Prince Edessak Augustus strode through Buckland Palace's corridors, the weight of his Arbiter potion settling deeper into his soul. Exposing the valet's lie yesterday had been his first victory, a sip of progress toward mastering Sequence 9. But the court was a labyrinth of deceit, and every step drew the noose tighter. His transmigrator knowledge screamed one truth: someone wanted him dead, and they wouldn't wait long.
Tonight was the Winter Gala, a glittering cage of nobles, foreign envoys, and hidden daggers. Edessak's memories of Lord of the Mysteries offered clues—his canonical assassination was likely orchestrated by the Psychology Alchemists or Adam's pawns to destabilize Loen. But who would strike first? And how could he turn their trap into fuel for his potion?
His Arbiter senses hummed as he entered the Grand Ballroom. Chandeliers cast golden light over silk gowns and polished boots. Nobles swirled in a waltz, their smiles as sharp as glass. Edessak's intuition pinged—a faint malice, like a shadow flitting through the crowd. They're here.
He adjusted his sapphire cufflinks, mentally reviewing his tools. As an Arbiter, he could sense lies and hostility, compel oaths, and mediate disputes. Digesting the potion required embodying "fairness"—exposing deceit, resolving conflicts, upholding order. A gala was a perfect stage. Every whispered intrigue was a chance to act, to grow stronger.
"Your Highness!" A bright voice cut through his thoughts. Lady Audrey Hall, barely sixteen, curtsied before him. Her emerald eyes sparkled with innocence, a stark contrast to the court's venom. Edessak's heart twinged—canon's "Justice," still years from the Tarot Club, was just a naive noble girl now. But her presence was an opportunity. Her idealism could be a mirror to sharpen his own sense of justice.
"Lady Hall," Edessak said, offering a practiced smile. "You seem the only soul here not plotting my demise."
Her laugh was a chime. "Oh, Your Highness, surely the court isn't that grim?" Her tone was light, but his Arbiter senses caught a flicker of sincerity—she meant it. No malice. A rarity.
"Perhaps," he said, guiding her to the dance floor. "But let's test that. Swear on your spirit, Lady Hall: do you harbor no ill intent toward me?"
Audrey blinked, then giggled, thinking it a jest. "I swear, Your Highness, my only intent is to survive this waltz without stepping on your boots!"
Truth. The potion warmed in his veins, a small but steady sip of progress. Dancing with Audrey was a calculated move—her high profile shielded him from immediate attack, and her innocence grounded him. I can't let this world twist me into another George, he thought.
As they spun, his senses sharpened. A servant weaving through the crowd, carrying a silver goblet, radiated hostility. The man's eyes locked on Edessak, then darted away. Poison? A blade? Edessak's pulse quickened. He needed to act without causing a scene—nobles were watching, and a prince accusing a servant without proof would spark rumors.
"Lady Hall," he murmured, twirling her, "forgive me, but duty calls." He released her with a bow, then moved toward the servant, his steps casual but deliberate.
"Boy," Edessak called, voice low but commanding. The servant froze, goblet trembling in his hands. "Swear on your spirit: is that wine meant to harm me?"
The ballroom's din faded. The servant's face paled, sweat glistening under the chandelier's glow. Edessak's Arbiter power pressed down, invisible chains binding the man's soul. "I… I swear it's just wine," he stammered.
Lie.
The potion surged, its icy fire spreading through Edessak's chest. Half-digested now, he thought. But he needed more than exposure—he needed to neutralize the threat. "Hand me the goblet," he said, voice calm but laced with steel. The servant hesitated, then obeyed, eyes wide with panic.
Edessak raised the goblet, pretending to inspect it. His intuition screamed—poison, subtle, likely alchemical. He couldn't drink it, but spilling it would alert the assassin's masters. Instead, he turned to a nearby noble, Lord Carrow, the tariff-skimming fool from his memories.
"Lord Carrow," Edessak said, smiling, "a toast to Loen's prosperity. Share this with me." He offered the goblet, knowing Carrow's greed would make him hesitate to refuse a prince's gift.
Carrow's smile faltered, but he took the goblet, sensing the eyes of the court. "I… I'm honored, Your Highness, but I've had my fill."
Lie. Edessak's potion burned hotter, nearly three-quarters digested. "Nonsense," he pressed, voice carrying. "Drink, or swear on your spirit you mean no disrespect."
Carrow's hand shook. The ballroom hushed, nobles turning to watch. Audrey, nearby, tilted her head, curious. Carrow muttered, "I swear I mean no disrespect," but his voice cracked.
Lie.
The potion roared, its essence fusing with Edessak's soul. Almost there. He stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Refuse again, and I'll declare you suspect before the court. Drink."
Carrow's eyes darted to the servant, who was slipping toward the exit. They're linked, Edessak realized. He raised a hand, signaling the guards. "Detain that servant. And Lord Carrow, drink now, or face a trial for treason."
The threat was a bluff—Edessak had no hard proof—but his Arbiter authority made it land like a gavel. Carrow, trembling, set the goblet down, muttering excuses. The servant bolted, but guards seized him. The ballroom erupted in whispers.
Edessak turned to the crowd, voice ringing. "Let this be a lesson: no poison will taint Loen's heart while I stand." The nobles clapped, some genuine, others wary. Audrey's eyes shone with admiration, but Edessak felt a chill. I've shown my hand. They'll come harder next time.
The potion settled, fully digested. Arbiter was his, its powers sharper—lies now glowed like embers, hostility like a beacon. He was ready for Sequence 8, Judge, if he could survive the night.
As he escorted Audrey back to her family, she whispered, "You're different, Your Highness. Like you see things others don't."
He smiled, masking his unease. "Perhaps, Lady Hall. Or perhaps I've just learned to listen."
Two years, he thought, stepping into the shadows.