The Queen's Bargain

Chapter 2 A Game of Influence

Chapter 2 A Game of Influence

Eleanor settled into the west wing of the manor, the domain of her grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness. The east-facing apartment adjoining the Dowager’s chambers was hastily prepared for her. The air still carried the faint scent of fresh linen and beeswax.

“...You must understand, Eleanor,” the Dowager began, her voice a soft rustle as they sat by the fire. “When your sister-in-law faced a difficult childbirth, it was Bianca who secured the renowned physician from the capital. She saved both mother and child. The household is in her debt.”

Eleanor listened, her expression neutral. Bianca, the consummate social alchemist, had used her charm and, Eleanor suspected, a considerable portion of the allowance that should have been hers, to buy the loyalty of the entire manor. Saving the heir’s wife had cemented her status as a savior, a role Eleanor herself had once played for the entire family. Now, her parents, even her brother, saw Bianca as the true jewel. Moving her into the Silk Pavilion—the finest apartment after the main suites—had been met with unanimous approval.

“Eleanor, you are a sensible girl. The Orchid Pavilion is perfectly suitable,” the Dowager concluded, her tone gently urging acquiescence.

Without my blood, there would be no Marquisate, no manor, no Silk Pavilion to fight over, Eleanor thought, but she felt no anger toward the old woman. In her first life, the Dowager, though initially swayed by Bianca’s calculated kindness, had soon seen through the charade and offered Eleanor genuine protection. Her subsequent, sudden “illness” and death, with only Eleanor’s mother and Bianca at her bedside, had always been suspicious.

“Grandmother,” Eleanor said, her smile warm and effortless, “I would prefer to stay here with you. After all, I am nearly seventeen. Shouldn’t Mother and you be considering a match for me?” She avoided confrontation, refusing to play the petulant, easily dismissed daughter. She would smile brighter than those who mocked her.

“My dear, you have grown so poised,” the Dowager said, patting her hand. “Stay here, then. Do not fret.”

Later, Eleanor carefully steered the conversation to Bianca. “I don’t recall meeting this cousin before.”

“She is your mother’s elder brother’s legitimate daughter. She was fostered away, protected from a… difficult stepmother,” the Dowager explained, then frowned slightly. “But surely you met as children?”

“No, never,” Eleanor replied smoothly. “Though, she bears a striking resemblance to Mother.”

“A niece often mirrors her aunt. It is considered fortunate,” the Dowager mused.

“Indeed,” Eleanor smiled. Of course they look alike. They are mother and daughter. Her brother had “met” Bianca because they were, in truth, full siblings. She stored the knowledge away, a hidden dagger.

While Eleanor projected calm companionship, the atmosphere in the main east wing was tense.

“Eleanor is back. We must have Bianca vacate the Silk Pavilion promptly,” the Marquis stated, his brow furrowed.

His wife, Lady Luo, waved a dismissive hand. “Abbot Huineng himself advised that the Silk Pavilion’s alignment is auspicious for Bianca’s health. Eleanor will understand; she has always been reasonable. The Orchid Pavilion connects directly to our rooms—it will foster closeness.” Her logic was flawless, her tone final.

“The domestic affairs are your domain,” the Marquis said tersely before retiring to his favorite concubine’s quarters for the night.

The next day, Eleanor was summoned to her mother’s opulent sitting room.

“My darling, I have missed you so,” Lady Luo began, dabbing non-existent tears. “If not for Bianca’s companionship, I fear I would have wasted away in my grief.”

“You have suffered, Mother,” Eleanor replied, her voice devoid of warmth.

“Bianca was recently afflicted by terrible nightmares,” Lady Luo continued. “Abbot Huineng advised that residing in the Silk Pavilion would ward off the evil influences. Eleanor, you must not return and immediately become grasping. Remember, your father’s honor was somewhat… tarnished by the reward granted for your… incident. Constantly reminding everyone of your sacrifice shames him. A true noble spirit gives without demanding gratitude.”

Eleanor’s eyes, so like her mother’s in their shape and color, held a cold light. “If Father feels his honor is diminished, he could petition the Emperor to rescind the Marquisate and grant me a Courtyard title instead.”

Lady Luo was speechless for a moment. “Eleanor, what a foolish notion! A daughter does not receive titles over her father’s head.”

“The title, the manor, this wealth—you said it was all due to my injury for the Queen Dowager. Why does no one speak of my merit?” Eleanor’s tone was dangerously calm.

“Merit is for others to acknowledge!”

“Can you not acknowledge it, Mother?”

“It is unseemly to boast!”

“If the truth is so clearly understood, is my desire to reclaim my own apartment such an outrageous demand?” Eleanor did not yield an inch.

“Eleanor! You are being disrespectful!” Lady Luo’s composure cracked.

“If both apartments are truly equal and unimportant, then returning mine should be a simple matter,” Eleanor countered.

Her mother sighed dramatically. “You have changed. You’ve become so stubborn, so… coarse.”

Eleanor’s smile was sweet and sharp as a razor. “Mother, I am perplexed. I have come home and wish to live in my old rooms. Is that so wrong? Would you prefer I seek the Queen Dowager’s judgment on what is fair?”

A flash of pure fear and fury ignited in Lady Luo’s eyes. She had no retort.

Eleanor returned to the west wing, her poise unbroken. She would give them no excuse to label her hysterical.

Soon, Bianca arrived to soothe Lady Luo. “Aunt, I will move out immediately.”

“Absolutely not!” Lady Luo insisted. “I have a plan. The Dowager will make her see reason.”

The winter chill deepened, and the Festival of the Eighth Day of the Twelfth Moon—a major holy day for the faithful—approached. The Fahua Monastery’s charity meal on this day was legendary, a symbol of status and piety. A single table cost five hundred taels of silver, and only six were available, booked years in advance by the most powerful families. For years, the Luo family had failed to secure one, much to the Dowager’s regret.

One afternoon, as Eleanor helped the Dowager sort beans for the ritual, Lady Luo entered with Bianca in tow.

“Mother, Bianca has wonderful news!” Lady Luo beamed.

“Grandmother,” Bianca said, her voice a gentle chime, “I have secured a table for the charity meal at Fahua Monastery.”

The Dowager’s face lit with genuine delight. “How ever did you manage?”

“Abbot Huineng provided a great assistance. We share a… mutual understanding,” Bianca explained, a modest smile playing on her lips. “Otherwise, no amount of silver could secure it.”

The Dowager was effusive with praise. Bianca, who now called the Dowager ‘Grandmother’ like a true granddaughter, basked in the approval.

Eleanor, silent until now, saw her opening. She remembered this festival. The lavish meal was followed by a devastating snowstorm that killed villagers and livestock. Censors denounced the monastery’s extravagance, and the six families who attended, including the Luos, were publicly censured. Her mother had twisted the blame onto Eleanor’s “unlucky” return.

“I have heard there are only six tables, each costing a fortune,” Eleanor interjected, her voice clear. “The capital holds more than six great families, not to mention the Imperial clan. Grandmother, would not securing a table make us enemies among those who were refused?”

The Dowager’s smile faltered.

Lady Luo quickly intervened. “To secure a table is a sign of deep karmic connection. True believers would only feel joy for the Dowager’s good fortune.”

But the seed of doubt was planted. “Grandmother, it would be wiser to decline,” Eleanor pressed.

Bianca’s smile tightened. “Sister, you need not worry. Abbot Huineng will ensure no offense is taken.”

“I still advise we decline. This invitation brings more risk than honor, Grandmother,” Eleanor stated, her gaze steady.

Seeing the conflict between her granddaughters, the Dowager’s heart grew heavy. This was not about a meal; it was a battle for the Silk Pavilion. And her true granddaughter, the one who had bled for this family, was asking for her support.

“...Then we shall forgo the pleasure this year. A simple prayer at the monastery will suffice,” the Dowager declared with a resigned sigh.

Lady Luo and Bianca left, their anger barely concealed.

Later, in the privacy of her room, Eleanor brought out a small, polished sandalwood box. “Grandmother, for the festival.” She opened it to reveal a string of exquisitely carved prayer beads.

The Dowager gasped. “The… the Sublime Beads! These belong to the Queen Dowager!”

“They do. She gifted them to me for my protection. I will lend them to you for the day,” Eleanor said, her smile knowing.

The old woman’s hands trembled as she reached for them. This was worth more than any five-hundred-tael meal.

This was a tangible symbol of the Queen Dowager’s favor, a shield and a weapon in the court of social opinion.

As she held the beads, a clarity settled over her. Why was I hesitating? This was her true flesh and blood, the legitimate daughter of the House of Luo. Bianca… who was she, really? And why did her presence suddenly feel so… calculated?

The balance of power within the manor had subtly, irrevocably shifted.