Rebirth of the Phantom Empress

Chapter 10 – The Art of Survival

Selene's fingers tightened around the frayed edges of her skirt as she navigated the shadowed corridors of Lady Mirva's estate. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and the faint, acrid tang of burnt candle wax. Torches flickered weakly along the walls, their light casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to stretch and twist like living things. Her steps were deliberate, each one calculated to avoid the creak of a floorboard or the rustle of fabric that might betray her presence.

It had been days since the incident, and in that time, Selene had learned more than enough to set her plan in motion. Every day, she observed. Every night, she plotted. The servants whispered among themselves, their voices low and fearful, but Selene listened. They feared Mirva, yes, but beneath that fear simmered a deep, seething resentment. And resentment, Selene knew, was a weapon waiting to be wielded.

Tonight was not about rebellion. No, she was not foolish enough to challenge Mirva openly—not yet. This was about something far more subtle, far more dangerous. Influence.

She had learned long ago that power did not always belong to the strongest. Sometimes, it belonged to the one who understood the game, the one who could move the pieces without ever appearing to touch them.

---

*The Right Allies*

Selene pushed open the door to the servants' quarters, the hinges groaning softly in protest. The room was cramped, filled with narrow cots and the musty scent of damp straw. A small group of servants huddled around a single candle, their faces illuminated by its flickering light. Among them was Riven, the nervous young boy who had once risked a warning to her.

The conversation died the moment they noticed her standing in the doorway.

Riven's eyes widened, and he stiffened. "What are you doing here?"

Selene tilted her head slightly, offering a small, disarming smile. "I came to talk."

One of the older maids, a woman with sharp features and a perpetual scowl, snorted. "Talk about what? How to make our lives even more miserable?"

Selene met the woman's glare with a calm, steady gaze. "No. About how we can change them."

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. The servants exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions a mix of fear and curiosity.

"You're new here," the maid said finally, her voice low and bitter. "You don't know how things work."

"I know enough," Selene replied, her voice firm. "I know that Lady Mirva treats you all as nothing more than tools. I know that you work until your bodies are broken, and she gives you scraps in return." She paused, her gaze sweeping the room. "And I know you hate her for it."

The silence deepened, broken only by the faint crackle of the candle flame. The servants stared at her, their faces unreadable, but Selene could see the flicker of something in their eyes—something she recognized all too well.

"You think we can do anything about it?" one of the younger girls asked, her voice trembling. "She owns this place. She owns us."

Selene's lips curved into a faint smile. "That's what she wants you to believe. But what if I told you that there are ways to fight back without open defiance?"

Riven's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Influence," Selene said, her voice soft but deliberate, "is not always won with swords. It can be won with secrets. With strategy. You all know the inner workings of this household better than anyone. Who delivers Mirva's letters? Who manages her accounts? Who speaks with the merchants she does business with?"

A murmur rippled through the group, and Selene saw the spark of understanding in their eyes. The older maid's expression darkened, but not with anger—with calculation.

"If we control the flow of information," Selene continued, "we control the house. We make things… difficult for her. But not in a way she can punish us for."

Riven swallowed hard. "That's dangerous."

"So is doing nothing."

The room fell silent once more, but this time, the fear was tinged with something else. Something Selene recognized all too well.

Hope.

---

*The First Moves*

The next morning, Selene worked as she always did, silent and obedient. She scrubbed the floors, fetched water, and avoided Mirva's piercing gaze. But beneath the surface, her plan had already begun.

It started small. A misdelivered message here, an overheard conversation there. The merchants who supplied Mirva's estate found themselves receiving conflicting orders. Servants misplaced her garments, delayed her bathwater, and miscounted her expenses.

To an outsider, it would seem like simple mistakes. But Selene knew better. And soon, Mirva would, too.

Late in the evening, as Selene knelt on the wooden floors near the grand hall, scrubbing at a stubborn stain, she caught sight of Lady Mirva storming through the corridor. Her fine silk gown swished violently around her ankles, and her face was twisted in frustration as she snapped at a trembling steward.

"I told you to order from the Goldfinch Traders, not that miserable swindler from the east district!" Mirva hissed, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Do you have any idea how much this delay will cost me?"

The steward bowed his head low, his hands trembling. "I-I don't know what happened, my lady. The message must have been—"

"Enough excuses!" Mirva's voice rose to a shrill pitch. "Fix it!"

Selene lowered her gaze, hiding the faint smirk that tugged at her lips.

This was only the beginning.

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*A Fateful Encounter*

Days passed, and Selene continued her careful, quiet disruption. She wove herself into the daily workings of the estate, gaining trust and gathering whispers. She was no longer just a nameless servant. She was something more.

But fate had a way of intervening in unexpected ways.

One afternoon, Mirva sent Selene on an errand to the marketplace—an order meant to remind her of her place. But to Selene, it was a taste of freedom.

The market was alive with colour and sound. The scent of spiced meats and fresh bread mingled with the chatter of merchants and the distant melodies of street performers. Selene moved through the crowd with ease, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

Then, she felt it.

A presence.

It was subtle at first, like a shift in the air, but then it became undeniable. A cold, unshakable energy that sent a shiver down her spine.

Her gaze flickered toward the source.

A man stood near a merchant's stall, his tall frame wrapped in dark, finely tailored clothing. His presence commanded the space around him effortlessly, the weight of his gaze sharp and unreadable.

He did not look at her directly, but Selene knew.

He had noticed her.

For a single breath, time seemed to slow.

Then, as if the moment had never happened, he turned away, continuing his path through the marketplace.

Selene exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her chest.

This marked their second encounter.

Who was he? And why did it feel like he was someone she should not ignore?

As she turned back to her task, a thought lingered in her mind.

Power recognized power.

And something told her that this encounter was far from meaningless.