Carmilla did not look up immediately.

  “Put them there,” she said, already reaching for another document.

  Soliana stepped forward and set the stack of books and papers at the edge of the table. The weight left her arms all at once, leaving behind a faint ache she had grown used to. Only then did Carmilla glance at her—briefly, the way one checked placement before returning to what mattered.

  The room was too orderly to feel welcoming.

  Documents lay in precise stacks, aligned down to the corners. Ink had not bled beyond its margins. Chairs were positioned at equal distances from the table, not arranged for comfort but for posture. Along one side of the room sat several men, plainly dressed for nobles—no ornamentation, no wasted color. Their authority lived in restraint.

  Eric lingered near the door, already aware he did not belong here.

  Carmilla finished reading, signed once, then slid the parchment aside.

  “We’ll stop here,” she said.

  One of the men hesitated. “Princess, with respect—this matter is unfinished.”

  Carmilla raised her head.

  The hesitation did not survive eye contact.

  “You are dismissed,” she said.

  Another noble leaned forward, voice careful. “Lying to the King of Reina about an escaped undead—especially one of that caliber—invites scrutiny. You cannot abuse your authority for a hidden agenda that we—”

  “Leave.”

  The word was quiet. Final.

  Silence followed.

  The nobles stood. One by one, they gathered their documents, bowed—not deeply, but sincerely—and exited without further argument. The door closed behind them.

  The sound lingered longer than it should have.

  Carmilla exhaled once, slow and controlled, as if releasing something she had held in check for the duration of the meeting. Then she turned back to the table.

  Only then did she notice Soliana still standing near the doorway, hands folded, posture too still.

  “Don’t hover,” Carmilla said. “Come here.”

  Soliana obeyed immediately.

  Eric followed a half-step behind, then stopped when Carmilla raised a hand without looking.

  “You may stay,” Carmilla said. “For now.”

  Eric swallowed and nodded.

  Carmilla reached for the stack Soliana had delivered and flipped through it efficiently, her eyes moving faster than Soliana could track.

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  “You carried these yourself,” Carmilla said.

  “Yes.”

  “Alone?”

  Soliana hesitated. “No. I had his help.”

  She gestured toward Eric.

  Carmilla did not look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on Soliana, like a hunter and its prey.

  “They’re heavy, don’t you think?” Carmilla said.

  “I don’t mind.”

  That earned her a glance.

  Not sharp. Assessing.

  Carmilla returned her attention to the documents. She finished reviewing them, set the papers down, and folded her hands.

  “I have been keeping track of you,” she said. “Which makes me curious.”

  Soliana’s shoulders tightened.

  “Why are you working here?”

  The question was calm. Procedural. As if the answer should have been obvious.

  Soliana reached for the reasons she had rehearsed. They thinned under scrutiny the moment she tried to shape them into words.

  “I— I wanted to help,” she said.

  “Help whom?”

  “…Inferna.”

  Carmilla waited.

  The silence pressed—not impatient, not indulgent. Expectant.

  “…I wanted to be useful,” Soliana added.

  Something shifted.

  Not in Carmilla’s posture. In her eyes.

  “You are lying,” Carmilla said.

  Soliana looked up.

  “This is about your mother, isnt it.” Carmilla continued. “You believe that by becoming a servant, you can stay close to her.”

  Her voice remained measured, restrained by discipline rather than lack of feeling.

  “That is not how Inferna works.”

  She folded her hands again.

  “I suggest you stop what you are doing,” Carmilla said. “Because right now, all you are doing is wasting time.”

  The words landed harder than Soliana expected.

  “They aren’t,” Soliana said too quickly.

  Carmilla looked at her.

  Soliana swallowed. “I mean— I’m not pretending. I’m trying to understand how things work here. How people live. How she—”

  She stopped herself.

  Carmilla did not interrupt.

  “You think that by moving where she moves, you share her weight,” Carmilla said. “That effort equals understanding.”

  Soliana’s jaw tightened.

  “I know what it’s like to live here,” she said.

  The moment the words left her mouth, the room changed.

  Carmilla did not respond immediately. Her eyes flicked for a moment. A hue of a red Spider Lily—her sigil—briefly appeared before being swallowed by darkening eyes.

  She studied Soliana—really studied her—for the first time since she entered the room.

  “Do you?” Carmilla asked.

  The question was quiet. Almost final in her words.

  Soliana nodded, uncertain but sincere. “Yes.”

  Carmilla inclined her head slightly.

  “Then answer me.”

  She did not raise her voice.

  “Do you know the capital of Inferna?”

  Soliana froze.

  Her mind searched for something—anything—and found nothing.

  “…No.”

  “Do you know what creed this nation follows?”

  Soliana opened her mouth. Closed it.

  “No.”

  “Do you know who decides where people are placed, who stays, and who is discarded?”

  Silence.

  Soliana shook her head once.

  “Do you know what it costs to survive here without breaking?”

  Her hands clenched at her sides.

  “No.”

  Carmilla let the silence stretch.

  Then she looked at Soliana for a long moment—long enough that the absence of an answer became its own.

  “Then tell me,” Carmilla said, “why you believe you understand this place.”

  Soliana searched herself.

  For conviction. For proof. For anything solid enough to stand on.

  “I see it every day,” she said.

  The answer sounded weak the moment she said it.

  Carmilla’s gaze did not soften.

  “You are na?ve, Soliana.” She said.

  The word carried no malice. No emphasis. It was a diagnosis.

  “You know nothing about Inferna,” Carmilla continued. “Nothing about what it demands from those who remain standing. You mistake motion for belonging and usefulness for permission.”

  Soliana’s throat tightened.

  “You know nothing about Flora,” Carmilla went on—and here, something edged her voice. Not anger. Resentment held in check by habit.

  “Not what she carries. Not what she has already chosen to endure. You see her moving and assume she is leaving you behind.”

  Soliana’s breath caught.

  “And you know nothing,” Carmilla said, “about what it costs to live here without being consumed.”

  She leaned back slightly.

  “So don’t you dare tell me you understand what it means to live here.”

  Silence followed.

  Soliana did not argue. She could not. Everything she had believed she understood had collapsed under the weight of what she could not answer.

  Eric stood by the door, very still, aware he had not been meant to speak—only to witness.

  Carmilla turned back to her documents.

  The judgment had been delivered.

  And Soliana understood, for the first time since entering Inferna, that wanting to stay was not the same as being allowed to.