The Count's Secret
The royal palace. I had just finished delivering my report in Elena's office.
And I was in a fucking great mood.
Elena read through the information on the parchment line by line, her gaze sharpening with every word.
"Two million gold."
"I pulled it straight from Marisa's memory. A conversation from three years ago."
"Regensburg, Hafenstadt..."
Elena leaned back in her chair and drummed her fingers against her chin. An old habit when she was thinking.
"These two aren't the neutral faction — they're the core of the opposition."
"So Count Steinfeld was tied to them."
"Playing neutral to everyone's face while secretly running the opposition's money lines..."
Elena rose and walked to the window, looking down over the garden. The morning sun caught her golden hair.
"Well done."
"That's it?"
"What more would I ask for?"
When she turned back, there was a smile on her face — not the queen's political smile, but the acknowledgment of a comrade.
Being recognized as a political ally felt strangely warming. But right now, evidence mattered more than emotion.
"With this, we can break Count Steinfeld. All that's left is hard proof of the slush fund."
"A safe under the study floor. Marisa gave me the location."
"And the Count's schedule for his estate?"
"Tuesday through Friday of next week. He's supervising the harvest."
Elena nodded.
"Can you slip in and open it in that window?"
"Marisa will help. She's promised me the manor's layout and the servants' movements."
"Marisa? Voluntarily?"
"Yes."
Elena's violet eyes bored into me.
"You moved the entire political board with one countess's heart."
"Marisa isn't a tool. I had her permission before I read her memories."
"And yet the fact remains that you touched her mind before that permission was ever given."
It was a precise strike. That I had exploited her loneliness, and that Marisa had resolved on her own to expose her husband's corruption — both were true at the same time.
"Which is exactly why she needs protection. Even after we use the evidence, Marisa and her children have to be gotten out safely."
Elena studied me for a moment, then nodded.
"Good. Next Tuesday. Be ready."
Tuesday.
Word arrived that Count Otto von Steinfeld had departed for his estate — a letter, passed along through Marisa's maid.
My husband has departed. Tonight, I shall leave the study window open.
Ten o'clock at night.
The rear of the Steinfeld estate.
Hooded in a black cloak, I went over the wall. The three-meter fence was no obstacle for a body that had spent the past month hardening.
A sweep of the surroundings with [Mind Interference] turned up two servants playing cards in the first-floor kitchen and a single guard posted at the front gate. The rear was wide open.
So this was the security of a nobleman's residence — laxity only possible in a peaceful capital where thieves were a rumor.
The study on this floor. The window stood open exactly as promised.
I slipped inside.
The study was spacious, bookshelves lining all four walls, a broad desk at its center, a leather sofa before the fireplace.
The spot Marisa had described. To the right of the desk, beneath the carpet.
I rolled the carpet back. A faint seam showed in the wooden floor. I pressed it with a finger.
Click.
The floor swung open — a square cavity about a foot across, an iron safe nestled inside.
There was a lock on it. The kind that wanted a key.
If I was caught here, it was over.
But I had come prepared. Marisa said her one window of access to her husband's key ring was thirty minutes each morning — she would take the keys while a maid cleaned his bedchamber and press a mold of them into wax.
From that mold, Elena had a duplicate cut at the royal forge.
I slid the key in.
Click.
It opened.
Inside lay a bundle of parchment, three leather pouches, and a single ledger.
I drew the parchments out and held them up to the moonlight.
The first: a record of secret accounts, with laundering routes running through mercenary companies.
The second: correspondence with Count Regensburg. "Before the vote, I will buy off three nobles on the queen's side."
The third: a fund distribution agreement signed by Count Hafenstadt — two million gold in slush money, split and managed among three families.
When I opened the leather pouches, gold coins spilled into view. Even a rough count put better than a thousand gold in each.
And then the ledger.
This was the heart of it.
Five years of transactions — where the money came in, where it flowed out, every date and sum recorded with meticulous care.
Otto von Steinfeld. I'd taken him for a stubborn mule, and here he was, a fastidious bookkeeper. Did he not understand that leaving records meant leaving evidence?
No — he understood perfectly. He simply couldn't run money on this scale without a ledger.
Taking every parchment and the ledger outright was impossible. If they vanished, he'd know within a day.
Instead, I brought out the tool I'd prepared — a magical duplicator Elena had procured for me. Press a page against it, and the contents copied over true.
I copied the parchments one by one.
From the ledger, only the key pages. The most recent three years.
I also found the thirteen payments I'd seen in Marisa's memory. The amounts and dates varied, but the recipient line was blank on every single entry — and at the end of each, a crownless chair and thirteen thin lines had been pressed into the page.
The date of the thirteenth payment fell three days before Belka received the black token.
Those two pages I copied separately.
Twenty minutes.
Copying done, I returned the originals to the safe, closed the floor, and spread the carpet back into place.
Erasing every trace.
I restored even the crushed pile where my feet had pressed the carpet on the way in. Paranoia, perhaps — but paranoia, done thoroughly.
Slipping back out the study window, I glanced behind me. Perfect. No one would ever notice a thing.
The road back to the palace.
The capital's streets lay hushed under night, lit by the magic glow of the streetlamps.
The copied parchments inside my coat sat heavy against my chest.
A few sheets of paper, and Count Steinfeld's political life was over.
And looking back down the road that had brought me those sheets—
The salon party where I met Marisa. The conversation in the garden. The visits every Wednesday. The night at the villa.
It had all connected, link by link.
An approach that began with one woman's loneliness had led, step by step, to memory access and physical evidence.
Instead of a sword or attack magic, my way of fighting was through relationships and the mind. Efficient — but not clean. Manipulation was threaded through how I'd earned Marisa's trust, and the paper resting against my chest now was the harvest of it.
Great results did not, on their own, justify the means.
The next morning.
I handed every copy over to Elena.
She skimmed the ledger with the corner of her mouth curling upward — until her hand stopped on the two pages I'd set apart.
"The same emblem."
It matched the black token from the queen's private safe, exactly.
"Keep this out of the slush fund case. The thirteen payments get traced by you and me alone. And don't breathe a word about the emblem to Otto, either."
The fox's satisfaction at a caught hunt vanished from her eyes. This was the first physical proof that the hidden hand was reaching into the kingdom's own finances.
Shit. Fucking huge.
"Perfect."
"What do we do now?"
"We meet him ourselves. Count Steinfeld."
Elena slid the parchments into a document case as she spoke.
"When he returns from his estate, I'll summon him to the palace. A formal occasion."
"Before the vote?"
"Of course. One week before the vote, we show him this evidence and hand him a choice."
"A choice?"
"One. He turns and votes for the tax reform. The slush fund is settled as a voluntary return, and criminal punishment is waived."
"And two?"
"He refuses. The evidence goes before the entire House of Nobles, and every noble connected to the fund is stripped of office and has his property confiscated."
"Those are two fairly brutal options."
"That's what politics is."
Elena stood at the window and turned to look at me, the backlight carving out her silhouette.
"Kang Do-hyun."
"What."
"I'm glad you're here."
That one line weighed on me, somehow.
"You can skip pleasantries like that."
"They're not pleasantries."
Elena came closer. Close. Near enough that I could feel her breath.
And as the distance closed, her sincerity grew clearer too. I pushed private feeling aside and held to the business at hand.
"Work like this used to take spies, bribes, and months of waiting."
"..."
"You managed it in a single month."
"There was a price."
"The countess?"
"Don't hurt that woman."
Elena blinked. Apparently that one was off her script.
"Marisa, you mean?"
"If the Count falls, his wife takes the blow with him. At the very least, put protections on Marisa."
"..."
"That's my condition."
Elena held my gaze for a long moment — then smiled. Gently.
"Done. After the divorce, I'll grant the countess an estate of her own."
"Thank you."
"Getting emotionally invested, are we?"
"..."
"Not that it's a bad thing. A blade with feeling behind it cuts cleaner."
The queen's logic. Cold, but not wrong. And yet the words that landed like a blade were on me. Here was a man who knew perfectly well the heart he'd planted in Marisa was manufactured — and he was fussing over the fake. Fuck. Look who's lecturing anyone about feelings.
Friday.
Count Otto von Steinfeld returned from his estate.
An official invitation had flown from the palace: "Preliminary session of the House of Nobles regarding the tax reform bill." Nominally, an occasion to court the neutral faction.
Count Otto appeared at the palace.
A man in his early fifties — gray beard, sharp eyes, heavyset frame. The particular arrogance of the aristocracy was soaked into his every step.
This man was Marisa's husband. The man who had left her to rot for fifteen years and warmed his bed with maids instead.
Fifteen years of neglecting his wife and children, sleeping with the servants, and skimming the nation's money on top of it all. Seeing him in the flesh only hardened my judgment that Marisa had to be protected first.
Whether even that sympathy was a mere byproduct of a relationship I had engineered, I couldn't say. Even so, the danger of Otto's revenge was a reality that had nothing to do with feelings.
The meeting room.
Elena, myself, and the Minister of the Treasury in attendance.
Count Otto settled into his seat with a sour expression.
"Your Majesty, as for my position on this tax reform bill—"
"I'm aware of your position, Count."
Elena cut him off, calm as still water.
"You claim to be neutral, don't you?"
"I am."
"That's a lie."
The air froze solid.
Count Otto's eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean—"
Elena drew the parchments from the document case — the copies — and laid them out across the table, one by one.
"The secret account records."
The first parchment.
"Your covert correspondence with Count Regensburg."
The second.
"The fund distribution agreement."
The third.
"And five years of transaction ledgers."
The color drained from Count Otto's face.
Past pale, straight to white.
"Th-this is—"
"Two million gold, Count."
Elena's voice had gone cold as ice.
"Embezzled kingdom taxes, funneled into a slush fund. The price of obstructing tax reform comes to two million gold."
Count Otto's hands shook. He picked up a parchment, then set it back down.
"Where did you... how did you—"
"The source doesn't matter."
Elena leaned back and crossed her legs.
"What matters is your choice."
Silence.
Sweat beaded on Count Otto's forehead. His heavy face cycled through red and white and red again.
"One. You cast your vote in favor of the tax reform. The slush fund is handled as a voluntary return, and criminal punishment is waived."
"..."
"Two. If you refuse, this evidence goes before the entire House of Nobles. Counts Regensburg and Hafenstadt will receive the same notice."
"..."
"Stripped of office. Property confiscated. House dissolved."
Elena smiled — the kind of smile that lifts only the corners of the mouth.
"Choose."
I read the inside of Count Otto's head with [Mind Interference].
Fear filled his mind to the brim. Rage simmered above it and frustration welled up from below, but the resignation that surrenders everything was still only a thin layer settled at the bottom.
Not yet. The bastard still meant to fight.
And sure enough—
"This is... blackmail."
Count Otto ground his teeth.
"Your Majesty, is this how the crown conducts itself?"
"Not blackmail, Count. Negotiation."
"What's the difference!"
"Blackmail leaves you no options. Negotiation offers them."
Count Otto's fist clenched, poised as if to hammer down on the table.
He didn't strike. The fist slowly uncurled.
Through [Mind Interference] I felt that thin layer of resignation grow thicker. The rage cooled, and calculation began to fill the space it left behind.
"...You'll send the same notice to Regensburg and Hafenstadt?"
"They'll be given the same choices."
"What guarantee that either of them accepts?"
"If you accept first, the other two are told that 'Steinfeld has already turned to favor.' No one cares to be the last man aboard a sinking ship."
A sinking ship. The one who jumps first survives.
I watched the arithmetic turn over in Count Otto's head.
Accept first, and he coughs up the slush fund but keeps his standing. The other two, squeezed the same way, would eventually arrive at the same choice.
Refuse, and the evidence goes public and he loses everything. Worse — if the other two accept first, he alone is left looking like a fool.
There was only one answer. For a man who knew how to run the numbers, the conclusion was already written.
"...I have conditions."
Count Otto's voice had gone low.
"Name them."
"The fund is returned in installments. Three years."
"Denied. The full sum, immediately."
"The full sum at once would bankrupt my house!"
"The lawful assets of House Steinfeld will not be touched. Only the slush fund needs to come back."
"..."
"The slush fund was never yours to begin with, Count. It's the kingdom's money."
Elena's logic was merciless — a legitimacy Otto had no way to rebut.
A long silence.
"...Very well."
Count Otto bowed his head.
"I will vote for the tax reform."
Resignation blanketed his mind completely. I could watch the last ember of resistance gutter out.
Elena produced the agreement she'd had drawn up in advance.
Count Otto took up the pen. His hand was trembling, but he signed.
It was finished.
After Count Otto left, only Elena and I remained in the meeting room.
Folding the agreement away, Elena let out a long, deep breath. For the first time I was seeing her face with the tension gone from it.
"It's done."
"Good work."
"You're the one who worked."
Elena looked at me, her violet eyes warm.
"When Steinfeld turns to favor, four of the neutrals follow. Squeeze Regensburg and Hafenstadt as well, and that's six. The vote is locked in."
"The vote is next month?"
"We'll pass it."
Tax reform. A bill to abolish the nobility's tax exemptions and put the kingdom's finances back on their feet.
The policy Elena had most wanted to push since the day she became queen.
And it had traveled all this way, beginning from one countess's loneliness.
So that was politics. The grandest structure could be shaken, of all things, by a single small emotion.
The trouble was that I was the one who had lowered that emotion's threshold with [Common Sense Alteration]. Even if the outcome rescued the kingdom's treasury, the debt of the process would remain.
"Kang Do-hyun."
"What."
"There's one more favor."
"Name it."
Elena smiled. A mischievous smile.
"Mia and Nia."
"...Who?"
"Twins. As of today, they're assigned as your maids."
"Maids? All of a sudden?"
"A royal advisor without maids would be the stranger sight, wouldn't it?"
She had a point. Still.
"Twins, you said?"
"Mm. Mia and Nia. Orphans — I trained them personally."
Elena's eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
"You'll be pleased with them."
Those were the eyes of a woman... who had yet another scheme going.
"They'll be sent tomorrow morning."
Elena left the meeting room, her gown swirling behind her.
Twin maids, then.
...That queen was cooking something up again.
Night.
Alone in my bedchamber, I drank and sorted through the day.
The tax reform bill was as good as passed. Count Steinfeld neutralized. Marisa's protection secured.
Clean results, all around.
And yet one thing kept catching on me.
Count Otto's last expression. The look in his eyes as he walked out after signing — the look he'd turned on me.
It hadn't been rage.
It had been calculation.
"How did this man uncover my secret?"
That question was still spinning through Count Otto's head. I'd read it with [Mind Interference].
And the moment he found his answer—
It would lead straight to Marisa.
That was exactly why I'd asked Elena for protection.
Marisa had to be cut free from Otto. Fast.
Divorce, and the grant of her own estate. Elena had promised, so I would trust her.
...I had to trust her.
I sipped my wine and looked out the window.
The moon was up.
The same moon I'd seen from the villa.
I hoped Marisa was doing all right.
"Useless sentiment."
The words came out to no one.
"You're a tool. Elena's blade. Let feeling into it, and the edge goes dull."
I knew that, and still it needled at me.
The counselor from my past life whispered.
Marisa is sincere with you.
I know.
Sincerity you built with [Common Sense Alteration]?
...
I couldn't answer.
It would have been easier to declare it all fake on the grounds that my influence was mixed in. But the one demanding the queen protect her, out of fear that Marisa might be hurt — that was me too. Even if I couldn't separate the manipulation from the sincerity, I had decided on one thing: I would not throw her away like a spent tool.
I emptied the wine and set the glass down.
Tomorrow the twin maids would arrive.
A new routine would begin.
...What a tiring night.
I closed my eyes.
It felt like I'd barely fallen asleep when, with the first pale light of dawn, a knock rang out at the door — two people knocking in perfectly matched rhythm.