Recipe for Disaster: One Bucket of Honey, Two Bags of Feathers

The rebel base burned, casting a hellish glow against the night sky, yet the anticipated satisfaction Viktor had hoped for never came. The mission had been a resounding success, a swift and brutal reprisal for their transgressions. In the past, such vengeance would have filled him with a fierce contentment. Now, all he felt was a profound and unsettling emptiness. The absence of triumph was more vexing than any defeat.

Was this hollowness some subconscious premonition of a deeper problem? He dismissed the notion instantly; he was a man of strategy and steel, not of premonitions. So, what could explain this theft of his victory? The possibility that Natalia was exerting a greater influence on him than he had acknowledged flickered through his mind, but he pushed it aside. Still, the fact remained: he had not felt the familiar surge of adrenaline in his veins, no vicious thrill as his men cut down a fleeing rebel. He had taken no joy in making them suffer for what they had done.

When his men prepared to sow the main field with salt, a final act of desecration, Viktor intervened. "No," he commanded, his voice sharp. "These fields once fed rebels, but they are still the soil of my kingdom. We will not poison our own land."

The long ride back to the palace provided ample time for reflection, his thoughts inevitably turning to the events that had transpired since the attack on Markus. He and Natalia had barely seen one another. Their interactions had been reduced to fleeting moments in the morning and late at night, as he retired to their chambers. The rest of his waking hours were consumed by preparations for war and a relentless investigation, meals taken hastily at his desk rather than in the dining hall. As part of his inquiry, Viktor had begun to look into his own staff. The very fact that the slaughter had occurred within his summer manor—a place he took immense pride in securing—pointed to an undeniable conclusion: there was a traitor in his midst.

Under normal circumstances, Viktor would have made his hunt for the turncoat a public and brutal spectacle, a clear warning against future betrayals. In this case, however, with the possibility of multiple traitors, he had opted for a more clandestine approach. He would keep his suspicions and his inquiries close to his chest. If he was lucky, the threads of this betrayal might lead him all the way to the rebel leader, though he didn't allow himself to cling to such an optimistic outcome. He preferred to remain realistic. The one possibility he refused to entertain was that there was no traitor, that it had all been a mere coincidence.

His mind replayed their trip to the village fair. He and Natalia had moved through the crowds entirely unnoticed, their royal status a complete secret. The memory sparked an idea. If they could do it once, they could certainly do it again. It was the perfect foundation for a new kind of intelligence network, one he had previously been reluctant to establish. Perhaps it was time to build a system where he and Natalia could act as his most trusted agents, gathering information themselves. After all, if you wanted a job done right, sometimes you had to do it yourself.

Viktor had not failed to notice Natalia’s growing restlessness with palace life, and he knew from experience that her boredom was a catalyst for trouble. And though he would never admit it aloud, he had thoroughly enjoyed their day at the fair. The prospect of another small excursion with her was… appealing. Perhaps he could orchestrate a kingdom-wide celebration himself. The recent victory over the rebel base provided the perfect pretext. He had already practiced blending in with Markus, but a little more practice couldn't hurt. He could even allow Natalia to bring the mischievous boy, Jace, along. A family would attract far less suspicion.

His return to the castle two days later was met with a welcome surprise. Natalia had been waiting for him. The moment he was within sight, she rushed toward him, launching into a breathless monologue about her day, the state of Jace's latest scrape, and a dozen other trifles. He had grown more accustomed to her ramblings, learning the precise moments to nod and the rare instances where a verbal response was required. He hardly registered the content anymore, but his placid reception only seemed to encourage her constant stream of chatter. For the sake of his own ears, he had simply learned to cope.

A droll thought occurred to him: perhaps he should reconsider his military strategy. Unleashing Natalia upon his enemies would surely be more effective than declaring war. They would be dead from ruptured eardrums within minutes.

He informed his cabinet that their victory was the first of many and would be marked by a kingdom-wide celebration, beginning with a grand ball at the palace. The ball would serve a dual purpose. First, it would be bait, an opportunity to draw out his enemies, who would undoubtedly see it as a prime chance for an assassination attempt. Second, it was a chance to have some fun with Natalia. The ball was scheduled for the night before the kingdom-wide festivities began. If he and Natalia were absent from the public celebrations the next day, it would be assumed they were merely resting.

Two days later, after the royal scribes had dispatched the proclamations, he turned his attention to Natalia. "That dress you are wearing will not suffice for a ball. You will need a new one." She blinked at him, once, twice, before nodding. A hint of amusement entered his voice as he added, "And it appears I will have to teach you how to dance." At the reminder of her glaringly poor abilities, a deep blush crept up her neck. "We will begin tonight, before bed."