Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 206

Chapter 206: The Duchess’ Power (Special Chapter)
Fiorensia stood at the grand entrance of the council chamber, her emerald eyes glinting with restrained fury.

The moment the heavy wooden doors swung open, she was met with the sight of her husband standing beside that woman.

Lotisia, the low-born harlot, had dared to step where she did not belong.

Her delicate hands clutched Ricardo’s arm, her gaze lowered in what seemed like a well-rehearsed act of meekness, yet Fiorensia could see through the facade.

She had been raised among nobles, and she knew how commoners who tasted power carried themselves.

With an air of absolute authority, Fiorensia strode forward, the intricate embroidery of her deep green gown shimmering under the chamber’s light.

She came to a halt just before them, lifting her chin. Her voice, cold and laced with unwavering command, cut through the air like a blade.

“I must ask, Your Grace,” she began, her words deliberate as she addressed Ricardo with the title of formality, stripping him of the intimacy she once bestowed upon him.

“By what decree does a woman of no noble birth gain entry to the council chamber of the Mors Dukedom?”

Lotisia flinched, the subtle tightening of her grip on Ricardo’s sleeve betraying her unease.

Ricardo’s gaze darkened, his lips parting as if to counter her words, but Fiorensia continued, her tone now carrying the weight of absolute authority.

“The council chamber is sacred ground,” she pressed on, her voice commanding the attention of every nobleman present.

“You…!”

“It is where affairs of the dukedom are deliberated, where men and women of noble standing come together to uphold the laws that govern our land.”

“You…!”

“And yet, I see an unfamiliar face standing at its threshold, one that does not bear the bloodline of nobility, nor the right to witness matters beyond her station.”

Lotisia’s face paled, and she looked to Ricardo as if waiting for his defense, for his validation. And yet, the duke remained silent, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Fiorensia took a slow step forward, her presence so commanding that even the guards at the door seemed to straighten.

“Lotisia of unknown lineage, you are hereby forbidden from stepping foot into this chamber.”

The woman’s lips parted in shock, and Ricardo’s face twisted in displeasure. “You go too far, Fiorensia,” he growled, his voice low, warning.

Fiorensia arched a single brow, her expression untouched by his growing anger. “Too far?” she echoed, her voice a dangerous purr.

“Am I, Your Grace? Or are you the one who has forgotten his place?” The nobles seated inside the chamber exchanged uneasy glances.

There was no one in the room who would dare challenge the Duchess of Mors when she wielded the law like a weapon.

Ricardo’s fists clenched at his sides, his pride clearly wounded, but Fiorensia did not give him the chance to counter.

“If you wish to tarnish the name of the Mors Clan by disregarding the noble laws, then do so openly before the council.”

Her gaze swept across the chamber, locking onto the eyes of the seated lords.

“Let them bear witness to the moment Duke Ricardo Mors trampled upon the foundation of our nobility for the sake of a mere commoner.”

A heavy silence fell upon the room. Even Ricardo, despite his anger, hesitated.

Fiorensia tilted her head, her smile sharp. “Or… you can abide by the laws, Your Grace, and uphold the dignity of your household.”

Ricardo’s jaw tightened. His pride demanded that he defy her, that he show her she no longer had control over him.

And yet, the weight of the council’s silent stares pressed upon him. He could not afford to lose their support. He could not afford to appear weak.

With a begrudging sigh, he turned to Lotisia and gently pried her fingers from his arm. “You should wait outside,” he murmured, his voice void of emotion.

Lotisia’s face twisted in disbelief, her lips trembling as if she had been struck. “But Ricardo…”

“This is an order.” His voice carried no warmth.

Lotisia’s body stiffened, and her eyes darted toward Fiorensia, filled with quiet hatred. But the duchess only watched her impassively, unaffected by the glare that held no power.

With no choice but to obey, Lotisia lowered her head and stepped back. The guards at the door did not need further instruction as they promptly shut the doors behind her, sealing her outside.

Fiorensia turned back to the council, her expression serene, as if she had simply rectified a minor mistake. “Now, shall we proceed with matters of true importance?”

The lords nodded, some exchanging brief, knowing glances.

They had all seen the shift in power, the duchess, once the silent pillar of the Mors Clan, had just reminded them all who truly held authority in this household.

As Fiorensia took her rightful place at the long table, Ricardo sat beside her, his face darkened with quiet fury.

She could feel the tension radiating from him, but she did not spare him a glance.

He may have betrayed her in the shadows, but in the light of day, she remained the true Duchess of Mors.

And no matter how much he resented it, he could not strip her of that power.

The heavy silence in the council chamber stretched between them like an invisible battlefield.

Fiorensia sat with her back straight, her hands elegantly folded atop the table, while Ricardo sat beside her, stiff with contained frustration.

The nobles around them, though composed, cast subtle glances in their direction, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and caution.

A scribe cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “Shall we begin, Your Grace?”

Fiorensia inclined her head, her voice poised and serene. “Yes. Let us proceed with the affairs concerning the northern border’s supply chain.”

The discussion commenced, but Ricardo barely spoke. His presence loomed beside her like a shadow, his fingers clenched against the armrest of his chair.

She could feel his gaze on her, sharp and simmering with restrained anger, but she did not acknowledge it. He had brought this upon himself.

Minutes passed as the council deliberated, addressing the allocation of resources for the border, the trading policies with neighboring territories, and the reinforcement of defensive outposts.

Fiorensia remained engaged, offering sound counsel and decisive solutions, proving yet again why she was indispensable to the Mors Clan. And Ricardo? He remained silent.

Only once the meeting drew to a close did he finally lean toward her, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, “This is not over, Fiorensia.”

She did not flinch. Instead, she turned her head slightly, just enough for her emerald eyes to meet his stormy gaze. A ghost of a smile played on her lips as she whispered back, “Oh, I know, Ricardo.”

With that, she stood gracefully, signaling the end of the meeting, leaving him behind to stew in his own frustration.