Kethari, still reclined in the plush velvet armchair, merely blinked. The crimson glow from outside intensified, painting the intricate carvings on the chamber walls in a menacing hue. Below, the rhythmic thud of heavily armored boots grew into a deafening march, accompanied by the clang of weapons being drawn. Kethari sighed, a sound of profound weariness. “Honestly, a woman cannot secure twenty uninterrupted minutes of repose in her own newly deeded suite,” she muttered. Her gaze drifted lazily to the soaring, intricate ceiling, tracing the path of the sun-spun crystal beams. Vero rose smoothly, reaching down to scoop both fallen rapiers off the floor. He held the hilts loose, his shoulders tense. “Lady Kethari, we must withdraw. The house guards outside carry breach-spikes. This salon offers no redoubt.” “That is where you misunderstand architecture, Sir Vero,” Kethari drawled, stretching until her knuckles cracked. “All of Grandmaster Othmar’s designs, especially his personal domicile, were built with… multi-purpose functionality in mind.” She gestured toward the deep indigo textile underfoot. “Running demands far too much exertion. Besides, Vandir’s family just claimed my deed. One does not seize my property, especially when it contains an exceptionally pillowed settee.” From under the desk, Tesia whimpered, a small, choked sound. The faint luminescence of the royal seal she clutched pulsed erratically. A heavy thud shook the entire office suite. The massive, reinforced doors to the chamber buckled inward, splintering with a sound like thunder. A dozen figures in lacquered scale armor and carrying hooked polearms poured across the threshold. The lead soldier, a woman with a notched brow, leveled her pike toward the kneehole of the desk. “Found you, little thief,” the leader snarled, her voice like grinding stone. “Lady Vespera demands the princess, and the seal. And the architect, for her insolence.” Kethari simply tsked. She leaned down, tapping a specific, ornate spiral carved into the polished obsidian floorboards near her chair. It glowed with a faint, warm light, then vanished. The broad floor-runner began to ripple. Not in waves, but like a living, breathing entity. Enchanted threads of gold and dyed wool detached from the weave, thickening into dense, braided cords. They snaked outwards with impossible speed, coiling around the ankles and shins of the advancing guards. The obsidian-scaled armor, designed to deflect blades, was useless against the insistent grip of the enchanted fibers. Guards lost their footing, hoisted by their ankles toward the high cedar rafters like holiday garlands. One heavily armored guard, wielding a gleaming Sun-Hammer, managed to raise his weapon, aiming for Kethari. Before he could bring it down, a small, decorative tea kettle, nestled on an antique side table, began to hiss violently. Its spout rotated, focusing a scalding, blinding jet of steam directly into the guard’s face. He dropped his hammer and stumbled back as the braided wool snared his greaves, hoisting him alongside the others. The room filled with the shouts of disoriented, humiliated elite soldiers, their struggles only tightening the magical bonds. Vero stared, utterly dumbfounded. He lowered his blades, observing the swaying armored figures. He had expected intricate traps, perhaps even defensive spells, but certainly not *this*. The legendary architect wasn't just building structures; she was weaving spells into the very essence of comfort. He watched as a guard, caught in a particularly ornate rug depicting a lounging sky-whale, was now being gently, yet firmly, spun in circles. Kethari, meanwhile, had found a small, embroidered cushion and was patting it speculatively. “Hmm, perhaps a hot cocoa would be appropriate right about now,” she mused, completely ignoring the chaos she’d unleashed. “Vero, darling, would you mind terribly? The kettle should still be quite warm.” Vero blinked, torn between the immediate danger, the surreal sight of bound soldiers, and Kethari’s casual request. “A-a cocoa?” he stammered, his mind struggling to keep pace. Before Kethari could reply, the lead guard sliced through the woolen loops with a belt dirk. She rolled upright, loosing a spring-loaded wrist bolt. Vero stepped squarely in front of Kethari. The steel quarrel glanced off his left bracer, cutting a clean furrow through leather and skin before embedding itself in the desk. Kethari frowned, reaching out to grip his shoulder. A stripe of crimson ran down his wrist, dripping onto the floorboards. “Stand still,” she said, her voice dropping its customary drawl. “You are bleeding on the polish.” Vero wrapped his fingers over the cut. “A graze, my lady. Though your defenses are remarkably thorough.” She tapped his forearm with a finger, humming a brief mending cadence that knit the torn skin. Before either of them could process the sudden intimacy, a high-pitched crack echoed through the room. Tesia, still huddled under the desk, let out a piercing shriek. The royal seal in her hands, previously glowing faintly, now pulsed with an erratic, blinding light, growing exponentially brighter. The air around her shimmered, distorting, then violently fractured. The delicate illusion that had disguised her identity shattered like glass, revealing the Crown Princess in all her regal splendor, her shimmering gown and royal circlet undeniable. A massive, column of pure, concentrated magical light erupted from the office, tearing through the roof of the Grand Dominion Spires, piercing the crimson-tinged clouds above, and casting a brilliant, undeniable beacon across the entire capital of Oravari.

Hostile Takeovers and Hot Cocoa