"Ma'am."

He sat with an eerie calmness, his fingertips together as his hands rested on his lap. A gentle smile, rueful, on an otherwise relaxed face. Yet he was as if bound to the chair, seemingly pressed against it by an unseen force.

She stepped inside the small room. It had nothing but that chair, a thin blanket, and a bucket. Summer's light lingered into the evening and some of it spilled inside, only to soak into the concrete. Dust hung in the air, shimmering, ironic.

"Galileo," she said, her voice quiet and clear, perhaps even soft. "Or would you rather Christopher?"

"Why not Christian?" He chuckled, his hand going up to adjust his cap, only to find his head bare. Although he changed the motion to combing through his thin hair, his hesitation had hardly been subtle. "Ma'am honours me with her presence."

"Do you detest me?"

Her question came quick; he had still been bowing his head, now frozen. It was not a pitiful question, nor arrogant, no, she spoke as she always did, always had. He knew very well how carefully she spoke.

"Ma'am has treated me exceptionally well, particularly when taking into account my… lack of heritage. As talented as I think I am, it's nowhere close to outstanding enough to warrant the guidance she has provided."

Her hand came up, fingertips settling at the corner of her smile, and she said, "That is not an answer to my question."

His own mouth curled, an attempt at a chuckle falling from his lips. "I hate to say I wished you would never ask me this."

"Is that because I shan't be pleased by the answer?" she asked.

"In a way. No matter how well I come to know you, it is… clear to me that I only know the you who you want me to know. At the same time, I know you well from the marks you leave on this city. Detest, no, to me, you are… beautiful."

Her hand fell from her face to gesture at him. "Please, sir, I am a married woman."

He laughed, and for once it sounded like laughter. "Beauty is an old friend of mine. I am Italian, after all. Many people will think beauty is something seen. However, in my heart, beauty is the imperfect pursuit of Christ. I left the Church because they wish to follow a perfect Christ. In my youth, the Christ I read of sounded very different to the Christ they preached. His simple words became something impossible to follow."

In his pause, she said, "Thus your answer."

"I truly believe in Ma'am, and have worked tirelessly to support her all these years. That is my greatest proof."

For a moment, silence settled between them, his gentle smile directed at the floor between them while her gaze fell on him, fell heavily upon him, yet did not weigh him down.

"I am here to make good on a promise and to offer an apology for a lie I once told," she said, a quietness to her voice.

"I am not someone who may accept Ma'am's apology," he replied.

"I insist."

His sigh came out like a laugh and he nodded, saying, "Very well."

"Long ago, you asked how I would deal with Nelli family after empowering them. At that time, I implied I did not know, yet I did. I have always known what fate awaits them."

Although there was no emotion in her voice, her words held an ache.

"They believed my father murdered my mother and so they waited until such a time they could arrange his death. Given that, I have always known that I shall crush them. This period of grace has merely been to convince them to shift more resources within my grasp. Everything they built here, it is now mine."

Her words echoed in the room, echoed in his mind, and yet she had not finished, continuing after a few seconds.

"Knowing I shall sentence them to an ignoble death, would you choose them over me?"

His smile had taken on all kinds of shades through this meeting and now it held a certain wryness. "You said you would not make it easy," he muttered and then shook his head. "Who would choose them?"

"If our positions were reversed, if they had successfully poisoned me and now told you to hand over the city to them or die, would you accept?"

At that, his eyes widened and mouth opened, only for no words to come out, not before she spoke once more.

"Would you not die for a beautiful cause?"

His face, always so composed, so managed, so precise, became a mess as he could only bring up his hands to hide. "I would," he whispered.

"Then I shall endeavour to always be beautiful in your heart."

Nothing more needed to be said, the door closing behind her.

Hours later, after preparations had been suitably completed, she arrived at another door, similar, yet different. Before she entered, though, she turned to face the two others with her.

"Once more," she whispered in German, "my thanks for making this journey at such an hour. I am glad we all understand the necessary urgency with which this must be addressed."

"Ma'am is too polite," the judge said, punctuated by a chuckle, while the bishop silent.

She showed a smile. "I wonder if Master Schulz will still think so by the end of this," she whispered, then turned around to open the door.

Darkness pooled inside this room, moonlight murky. With her entrance, she brought a candle, the flickering flame both insufficient and yet spilling enough light to see that which needed to be seen, a gentle glow upon her face. The handful of people waiting inside rose at this intrusion and kept their place against the far wall.

Once her two guests had entered, she closed the door.

"Ma'am, really, this is too much. We are civilised people. If nothing else, we should have our lawyer."

The old man spoke fluent French, yet it was not natural, to her ears clearly a language learned late in life, dyed in his natural accent.

In French, she replied, "The difference between you and I, Virgil, is that when you wished to murder me, I had to walk into your home for you to have the chance to poison me. Now that I wish you dead, you are brought before me to be executed."

Light flickered across his face. "Ma'am, this kind of joke is not funny," he said, mouth pulled into a smile, his hands cupped together.

"Let me be clear," she said, "I have brought with me Master Schulz, the chief judge for this city, and I have brought the Bishop of Augsburg. They are not here because I require their permission. Master Schulz is not here to ensure a fair trial, the good bishop is not here to advise leniency. No, they are here to witness your confession, nothing more and nothing less."

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Although his face showed nothing, he was not alone. In the flickering light, faces twisted, tense.

"I thought Ma'am a ruler, not a tyrant."

Her lips quirked at those words. "I reminded you many times this evening that I am not a fool. I am not here to hear you plead innocent, I am here so you may plead for mercy." She let those words settle in, then said, "If not with your consent, then I may only assume that someone else with much sway and a need to prove himself orchestrated this attempt on my life."

Towards the end of her speech, her gaze shifted to the man's son at his side. The anger she saw there, blisteringly hot, was all of a sudden doused, replaced by a stillness.

"Ma'am cannot simply have anyone executed without proof," the father said, a little rushed, his accent more noticeable.

"Shall I prove that I can?"

Her question came without a pause, yet was said calmly, as if discussing whether to serve tea than if a life should be forfeited. His reply, on the other hand, failed to arrive, seconds passing in a tense silence.

With a leisurely gesture, she cast the light across all corners of the room. "Regardless, it should have long been clear that, other than your wives, there is someone else conspicuously absent. I assure you, I have no shortage of evidence. Of course, as compelling as the testimony is, it cannot prove who is ultimately responsible for the attempt on my life."

Once more, as she finished, her gaze drifted from father to son, smile sweet, eyes pinched, lit by flickering light.

"I was not aware of any of this."

A moment, then a whispered, "Papà?"

In hushed Italian, the father spoke, stern and rushed, hands shaking as he forced them still. His words landed heavily, a brittle son soon broken, until finally—

"I confess, this plan was all my idea and mine alone."

The son's words barely broke through the gloom. However, she spoke as she always did as she asked, "Do you swear it?"

His hands clenched, gaze fixed to the floor. "I do."

"Very well," she said, and she began to turn around, only to stop halfway. The light flickered across her face, a frown. "Oh, now that we are all present, there is one other matter."

With a gentle swing of her hand, the candle spluttered before regaining its presence and spilling its light over the father and son and those others unfortunate enough to be with them.

"My father sends his regards."

That face which had been so composed all this time finally cracked, eyes widening for a moment, only for a moment. "What does Ma'am mean by that?" he quietly asked.

"Did you not consider that, when the late Lord Grosburg passed away, I came into possession of his notes?" she said, tilting her head.

"What is Ma'am suggesting?"

A gentle smile graced her lips as she held her silence for a long moment before, finally, giving him an answer. "I told you that I am here for you to plead for mercy. I never said whose mercy you are pleading for. You, Virgil, died the same moment my father did. The only mercy you shall have is to be hanged before your son."

"You cannot do this!" The son found his anger once more, stepping forward with a stomp, fists clenched and mouth set in almost a snarl.

She looked at him with clear disgust. "You cannot tell me what I can or cannot do," she said, low, yet those words echoed through the room. "Still, I am fair. You have confessed to a crime you did not commit. Rather than hang you under such circumstances, I will give you a chance to live up to your confession."

The room chilled.

With a gesture, she cast the light across everyone, flame spluttering for that moment before collecting itself. "Here I am, before all of you once more, with neither guards nor a weapon in hand, only two old men who have never lifted anything heavier than a Bible. Surely, to conspire to murder, you must detest me more than you fear God. It would not be that you wished me, your own flesh and blood, dead for selfish reasons, would it?"

Her mocking question hung in the air, matched by her smile.

"Strike me down if you dare."

With those words, every drop of humour left her. Left behind was a piercing gaze and a thin mouth, a vicious voice, and her free hand resting just inside her other arm's sleeve.

For a moment, nothing, then the son went to step forward—

"Stop!" the father said, grabbing his sleeve.

"Let me!"

"Idiot, this is her trap," he said, then switched to Italian once more, speaking rapidly as he kept tugging at his son's sleeve.

Nothing the father said this time cooled the son's gaze, though. In the end, it was the others who had to each grab onto him, only then that he forced a long breath through his nose, tensed muscles relaxing.

Once clear there would be no further attempt on her life, she turned around. At that moment, he tried to surge forwards, but the others had not let go, so he could only strain against them.

Without reacting to that at all, she opened the door; in an instant, two soldiers rushed inside to stand between her and her prisoners, two more in the doorway.

"Even now, you think so little of me. I truly gave you a chance to murder me. That is the greatest difference between us, is it not? I am no coward. If God wills it, I shall gladly meet Him with my head held high."

Her calm footsteps carried her out of the room and to the building's office. At this hour, it only had a pair of officers chatting, who quickly found somewhere else to chat at her entrance.

So it was that she was alone with her guests. Although this place ill-suited for such a gathering, she gestured for them to sit on the chairs left together by those officers, herself remaining on her feet, candle placed on a desk, hands folded above her waist.

"I pray that this matter is suitably concluded," she said in German, not a whisper, but a quiet voice meant only for them in this room.

The judge shifted in his seat, expression wry. "Ma'am certainly put on a performance."

"Performance, no, that is how I would deal with high treason."

At those last words, his eyes widened and he drew in a breath. "What testimony do you have for that?"

"I think sir is misunderstanding," she said, turning over a hand. "I am the rightful ruler of this land as recognised by the King, as was my father before me. To conspire, not simply my murder, but the usurpation of the city, the Nelli family has conspired against the King's rule. Of course, this is treason because they are regarded as citizens through their ownership of numerous properties."

With that said, she brought her hand to her mouth, a frown touching her brow.

"Is there something else?" he asked.

Her hand fell forwards in a loose gesture. "To put that aside, I also believe it just to declare their actions treasonous against the very people of the city. That, as humble as I wish to be, I am a fair ruler, so to both deny the people my rule and to establish their own self-centred rule, is that not an atrocity which should be most seriously punished?"

"It is a queer thought; however, I am not entirely opposed to it. At this juncture, though, I think it more prudent to carefully consider how to present this to the people, such a topic better discussed another time."

She gave a small smile. "I am glad sir agrees with my ruling, then."

"Whatever label is put on it, it certainly is most clear that they conspired against you and lack remorse," he said, a gentleness to his voice. "I am grateful Ma'am gave them the chance to speak."

After a moment, she turned her attention to the last of the trio. "What does sir think?"

He let out a sigh, his hand coming up to adjust his hat—one less splendid than what he wore during the day. "I confess, my French is not as sharp as it once was, so I may have missed some details. With that said, was it necessary to provoke them?"

"Necessary? No, not at all," she said, her hand gesturing as she spoke, then it clenched, coming to her chest. "However, it is the case that I wield immense power. While I try to do good with it, if I should unknowingly stray, I would give the Lord ample opportunity to… revoke this power. To put it another way, I would only rule while He wills it. That is also why I wish to treat this matter so seriously."

The bishop gave no reaction, lit by the warm, gentle light of candles and oil lamps. "Very well. Then, I ask, is that truly justification for how far-reaching your retribution?"

She opened her hands, half-spread her arms. "Yes. I make no secret of the evidence I have uncovered, so, if sir wishes, it may be presented at a suitable time. In summary, this was not merely an attempt on my life. My death alone would not bring them into ownership of this land. At the same time, what they had planned is foolish. The King would not allow them such rule and so the end result would be no different for them and incredibly destructive for the rest of the city.

"However, I do take issue with calling my reaction mere retribution. No guildmasters are being executed come morning. Although the scope is vast, it is not arbitrary. Each guild will be examined for its ties to the Nelli family and judged accordingly. In the face of such a conspiracy, I believe such measures entirely fair. Truth be told, I have given instructions to be rather lax, that those with guilty consciences may freely flee and thus spare us the hassle of investigation."

Politely smiling, the bishop nodded along. "As always, Ma'am speaks well," he said softly.

Her own smile curled. "Let us not keep ourselves up any longer," she said, bringing her hands together; the judge took that as his cue to rise, the bishop a little slower to do so. "We may meet again come morning. In particular, I am to understand that Master Schulz shall require many literate men of good character to assist in sorting through the many accounts and such that we have seized."

So they talked a little more on their way out.

Come morning, the city enjoyed its first hanging in years.

At the same time to the far, far south, entirely unaware of what had unfolded in Augstadt, the Nelli family's heir received an urgent request to meet with her signature. It would be the last meeting he ever attended.

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