"This is unacceptable! Who would dare kill one of the key figures in our kingdom?!"
A red-haired nobleman slammed his fists on the polished mahogany table, the impact echoing through the grand council chamber. His face flushed crimson beneath his neatly trimmed beard as he glared across the length of the table - the Second Prince's faction. The other nobles around him shifted uncomfortably in their high-backed chairs, their expressions dark with barely contained fury.
"Whoever committed such an atrocity will be severely punished! We must order the police to investigate this matter immediately!" another noble shouted, his voice cracking with barely restrained anger. The scent of beeswax candles mixed with the faint metallic tang of nervous sweat in the air.
"The perpetrator clearly had powerful backing," a third noble added, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the table's gleaming surface. "How else could they act so brazenly?"
Then came a thunderous crash from the opposite side of the table - the First Prince's faction. A broad-shouldered lord brought both palms down hard enough to make the crystal goblets tremble. "Surely it was one of you fools!" he roared, jabbing a jeweled finger across the divide. "Lord Gratsie was one of ours - a loyal supporter of the First Prince!"
"What?!" A younger noble from the right side shot to his feet so quickly his chair scraped loudly against the marble floor.
"I agree with Lord Huffman," sneered a hawk-faced woman, her emerald brooch catching the light as she leaned forward. "Gratsie's death benefits only the Second Prince's faction. His demise weakens us while letting you dominate the markets he controlled for decades!"
"How dare you accuse us of such vulgarity?!" A barrel-chested lord from the right side stood, his meaty fists clenching until the knuckles turned white. "We would never resort to murder, unlike you scheming vipers!"
"Watch your tongue, Lord Ronald!" A silver-haired noble rose smoothly, though his ice-blue eyes burned with fury. "You may wear a title, but that gives you no right to insult your betters."
"My betters?" Ronald spat, his mustache quivering with rage. "Who are you to lecture me, Lord Arun? Or have you forgotten your own man's ties to those magic-dust peddlers in the slums?"
"You ignorant boar!" Arun's cultured voice turned venomous. "Those allegations were disproven - check the royal records! Though I suppose a mind as closed as yours wouldn't recognize truth if it bit you!"
The chamber erupted into chaos. Forty nobles shouted over each other, their voices rising in a cacophony of accusations and threats. The heavy velvet drapes fluttered as servants discreetly edged toward the exits. At the table's center, the king sat motionless, the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows behind him casting his face in shadow. His long fingers pressed against his temples, the golden rings on his fingers glinting dully.
At the table's far end, the neutral faction stood like statues amidst the storm. Among them, Lord Adam remained perfectly still, his expression unreadable. Though few in number, their silence spoke volumes compared to the raging tempest around them.
The uproar reached a fever pitch until -
"SILENCE!"
The king's voice cut through the noise like a blade. Every head turned as the aged monarch rose slowly to his full height, his embroidered robes rustling.
"I understand the gravity of this matter," he said, each word measured and heavy. "The investigators are already at work. But this is no excuse to behave like common tavern drunks." His knuckles whitened where they gripped the edge of the table.
A gaunt noble from the left suddenly stood, pressing a trembling hand to his chest. "Your Majesty, how can you say that? Lord Gratsie founded our naval fleet! Without his ships, we'd have been overrun by the Eastern Alliance years ago!"
"Your Majesty, don't listen to these fools!" a voice jeered from the right. "They're trying to manipulate you!"
"ENOUGH!" The king's shout made the chandeliers tremble. "I summoned you to assist the investigation, not to squabble like fishwives. Anyone who fails to cooperate will face royal censure. This audience is over." With a swirl of his heavy cloak, he strode from the chamber, his guards falling into step behind him.
As the great doors thudded shut, the neutral faction followed with quiet dignity. The remaining nobles lingered just long enough to exchange venomous glares before dispersing into the labyrinthine palace corridors.
---
At the castle halls
Prince Albert leaned casually against a gilded corridor wall, the torchlight glinting off the dagger he used to clean his nails. Before him knelt the gray-haired noble from the council meeting, his breathing shallow. The scent of polished stone and extinguished candles hung heavy in the air.
"So," Albert drawled, examining his perfect nails, "how did our little performance go?"
"As expected, Your Highness," the noble replied, keeping his eyes lowered. "His Majesty remained neutral. I doubt he'll change his stance before abdication."
Albert's lips curled into a fox-like smile. "Just like Father." He twirled the dagger between his fingers, the steel flashing. "No matter. We have other moves to make. I hear those stray dogs he's so fond of are escorting the Feidal diplomat."
"Indeed, my lord."
With theatrical slowness, Albert reached into his embroidered coat and produced a crimson sphere no larger than a child's marble. Strange runes pulsed across its surface like living things. "An... insurance policy," he purred, rolling the artifact between his fingers. "A spark of mana gives you ten seconds before it makes quite the mess. Try not to waste it."
The noble swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Y-Yes, my lord."
"Run along now." Albert waved with his dagger. "The hour grows late."
The noble scrambled to his feet and hurried toward the arched doorway - only to collide with Logan entering from the opposite direction. The two men passed like ships in the night, Albert flashing a razor-thin smile. Then, just as Logan was about to turn the corner:
"Don't think I haven't noticed your little game." Albert's voice dripped with false sweetness.
Logan froze, then turned with an exaggerated shrug. "Game?"
Albert chuckled darkly. "If that's how you want to play it." He examined his nails again. "Though I must say, I'm surprised you let those dogs humiliate you. What was it they broke? Your pride... or your pretty face?"
Logan's eye twitched.
Dogs?
...
at the train station.
Steam billowed across the crowded platform as Sol and his companions checked their gear one last time. The sharp scent of coal smoke mixed with the murmur of travelers and the hiss of the great iron engine.
"Hello there!"
The cheerful voice made them all turn. Before them stood the diplomat - a slender figure with delicate features and hair like spun gold catching the morning light. He beamed and thrust out a gloved hand.
"I'm your diplomat! Name's Arclight. Just a commoner, but I promise not to cause any trouble, good sirs!"
Sol blinked. Felix's jaw dropped. The others exchanged bewildered glances.
Why does he look exactly like a girl?!