Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 207

Chapter 207: The Power Behind Her (Special Chapter)
The grand doors of the secret chamber groaned as they shut behind her, sealing Fiorensia inside the vast, dimly lit hall.

The moment the last sliver of light from the corridor disappeared, the air within the chamber shifted.

A ripple of power surged through Fiorensia’s body, and the color of her irises melted into a deep, glowing red.

The transformation was seamless, and natural, as if this was who she truly was beneath the polished mask of the noble Duchess.

The floor trembled. Slowly, eight massive pillars emerged from the ground, ancient symbols of serpents and dragons curling around them in an intricate dance of power.

Shadows slithered across the room, drawn toward the throne that materialized at the center of it all.

Fiorensia stepped forward, her gown barely brushing against the marble floor as she ascended the short flight of steps.

With practiced grace, she took her place upon the throne, her posture regal, her presence commanding.

Before her, eight figures emerged, each standing before a pillar, their silhouettes flickering against the dark light of the chamber.

They were not ordinary men or women, they were warriors, scholars, spies, and beings who had long pledged their loyalty to her.

Each bore a mark, a symbol of the covenant that bound them to her will. As one, they knelt, heads bowed in reverence.

“My lady,” they greeted in unison, their voices carrying the weight of ancient servitude.

Fiorensia’s gaze swept over them, her expression unreadable. The glow of her crimson eyes intensified as she leaned forward, resting her chin lightly against her fingertips.

“Prepare the Zenesus,” she commanded, her voice a melodic whisper that carried the power of storms. “We need every ounce of strength we can gather. Mors Dukedom will fall into my hands.”

A hush settled over the chamber, followed by a ripple of movement as the kneeling figures raised their heads, their expressions unwavering.

“It shall be done, Goddess of the Serpent and Dragon Shadows,” one of them answered, a woman draped in layers of ink-black silk. Her voice was smooth, unwavering in its devotion.

Fiorensia smiled, though it was not one of warmth. It was the smile of a queen whose patience had worn thin, of a deity who had waited long enough for what was rightfully hers.

The Zenesus. A power long sealed away, locked within the depths of time. An energy forged from the shadows of the gods themselves.

If she could harness it, there would be no stopping her. The dukedom, the kingdom, no, the entire interstellar era would bow before her will.

For too long, she had played the role of a devoted wife, a mother, a Duchess bound by the chains of nobility and duty.

For too long, she had endured betrayal, deceit, and the humiliation of watching another woman stand in a place that should have only belonged to her.

No more.

Her fingers curled over the armrest of the throne as a slow, eerie chuckle escaped her lips.

The shadows around the chamber slithered closer, drawn to her laughter, feeding off the darkness that coiled within her very being.

“Tell me,” she mused, her gaze locking onto the woman before her, “how soon can we awaken the Zenesus?”

The woman hesitated for only a fraction of a second before responding, “The process requires time, my lady. The artifacts must be gathered, and the ancient seals unraveled. But we have already begun.”

A satisfied hum left Fiorensia’s lips. “Good.”

She turned her gaze to another figure, a man standing tall, his presence exuding quiet strength. “And what of our agents within the dukedom?”

“They remain in position,” he reported. “They await your signal.”

Her smile widened, her fingers drumming against the polished surface of the throne. Everything was falling into place.

She would reclaim what was hers. And when the time came, Ricardo Mors would realize the depth of his mistake.

Fiorensia carried herself with the poise of a perfect Duchess, her every move exuding grace and dignity.

To the people of the Mors Dukedom, she was the ideal noblewoman, intelligent, refined, and devoted to her duties.

She attended council meetings, ensured the smooth operations of the estate, and maintained a pleasant demeanor with the nobles and knights who served under the Mors banner.

No one suspected a thing. Beneath the mask of her serene expression, she was watching. Every detail, every whisper, every movement within the estate was under her control.

She had long since planted her people in every critical position, the servants who cleaned the corridors, the knights who stood guard, even the personal attendants of her husband. Nothing escaped her notice.

Every night, within the privacy of her chambers, Fiorensia received reports. Pages filled with detailed accounts of Ricardo’s actions, his secret conversations, his ever-growing indulgence in sin.

She read through them without a flicker of emotion, her face a perfect mask of indifference. The woman, Lotisia, had long since settled into the estate as though she belonged.

She carried herself with the arrogance of someone who thought she had won. She clung to Ricardo’s arm at every opportunity, whispering sweet words into his ears, laughing as if she had already replaced Fiorensia’s place in his life.

Fiorensia let her. She observed. She waited. Ricardo, blinded by his desire and arrogance, did not realize that the walls around him had eyes.

He did not see the way his closest advisors hesitated before speaking, the way his trusted knights exchanged uneasy glances when he ordered favors for his mistress.

He did not notice how the estate itself responded to Fiorensia’s presence, the way the maids were quicker to follow her orders, the way the guards straightened when she walked by.

The Mors Dukedom was still hers, and no amount of deception could change that. But the reports… they disgusted her.

Her husband had not only betrayed her, he had also turned into something vile, something monstrous.

The affairs were one thing, but the lengths he went to satisfy his desires… the corruption ran deep. Secret meetings in the dead of night.

A hidden chamber where he indulged in unspeakable pleasures. All facilitated by the woman who had taken her place at his side.

Fiorensia read everything, absorbed everything, but her hands never trembled. Her lips never parted in anger. Her heart no longer ached.

She had already hardened herself long ago. She merely turned to the shadows in her room and whispered, “Continue.”

And so, the reports kept coming. She let them think she was unaware. She let them revel in their victory.

Because when the time came, when she finally decided to strike, there would be no mercy.