Mathieu remained silent for a moment, the word face hanging in the air between them like a strange mist. He understood the implication, but his mind, accustomed to the certainties of paper and ink, struggled to grasp this new dimension of their plan.
Seduction as a tool, a key… It was a world as foreign to him as the surface of the moon.
Seeing his turmoil, Catherine softened her expression slightly. Total domination was effective, but a willing and motivated partner was a far more precious asset than a terrified servant.
"Power has many doors, Mathieu," she explained in a calm, instructive voice.
"Some open with a key of iron: threats, force. Others with a key of silver: wealth, bribery. And some, the most difficult ones, only open with a key of flesh and desire. A man like Valerius is used to people fearing him or trying to buy him. He won't be expecting to be desired. Surprise is our first weapon."
Her logic was flawless.
She was bringing him back to his own territory: strategy. Mathieu nodded slowly, admiration replacing his confusion. He was not just facing a mysterious woman; he was facing a master strategist.
"I understand," he said.
"You… you will approach him. But how? Where? We know nothing about him, other than rumors."
"That is where you become indispensable again," Catherine said, restoring his sense of importance, flattering him just enough to solidify his loyalty.
"I need you to paint me a portrait of this man. Tell me everything. Not just the facts found in ledgers. Tell me the rumors, the whispers between clerks, the cruel jokes told when they think he isn't listening. Speak, and I will know what is true."
And Mathieu spoke.
For nearly an hour, he poured out everything he had ever heard about Magistrate Valerius.
His cruelty in judgments, his love of expensive wine, his contempt for his subordinates. As he spoke, Catherine watched the invisible threads of his words.
The stories of his corruption shone with a bright, authentic yellow. The rumors of domestic brutality were a dull, speculative gray likely false.
But when he mentioned his pride, his vanity, the need to be seen as a man of taste and culture, a thread of an intense, vain pink pulsed with the strength of truth. It was his greatest flaw. He didn't just want to be rich and powerful; he wanted to be admired for his refinement.
"That's a good start," Catherine said when he had finished.
"But rumors are not weapons. They are merely the map that leads to the armory. Your mission, should you accept it, is to find me actual weapons."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping a tone, becoming purely commanding.
"Go back to the Scriptorium. Use your access. Find me his financial declarations, his property deeds. Look for discrepancies. Find the petitions that were mysteriously sealed, the judgments that seem illogical. Find me the cracks in his gilded facade. I cannot seduce him if he sees me as a simple woman. I must seduce him by showing him that I am the only one who understands his true… greatness."
Mathieu was galvanized.
He had a purpose, a clear mission that validated his role. He was the eye and the ear, the seeker of secrets. It was the role he had always dreamed of playing. "I'll do it," he said with a new fervor. "I'll find everything there is."
He paused, hesitating.
"There is one other thing… It's only a rumor, but a persistent one. They say the Magistrate has a particular… taste. He collects rare things. Not just objects, but… people. He is said to be a frequent visitor at a very exclusive establishment, near the Embassy Quarter. A place called 'The Gilded Cage'."
The name fell into the silence at their table.
For Mathieu, it was just another piece of information.
For Catherine, it was as if an icy hand had just gripped the back of her neck.
The Gilded Cage.
The echo of the name resonated in the crypts of her memory, waking ghosts she thought long buried.
The idea of a place where beautiful things were kept locked away for the pleasure of powerful men… This was not just information. It was her past, knocking on the door of her present.
Her face betrayed nothing, but inside, a sheet of ice formed around her heart.
The look in her eyes changed, acquiring a hardness Mathieu had not yet seen in her. It was a coldness that was not just strategic, but deeply personal.
"A gilded cage," she repeated softly, her voice devoid of all inflection. "How fitting."
She stood, signaling that the meeting was over. Her gaze was distant, already on another battlefield.
"I have some experience with cages, Mathieu.
And I know precisely how to rattle the bars."