"Insufferably heavy." Beth Keton dragged Kristina Petrova's corpse along the corridor with excruciating slowness. (This woman possessed a truly formidable physique.) she thought. (Had she wielded a longsword with even modest skill, our roles would now be reversed—I would be the lifeless burden being hauled across these floors.)

  It required considerable exertion to maneuver Kristina's remains back to the bed. She had contemplated numerous disposal methods before ultimately deciding to return Kristina to her bedchamber. (Arranging her to simulate slumber might purchase additional time.) Yet Beth Keton recognized this deception would delay discovery by mere hours beyond dawn, at most.

  The eradication of bloodstains proved most laborious. Beth bitterly regretted selecting Kristina's throat as her target. Arterial spray had desecrated every surface, and a robust specimen like Kristina possessed an abundance of vital fluid. Beth methodically tore Kristina's ruined garment into strips, binding the wound to impede further seepage. Nevertheless, the crimson trail left during the corpse's transportation remained a vexing testament to her deed. (Even by sunrise, complete removal of evidence remains beyond possibility.)

  She hastily addressed the most conspicuous stains; regarding the subtler traces—if she herself could scarcely discern them, how could others? The shattered flowerpot, casualty of their violent struggle, lay in mute testimony. With limited options, the maid carefully adjusted the spacing between remaining vessels to obscure the absence. "This must suffice," she murmured with tentative satisfaction. Only after securing the side entrance did profound despair engulf her. (My life lies in ruins,) she lamented with genuine anguish.

  Mistress Hubbard continued her sonorous nasal symphony, while Princess Rebecca experienced an uncommonly peaceful nocturnal interlude. Beth Keton perched beside the bed, head inclined in contemplation of her precarious future.

  (Departure must occur tonight.) She established this fundamental premise. (The stratagem lies in disarray, necessitating improvisation. The princess's attendant's demise cannot remain concealed indefinitely. Extraction before sunrise remains imperative. With fortune's favor, the transition between guard shifts might provide opportunity.) Her gaze drifted toward the slumbering nurse. "You present a complication, Mistress Hubbard," she whispered. "What disposition should befall you?"

  The nursemaid's respiration maintained perfect cadence. (Kristina Petrova administered some potent sedative; no other explanation accounts for such profound obliviousness... Should I simply abandon her to her fate? Though morning will bring revelation, by then I should have established considerable distance from Cynthia Palace...)

  "Perhaps she feigns unconsciousness," Beth suddenly vocalized. (Indeed... simulation remains possible.) She rapidly covered her mouth, suppressing further verbal indiscretion. (Caution dictates thoroughness, eliminating all variables. Comprehensive preparation becomes essential.)

  Mistress Hubbard exhibited no reaction to Beth's proximity. (Deception seems improbable.) Beth scrutinized the nursemaid's profile with clinical detachment. (What concoction did Kristina administer? Drowsy Goldbloom?) She bit her lip. Fortunate my habitual suspicion prevented consumption of anything she handled. That contemptible harridan. She contemptuously expectorated upon Mistress Hubbard's countenance, yet the woman's features remained undisturbed. "Prudence demands certainty," she murmured, anticipating that the nursemaid might betray her ruse. Her expectations proved unfounded.

  Beth Keton repositioned the nursemaid supine. With deliberate movements, she extended the coverlet over the woman's face, then pressed her palms firmly against the nurse's respiratory passages, becoming Death's instrument.

  Mistress Hubbard maintained her peaceful repose.

  Moments later, subtle spasmodic movements disturbed the nursemaid's form. Beth's grip intensified, eliminating any possibility of oxygen reaching vital organs. (The sedative demonstrates remarkable potency.) Beth observed with cruel amusement. (Even facing asphyxiation, consciousness remains elusive.)

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Consciousness never returned to the nursemaid. Her hands initially flailed ineffectually above her face before weakly clutching at Beth Keton's murderous arms. The feeble resistance hardly warranted countermeasures; Beth observed dispassionately as Mistress Hubbard's fingers gradually slackened before sliding away entirely. "Pitiful creature," she intoned softly. "Extinguished without comprehension of causality."

  Preternatural silence permeated the chamber, Mistress Hubbard's transition to death occurring with equivalent quietude. Beth Keton adjusted the bedding to the woman's breast, restoring a semblance of tranquil repose. "Departure grows imminent," the maid announced, approaching the cradle to gaze with manufactured tenderness at Rebecca Cynthia. "Rest undisturbed, princess. Our exodus approaches with celerity."

  All preparations reached completion. The infant princess was secured against her back using her previous methodology. Beth Keton meticulously examined her surroundings, ensuring no telltale evidence remained. "Ah, nearly overlooked." She systematically explored Kristina Petrova's personal repository, seeking potential assets. "Curious." She retrieved a document, examining it beneath candlelight. (The Three Sacred Swords emblem emblazons this parchment... Confirmation of my suspicions—you operated as those accursed zealots' instrument.) The correspondence detailed explicit instructions for Kristina Petrova's extraction of Princess Rebecca from palace grounds. Her lips curved in sardonic appreciation. (At minimum, your posthumous contribution proves advantageous.)

  She accessed her personal effects, verifying destruction of all identity-compromising documentation. Essential papers remained on her person. Finally, she concealed Kristina Petrova's incriminating correspondence within a corner of the chest, obscured beneath garments. (Though somewhat implausible,) she calculated, (amidst ensuing chaos, Cynthian investigators will likely overlook such minutiae... Additionally.) She deposited the sleeping drug receptacle retrieved from Kristina Petrova's possessions into the container. This deception might yield temporal advantage.

  Beth Keton prepared to breach the threshold when percussive interruption sounded from beyond. (Misfortunes arrive in succession...) She exhaled profoundly, pivoting to return the princess to her cradle. With practiced movements, she concealed Kristina's dagger within her sleeve and secreted the longsword that had terminated her adversary beneath the bed, obscured by bedding. "Coming." After momentary deliberation, she ignited her identifying documentation using the candle's flame. "Complete certainty supersedes risk," she whispered almost inaudibly. "Your situation exemplifies true wretchedness."

  Blancheless maintained vigilant readiness, poised for evasive maneuvers should aggression materialize upon the door's opening. Beth Keton's sallow visage appeared in the aperture. "The hour grows exceptionally late, Blancheless," she remarked, features arranged to suggest recent arousal from slumber. "Did Her Majesty dispatch you?"

  "You neglected your procedural documentation," Blancheless declared, hands positioned at her waist in manifest irritation. "Your dereliction has precipitated considerable inconvenience."

  "Procedural documentation..." Beth appeared momentarily perplexed before responding, "Ah... That responsibility falls within Mistress Hubbard's purview."

  "Refrain from obligation transference," the queen's attendant rebuked sharply. "Mistress Hubbard's physical condition remains compromised; she recently sustained injuries upon the staircase. During her indisposition, you should assume appropriate responsibilities. Now," she indicated the chamber's interior, "permit my inspection of the princess. How fares her condition this evening?"

  "They currently slumber," Beth resisted potential intrusion, regardless of the visitor's status. "The princess experiences uncommonly peaceful repose tonight, exhibiting minimal distress. Your presence might disturb her tranquility, potentially triggering vocal protestation—you understand her considerable auditory capacity when agitated."

  "I operate under royal directive!" Blancheless's expression conveyed genuine consternation. "Your procedural lapse necessitates personal verification of the princess's condition. Without ocular confirmation, I cannot fulfill my obligation to Queen Claire. I shall exercise exceptional caution to preserve their slumber, Beth."

  "Very well, maintain minimal acoustic disruption," Beth Keton relinquished her position, permitting Blancheless's entry. (Continued resistance would generate suspicion. Royal authority demands apparent compliance.) Her gaze fixed upon Blancheless's unprotected posterior aspect. (Additionally, this woman's elimination requires minimal temporal investment. While she observes Princess Rebecca, I could efficiently sever her carotid artery, arranging her remains alongside Kristina Petrova. Three deceased occupants within a single chamber, undiscovered; two women embarking toward distant locales, universally celebrated.) She mentally composed crude doggerel commemorating this macabre scenario. (However, should she detect nothing anomalous, permitting her departure represents optimal strategy.)