Crossing through the threshold in to the Baron’s space, Thea was greeted by the light of a single glowglobe, casting the space in a shade of dull green-sepia. The shredded carcass of some roasted creature were to his left, and a brass tray with a scatterng of white dust and a rare diamond knife were to his left. Thea suspected Ecstasium powder. A closer inspection would be needed to confirm. The Baron was reading intently, his greasy fingers leaving oily stains on the pages. The age of the book and his crude treatment of such an artefact bothered her. Drawing nearer, she could see it was of old Earth style, definitely a pre-butlerian facsimile. She took a seat opposite him. The cover read The Tetrology of the Henriad. “My dear, do you know why Henry IV was a better father than Henry II?” The Baron didn’t look up when he asked it. She doesn’t know. He lifted his petruchian eyes to hers, “because he prepared his sons to rule. On the battlefield and in the control room.” He pressed a greasy finger to the page for emphasis. “You did not grow up in a martial society, unlike your mother. That was an aspect of your education that was overlooked.” He leaned back, leather wheezing under his mass. Thea felt his slick stare rove over her “And you can’t fight. You are like me in that regard. There is still time to train you though, hmm but I reckon hours in a day is a limiting factor.” She kept her hands clasped tightly on her lap. “To Mary’s credit; she did well to let you come to certain conclusions yourself.” He invoked her mother’s name with surprising…esteem. “But you know why you are valuable.” Gestures crudely. He made a distinct, crude gesture towards her. His gleeful smile at her discomfort intentionally stripping a layer of dignity away from her frozen form. In an uncannily smooth recoiling he again fixed her with his deliberate gaze. A drop of doom ran like a mean whip down her spine. “Dear girl. Do you know why I brought you here today? “ She felt her pulse glow against the frozen shell she tried to refreeze in the face of open exhaustion, bordering on apathy. It failed. She was tired. She had no more time for principals. “Just say it.” She whispered, voice brittle. A gleeful smile split his face; his tone conversational, as if gossiping. “You and your planet are now a fief of mine.” A mixture of inquisition and indignation arose in her. “You must know how that will disrupt the market, anger the Imperium.” “Perhaps…but I think you are clever

Chapter 1: A Conquest Over Dinner

The air in the Baron’s study was a thick, cloying soup of scents—old parchment, dust, and the lingering grease of a roasted fowl that had been cleared away but whose ghost still haunted the room. Towering shelves formed a labyrinth of knowledge, their contents groaning under the weight of centuries. In the center of it all, beneath the fitful light of a single glowglobe, Thea sat rigidly, her spine a rod of iron.

The Baron’s bulk shifted in his oversized chair, a monstrosity of carved dark wood and worn velvet. A greasy thumb, slick with his recent meal, smudged the vellum page of a poetry anthology open on the desk between them. Thea’s eyes tracked the movement, a flicker of profound distaste she quickly suppressed.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he rumbled, not looking at her, but at the page. “The words. So fragile. They last centuries, and then…” He pressed his thumb down harder, leaving a permanent, cloudy fingerprint over the illuminated letter. “A little pressure. And they’re mine.”

He finally looked up, his small, deep-set eyes glinting in the uneven light. A smile played on his lips, revealing a sliver of food caught between his teeth. “You remind me of this book, Thea. So well-preserved. So full of pretty, old-fashioned ideas.”

Thea kept her hands folded in her lap, the knuckles white. “I was under the impression we were discussing trade routes, my Lord.”

“We were. We are.” He leaned back, the chair protesting. “Trade is about value. Acquisition. You have something I want.”

“Alytus has little to offer that your other holdings do not already possess in greater abundance.”

“Oh, I disagree.” His gaze traveled over her, slow and appraising, like a man inspecting livestock. It wasn’t a leer, not quite. It was worse—it was proprietary. “There’s a certain… dignity to your little world. A quiet pride. I find I want to crack it open and see what makes it tick.”

He pushed the defiled book aside with a sweep of his arm, scattering a few loose scrolls. “Let’s stop dancing. Your delegation’s petitions are denied. Your appeals to the Central Council are being rerouted… to me.”

Thea’s breath caught, a tiny, almost imperceptible hitch. She forced it out slowly, evenly. “That is… a significant change in protocol.”

“Protocol is what I say it is.” He chuckled, a wet, unpleasant sound. “It’s simpler than you think. I’m not just claiming your trade. Or your resources.” He leaned forward again, his shadow engulfing her. The smell of him—sweat and rich food—was overwhelming. “I’m claiming Alytus itself. The planet is now under my stewardship.”

The words landed not with a shout, but with the quiet, final thud of a tomb door sealing shut. The frozen calm she wore like armor felt suddenly thin, brittle. She could feel the frantic rhythm of her own pulse hammering in her throat, a trapped bird beating against a cage. All of it. The quiet seas, the high forests, the spires of her home city. His.

He saw it. Of course he saw it. His smile widened. “There it is. That’s what I wanted to see. The moment the mask slips.” He reached out, not to touch her, but to tap a blunt finger on the table next to her hand. “You can run back and tell your people. But it won’t change anything. The documents are already signed.”

He stood, his immense frame blocking the light. “We’re done for tonight. My man will see you out.” He waved a dismissive hand toward the door, where a silent guard now stood. “Get some rest. You’ll need your strength. There’s so much work to do.”

Thea rose, her movements stiff, automatic. Her dignity was a cloak she pulled tight around her as she walked toward the door, each step measured, each breath a conscious effort. The guard fell in behind her. She didn’t look back.

The heavy oak door of the study clicked shut, a sound of absolute finality. The corridor outside was cold and dark, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the study. The guard’s hand was on her elbow, not roughly, but with an undeniable pressure, guiding her away from the Baron’s lair and into the uncertain darkness of her new reality.