, but the cabinet had already confirmed it in a closed vote. Protocol, they said. Stability. I didn’t feel stable at all though.
Jasper hadn’t left the perimeter all morning. He moved differently now—slower, sharper, always reading. I knew that look. It was calculation.
I waited until we were alone in the west hall. “Tell me.”
“We traced the toxin,” he said.
My fingers tightened. “To who?”
“A delivery routed from the Marell estate.”
I didn’t speak.
He continued, voice careful now. “A ceremonial decanter. Labeled as a diplomatic gift. The courier’s paperwork included the Marell household crest.”
My stomach turned. “That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No,” Jasper said. “But the steward listed on the transfer—he works under Lady Isolde.”
I looked away, toward the far wall where the Vane crest hung in carved brass. The light caught the edge of it and cast a sharp reflection on the floor.
“She’s too smart to leave her name on it.”
“Exactly.”
My jaw clenched. “So you think it was her.”
“I think someone wanted us to believe it was.”
I exhaled slowly. “It worked fast.”
Jasper nodded. “Too fast for medics. Too clean for questions.”
I crossed the room and stood beneath the crest. It looked heavier than before. Like it knew what had been lost beneath it.
“They wanted it public,” I said. “Unavoidable.”
“They wanted a spectacle,” Jasper replied. “Panic dressed as tragedy.”
I looked back at him. “And cover. While everyone’s looking at grief, they’re doing something else.”
He met my gaze. “Exactly.”
We stood in silence.
Then: “Where’s the decanter now?”
“Secured in archives. I checked it myself. No fingerprints, no digital trace. But the signature on the courier file has been verified. It matches a Marell staff member.”
“That’s not enough.”
He nodded. “No. But it’s something.”
I looked at him. “You think she sent it?”
“I think it’s possible. And I think it’s exactly what she’d do if she wanted us looking in the wrong direction.”
The thought coiled in my chest. If not her—then who?
I sat at the edge of the desk. My hands didn’t shake, but something in me did. “She didn’t just want him gone. She wanted a narrative.”
“She wanted uncertainty,” Jasper said. “And she has it.”
My voice was low. “I want to expose her.”
“You will,” he said. “But only if we’re right.”
I turned to him. “Do you think she’ll try again?”
His answer came fast. “Someone will.”
That was enough.
“I’m being sworn in as interim heir in two hours.”
He nodded. “Already cleared the room. Same security. No new staff. No catering.”
“No drink unless I open it myself.”
“Exactly.”
I looked down into the garden, where the benches had been removed. Fresh grass. Trimmed hedges. As if order could be manicured back into place.
“I don’t feel ready,” I said.
“You don’t need to,” Jasper replied. “You just need to show up like you are.”
When I walked into the council briefing later that day, the air shifted. Every gaze followed me like I was walking through smoke. There were condolences. Nods. Formalities.
But I didn’t hear them. I took the seat at the center of the chamber—the one with the Vane crest engraved into the chairback. The same one I’d stood beside only weeks ago, just a guest.
Now it was mine.