The Reborn Empress

The Davis ancestral manor loomed ahead like a scowling widow, its stone walls choked by ivy that hissed in the autumn wind. Ethan Davis kicked open the creaking gates, muttering, "Home sweet tomb."

Ethan strode into the main hall, boots tracking mud over the meticulously polished floor—a petty rebellion against his father's obsession with order. The scent of sandalwood and regret hung thick in the air.

"Finally gracing us with your presence?" Owen Davis's voice boomed from the staircase, his silver beard trembling with disapproval. The man clung to his war medals like a child clutching security blankets. "Or did you come to remind me how noble it is to abandon your lineage to play mercenary?"

"Nobility's overrated." Ethan tossed an apple core at a bust of their ancestors. "Like monogamy."Owen's cane slammed down. "You dare speak of your mother—"

"Ah yes, Princess Harper—may her ghost haunt your gout-ridden knees." Ethan's grin was all teeth. He gestured to the portrait above the fireplace: a woman with storm-gray eyes and a smile sharp enough to carve empires. "Tell me, Father, does her sorrowful demise still taste like Aunt Audrey's peach brandy?"

Aunt Audrey chose that moment to flutter in, her lavender silks rustling like poisoned petals. "Ethan, darling! How thin you've grown. War disagrees with you, doesn't it?" She pressed a lace handkerchief to her dry eyes.

"Unlike adultery, which clearly agreed with you." Ethan plucked a dagger from his belt and began cleaning his nails. "How's the view from Mother's old chambers? See her ghost stitching your funeral shroud yet?"

Audrey's smile froze. Owen roared, "ENOUGH! You'll show respect—""Respect?" Ethan threw back his head and laughed. "To the woman who wept at Mother's deathbed while slipping poison into her tea? Oh wait—that part never made the official ballads, did it?"

Later, in the dusty archives, Ethan rifled through ledgers, muttering, "Smith family's sudden interest in saving Garcias reeks of horse dung."

A shadow fell across the parchment. "Looking for something, nephew?" Audrey's honeyed voice dripped venom.

Ethan didn't glance up. "Your marriage contract. Thought I'd check if blackmail was listed under dowry."

"Clever boy." Audrey's lacquered nails tapped his shoulder. "But your new little spy friend—Ella Smith? She's not what she seems."

"Says the woman who faked three pregnancies."

"Says the woman who's seen her letters with Prince James Brown." Audrey dropped a folded note beside him—the royal seal glaring like a fresh bruise. "Why warn the Garcias unless the Smiths plan to replace us as the throne's favorite attack dogs?"

Owen found Ethan on the balcony later, both men avoiding eye contact while the moon played referee.

"Your mother loved storms," Owen muttered, swirling cheap rice wine in a crystal goblet. "Used to drag me onto this very balcony to... What's that cursed phrase? 'Dance with lightning.'"Ethan snorted. "And you preferred dancing with Audrey in closets."

"I was a fool," Owen snapped. "But I didn't kill her."

"No. You just let her die." Ethan finally faced him, his smirk long gone. "Smiths might be scheming bastards, but they don't pretend to love the hands they stab."

Owen's knuckles whitened around the goblet. "The Garcias were Harper's dearest allies. If they've turned…"

"Then maybe the Smith girl's warning was a threat." Ethan tossed back the wine like liquid spite. "Either way, I'll peel back their pretty lies. Even if I have to carve through every damn layer.""Including her?"

Ethan's pause spoke volumes.

As Ethan stormed out at dawn, Audrey called sweetly from her window: "Do give Lady Smith my regards! Though I'd hate for her to end up like dear Harper… all alone, choking on betrayal."Ethan mounted his stallion, tossing a silver coin at her feet. "Buy better poison, auntie. The kind that actually leaves traces after twenty years."