“Well, this has gone to shell in a handbasket.”
    Liberty muttered quietly under her breath as she faced the man who had just been restraining her. 
    Let’s see - how many objectives have been blown so far? 
    Sneak out of the Imperial ballroom undetected? Her new friend here was living proof that hadn't happened.
Observe the meeting between the Viscount and his boss? The dead body in the fountain meant that she had missed the timing on that one. 
    Avoid having the Prince fall in love with her at first sight in the ballroom? This one was a solid win, since she had gotten out of Dodge as soon as he’d made his way into the venue. Though her current predicament meant she hadn’t been able to escape the plot completely.
    Her personal secret side quest to punch a one-way ticket to the underworld for the Viscount if the opportunity presented itself? He was indeed dead, so she’d count that one as a win, though she didn’t get to do it herself.
    All in all, a fifty percent success rate for the mission so far, if she chose to look at it optimistically. She had even gotten the nice bonus of Torrington being dead, so the investigation would start several steps ahead this time.     
    In the original novel, since Melisande was the victim, the investigation focused on following the breadcrumbs she left behind to find Torrington, and only then turned to the true mastermind. Unfortunately, this was the point that the author had chosen to focus mainly on the ongoing romance between Serena and the Prince. The book only mentioned that the eternally overworked Prime Minister had gone to arrest Torrington, finding his corpse instead. 
    The poor guy was stuck continuing to investigate on his own as his supposed best friend and boss sashayed off into the sunset with his new wife to live ‘happily ever after.’ Her friend Tara had told her that readers had speculated the author might have been setting it up for a sequel or spin-off centered around the long-suffering Prime Minister, since apparently he was a fan favorite. Liberty guessed that having legions of loyal fans rooting for him might be some consolation to the poor guy. Though, on further reflection, since those fans were in a whole other reality and he would never meet them, while he was stuck here and still had to deal with that idiot of a Crown Prince every day, maybe not. 
    Liberty had hoped that by having freed the Baroness from Torrington’s clutches, she would shift the story fully away from the romance path. If Melisande wasn’t there to be murdered, there would be no investigation, and thus no reason for Serena to spend time with the Clown Prince. All she had to do was avoid him seeing her at the ball and catching feelings, then she would be home free. Labeling this as a mission for the League had given her the perfect excuse to dress plainly, then dip out at the opportune moment, killing two birds with one stone.
    The plan had been pretty basic and low risk, honestly. Liberty was supposed to keep an eye on the Viscount and follow him if he still left for a meeting. If it still happened, she would get what information she could and get out without tipping them off. Then she would bring that info back, and they would decide if it was worth pursuing from there. When she had lost track of Torrington at the ball earlier, she had felt a little relieved. That gave her justification to leave the ballroom early and hide herself away in the gardens. Two birds, one stone. 
    The Viscount floating in the fountain with his throat slit indicated that the meeting did still take place; she had just missed the timing. With this new complication, she had decided to pull the frail lady act and scream, alerting the guards. Or at least that was what she was going to do until her new buddy had grabbed her from behind. 
Now, instead of birds and stones, she had complications. She had been out in the garden for too long, and it wasn’t worth taking the chance to try and slip back in unnoticed. Someone had killed a man and barely hidden his body. It was highly likely that once they rejoined the festivities, they would find a way to lead others to discover the body to give themselves an alibi. Her own stroll through the gardens would most likely be uncovered, and she would be a prime suspect. Well, she wasn’t alone here like Serena had been in the novel. Now that she had been able to take a few breaths and the initial adrenaline rush was over, she could start thinking more strategically. Instead of collecting information, she had been left with nothing but questions.
     Why had the Viscount been killed? Was the murderer the person he had been meeting with? What had the meeting been about? If this stranger hadn’t popped up out of nowhere, she would have sworn that no one entered or exited the courtyard after she arrived. 
    Since she had lost sight of the Viscount shortly after he had arrived this evening and hadn’t witnessed the Viscount leaving the ballroom herself, she had no way of knowing how long he had been out here, alive or dead. She hadn’t seen anyone when she had arrived, believing that she had beaten Torrington to the rendezvous spot first, but the reality of the body in the fountain meant that someone had indeed been there before her. 
     The courtyard wasn’t large, with only one entry point. At the end of a winding garden path, paved with gray stone, it opened into the hedge square dominated by the fountain. The tree she had been concealed under was planted to one side, towards the back of a small lawn on the other side of the hedges, and was the only real place to hide. Blending into the shadows beneath the sprawling branches of the tree had allowed her to keep the whole courtyard and the entrance to the path in her line of sight while allowing her to remain concealed. Yet this stranger had been able to not only sneak up on her but also get close enough to grab her without her noticing. There were two most likely scenarios for how he had been able to sneak up on her. Either he had already been there before she arrived, hiding and waiting, or they had arrived at the same time, and she hadn’t noticed.  
     While Liberty was swiftly shuffling through her options for dealing with this new situation, he straightened, assuming a deceptively relaxed pose. He had recovered from the gutshot quickly, barely grunting at the impact. His reaction time was truly impressive. Only a few seconds had passed. 
    He was trying to put her at ease, attempting to get her to lower her guard. If she couldn’t still taste a slight saltiness on her lips from the deceptively elegant hand that had clamped over her mouth a few moments ago, she would believe she had imagined it.  While his posture, with his hands loosely clasped behind his back, would give a casual observer the impression that he was relaxed, just pausing on a stroll through the gardens, she knew better. 
    She easily spotted the coiled tension in the muscles hidden beneath the well-tailored evening clothes. His handsome face, schooled into an indifferent mask, with a quirked, lightly inquiring eyebrow, would seem indifferent to the average observer. If they didn’t notice the sharp gaze from his deep-set green eyes. Liberty was no fool. She had trained in situational awareness almost since birth. During her time as a soldier, her squad had always joked that she was their early alarm system, practically paranoid. Especially on a mission. This handsome stranger could fool most, but not her.
    Something about his silhouette gave her a dim sense of recognition. Vague memories and impressions were niggling at her. Why did she feel like she should recognize him? Maybe it was just nerves from having been physically restrained suddenly. She dismissed it, like that feeling of being watched briefly as she left the ballroom. It would come to her eventually if she just let her subconscious work on it. She had relied on her memory for too long to doubt it now. 
    Her eyes had long since adjusted to the dim light, allowing her to evaluate him with little difficulty. He was indeed tall, with a lean figure encased in stylishly elegant evening wear. Though color was tough to discern in the darkened courtyard, she would guess from the varied shades that his trousers, waistcoat, and cravat were black while his evening coat was most likely a dark navy. The cut and fit were excellent, showing off his leanly muscular frame to advantage. His accessories were similarly of high quality yet simple design, all appearing to be made of silver or platinum. His dark hair, looking pitch black in the moonlit garden, hung long over one shoulder, held in a loose tail by a silver clasp. Though she didn’t recognize him, the subtle luxury of his clothing, mixed with the way he stood confidently in the Imperial gardens after having grabbed a young lady whom he had not been formally introduced to, meant that he was definitely from one of the higher circles of influence. 
    Liberty had never been one to focus on the physical. She had been pleased with her original appearance, with her sharp features and taller-than-average height. She had even cultivated a slightly edgy style, playing into the tough girl vibe that she had given off since she was young. Black leather and lipstick were how she had always thought of herself, while Serena was decidedly lace and pastel silk. Since waking up in Serena’s body, she had gotten used to viewing the world from 165 cm instead of the 175 cm, almost 180 cm in heels, she had been used to. Where Liberty had been slender, with lean muscles built through training with her family since childhood and maintained through her diligence since she had left the Army, Serena was truly petite with very little in the way of physical ability. 
    Since taking over this body, she had worked hard to get it into shape, rebuilding her reflexes and skills. Her training and sparring with the Screaming Eagles had raised her strength and stamina to a level she was fairly happy with, though the reality was that no amount of training would make her small frame more imposing. Gwen had even compared watching her sparring with the soldiers to watching a small fluffy rodent attacking a hunting dog. The analogy had not been pleasant for Liberty to hear, but she really couldn’t refute it. She had comforted herself that a hidden knife could be more effective than a broadsword lying in the open. 
    Hiding her identity had given her the perfect excuse to have the girls design a more imposing ‘working outfit’ for her when she went out on missions. Creating a menacing look had worked pretty well to compensate for her unimposing stature, so it hadn’t affected her confidence too much.
    That is, until she had been caught unaware, from behind, in the moonlit garden. When he had grabbed her with his large hands, her head had barely grazed his shoulder. His solid frame had felt like it was dwarfing her smaller one. Practically lifted off her feet, she felt the disadvantage of her small size. With her eyes still focused on the dead man floating in the fountain, the part of her mind that usually thought two or three moves ahead froze, and instinct took over. She had panicked. Just for a second. 
    Her resistance had been pure training and muscle memory. Striking decisively to free herself and whirling to face her opponent in a defensive stance, ready to engage or flee if necessary. If she had been thinking rationally, she wouldn’t have responded so decisively. She cursed internally, her face smoothed out into a pleasantly vague mask, giving none of her internal turmoil away. Relaxing her defensive stance, she matched his nonchalant, polite posture. She had missed her chance to act like the type of girl who would clutch her pearls and faint in a crisis. If she had wanted to pretend to be fragile and flee back to the cover of the ballroom, she should have immediately renewed her attempt to scream for the guards when she had freed herself from his grasp. Instead, they had both stood there observing each other. Even though it had only been a few moments, they had been telling. 
    Now he was standing there as if he had all the time in the world, silently watching her and waiting to see what she would do next. She didn’t think he had seen the body in the fountain, since his attention seemed to be solely focused on her. Considering he had covered her mouth, stopping her from screaming, it could be assumed that his sole purpose in grabbing her had been to avoid alerting the guards. Which was suspicious, no matter how laid back he attempted to appear. 
    Oh well. Fortune supposedly favors the bold. 
    “Good evening, my Lord.” Deciding to take the bull by the horns and break their staring contest, she greeted him with the generically polite title and gathered her skirts to execute a small curtsy. She used the action to hide her movements as she slid her hands into the hidden slits and rested them lightly on the grips of her guns.  Whatever else this stranger might be, he was currently suspect number one in the death of the odious Viscount, which made him a potential murderer. She would not be letting her guard down.
    “Good evening, my lady.” His voice was low-pitched and pleasantly deep. “I had hoped to pay my respects to your parents this evening, but have not had a chance to come across the Count and Countess yet. I hope they are enjoying the entertainment.” A subtle probe about her parents. Smooth. His tone, though was carefully neutral, though something about his inflection made her feel like he was used to an edgier, clipped tone. As if he were used to giving commands.
    So he had recognized her. Wonderful. And she still had no idea who he was. “The grandeur of the Imperial Ball is well known. I’m sure they are busy enjoying themselves as we speak, my lord. They would be most gratified to know of your regard for them. Though I must admit that you have me at a disadvantage. I do not believe that we have been introduced.” Ha! She could dig for information, too.
    “My apologies, my lady, we have not been formally introduced.” A light chuckle added a soft rumble to his deep voice,  while one well-shaped eyebrow cocking upward. “Unfortunately, there does not appear to be anyone here to make a formal introduction for us.” The green gaze that had been focused on her narrowed almost imperceptibly as he continued, “Unless, of course, you are acquainted well enough with Viscount Torrington for him to do the honors. Though the poor man might find that hard, his throat being slit and all.” The subtle amusement never left his tone, but his words took on that clipped edge his earlier tone had hinted at.
    “Since we won’t be able to rely on the Viscount to do it, I’ll have to ask you to beg your forgiveness for not standing on ceremony and introducing myself.” He sketched a small bow, never breaking eye contact with her.
    “Nicholas Armitage, at your service.”