The porcelain wall behind me was cold, smooth against my shoulder as I leaned back into it. I glanced to my right.

  Mary stood close beside me, her white dress trailing faintly over the marble floor, platinum hair catching the lamplight. Her gaze was fixed forward, serene and composed.

  I followed her eyes.

  The table stretched long and polished before us, enough for sixty men to dine as kings. At its head sat the Regent, posture regal yet relaxed, one hand folded over the other.

  On his left - thirty chairs. Twenty-eight of them filled, their wearers crowned in silks, jeweled cuffs flashing, voices already buzzing faintly. Arken at their center, chin high, confidence radiating off him like perfume.

  On his right - thirty chairs. Only eight of them occupied. Their coats marked with medals, their faces stern. Arthur at their heart, jaw hard, his eyes carrying that steel-tempered determination.

  The massacre at the mansion had gutted his faction. It showed.

  And so the shit show begins.

  The Regent’s voice carried, smooth and unhurried. “The high noble meeting of Morren is called to order.”

  Arken was the first to rise. His chair scraped back deliberately, every sound calculated. “Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head to Mary before his eyes swept toward me, than back towards the Regent. “Her highness's presence is of course welcome, and we are truly honored by her grace. But why is he here?” His tone made no effort to hide the distaste.

  The Regent’s smile was thin. “The young man has earned it.”

  Arken’s lips pressed tight, but he sat down without another word.

  Arthur didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed on Arken, cold as stone.

  “Then I will begin,” Arken said smoothly. He spread his arms, voice rising to fill the chamber. “The lower classes grow restless by the day. They mutter, they organize, they swell in numbers. What we need is focus. And that focus should be on the garrison - Arthur’s garrison - putting down this dissent before it grows into something worse.”

  Arthur pushed to his feet, fists braced against the table. “While heretics still move freely through my city, they are the highest priority. I will not redirect soldiers to chase beggars while cultists slit throats in the dark.”

  Arken scoffed, his smile widening as murmurs spread through his half of the table. “The heretics are a one-off. A dying wolf snapping with its last teeth. The capital has already sent Imperial forces. Leave the matter of the heretics to the Inquisition.”

  “That’s not enough.” Arthur’s tone was iron, his voice growing louder. “You call it one wolf? Then you didn’t see what they left behind at the mansion. One wolf doesn’t assassinate half the nobility.”

  The voices rose on both sides. Arthur’s men thumped the table with medals clinking against their coats, while Arken’s lounged back smugly, spitting words like barbs.

  The Regent raised a hand. The room hushed like a snapped thread.

  “Both of you have merit,” he said calmly. “But my judgment is with Arthur. Heretics are the root. Remove the root, and the rebellion withers before it begins.”

  Arthur gave a sharp nod. Arken inclined his head as if in acceptance, though the flash of irritation in his eyes lingered.

  Arthur straightened, seizing the momentum. His voice carried firmly across the table.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Then allow me to propose a course of action. A military parade through Morren. Not merely as a show of force, but as distraction. While the garrison marches, eyes will be fixed on the spectacle. Those who crawl in the shadows, who think themselves unseen, will mistake it for weakness - for a chance to move.”

  Murmurs rippled down the table. Arken leaned forward, brows raised in rare interest.

  Arthur’s tone did not waver. “My men are ready. While the parade keeps the rabble entranced, we will have freedom to pursue leads unmolested. If heretics or conspirators so much as twitch, we will know exactly where they are.”

  The Regent’s gaze sharpened, thoughtful, before nodding once. “Clever. It strengthens morale, flaunts Imperial might, and flushes prey from their holes.”

  For once, even Arken inclined his head in approval. “A show of unity, then. Soldiers and nobles alike. Perhaps not such a poor idea after all. It will make the rabble think twice before they do anything drastic.”

  I leaned slightly toward Mary, still watching the scene unfold. My voice was low, only for her. “I wonder what his next step will be. The city teeters between heretical takeover and outright revolution.”

  Mary’s lips curved faintly. “My uncle is as cunning as he is kind. Compared to the High Court in the capital, this is almost tame. If he can control them” - she gestured delicately toward the nobles - “with Imperial soldiers at his back, I have no doubt he can control this city.”

  I nearly choked.

  Kind? Are we talking about the same man?

  Instead, I said dryly, “You’re confident in his abilities.”

  “He is a capable man,” she replied simply.

  I smiled slightly.

  More than you know.

  The voices across the table rose again, louder this time. Arthur’s side bristled with anger, Arken’s side jeered back. An argument overall menial matters yet again taking a hold of the room.

  The Regent’s voice cut through like steel. “Enough. This discussion will continue at the next meeting.”

  The tension still hung thick, but Arken was already rising to his feet, a practiced smile back on his lips. “Before we adjourn, allow me to show you something from the capital.”

  He clapped his hands once.

  A servant guided a mechanical human over to the table. Steam hissed softly from its joints, bronze plating glinting in the light. It stood loosely human-shaped, gears ticking as it poured wine into Arken’s glass with precise, mechanical grace.

  Gasps rippled through the chamber.

  Arken sipped casually. “Brought it back from the capital. And that’s not the only thing.”

  The Regent chuckled low. “It almost makes me nostalgic.”

  Arken spread his arms, ever the performer. “Come. To the roof. Let us enjoy something finer than politics.”

  The nobles rose in waves, silk and medals rustling like leaves in a storm. Servants scurried ahead, opening the double doors to the hall.

  Mary and I followed in their wake, the Regent’s shadow lingering at my back.

  The corridors of the mansion gleamed with extravagance - every surface gilded, every alcove stuffed with marble statues, cherubs frozen mid-flight, their eyes painted with flecks of gold. Chandeliers hung heavy from the ceilings, dripping crystals like icicles. Carpets embroidered with lions sprawled across the floors, their eyes sewn in silver thread.

  Mary’s lips tightened, her gaze sliding across the walls. She muttered just loud enough for me to hear, “Gaudy.”

  I deadpanned. “Some nobles call extravagance an art form. I find it more…” My eyes flicked towards a painting, depicting the bust of a man with a chest twice the size of his head, veins carved like rivers across his marble arms. “…pathetic.”

  A soft giggle escaped her despite herself, quiet enough that only I caught it.

  We passed through archways painted in gilt, then climbed a spiral stairwell lined with stained glass windows. The colored light poured across the nobles as they ascended - red, green, gold. Their laughter echoed against the vaulted walls, smug and careless.

  Finally, heavy doors groaned open, and the night air swept in.

  The rooftop patio sprawled wide, porcelain tiles gleaming under lanterns. A manicured garden spread across the edges, trimmed hedges and flowering vines twining around marble columns. Beyond it, the sprawl of Morren lay in shadow, smog veiling its crooked rooftops.

  Arken’s servants moved quickly. Thin rods were lit, sparks climbing into the dark.

  Then - fire bloomed.

  Explosions painted the sky in red, blue, and gold, bursting over the city walls. Gasps and cheers rolled through the crowd as nobles craned their necks upward, wine goblets raised.

  I froze for a moment. Nostalgia hit sharp.

  Even here. Even in this world... fireworks.

  Beside me, Mary’s eyes widened, her lips parting with childlike wonder. “It’s… beautiful.”

  “It sure is,” I murmured, still entranced by nostalgia

  Another burst rattled the air. Light washed over porcelain tiles, over jeweled cuffs, over the Regent as he moved silently through the crowd.

  A tap touched my shoulder.

  I turned. He stood there, close enough that his whisper was drowned beneath the thunder of explosions.

  “There's a traitor among us,” the Regent murmured. His eyes gleamed, sharp as the fireworks overhead. “Can you see them, Damian?”

  My eyes widened in shock, watching the explosions light up the Regents face.

  Traitors?