The Empress’s lips curved into a knowing smile. My, my, she mused silently. Such gossip drips sweeter than the richest wine.

Maria’s eyes gleamed unsteadily as she leaned closer, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’d think a woman with such ties—blood or not—would be an asset. But the girl? A bitter thorn in my side, a constant reminder of all I cannot control.”

The Empress tilted her head, voice silk wrapped in steel. “And yet she remains, a thorn entwined in the heart of your household... How fascinating.”

Maria’s laugh petered out into a wistful sigh, empty glass trembling in hand. “To the Empress,” she slurred, “may her own secrets be uncovered… as mine unravel tonight.”

“Hahaha, surely,” Nova chuckled, swirling the water in her crystal glass with deliberate grace.

“Go on,” Maria urged, lifting her gaze with an almost regal expectation, as if the weight of secret knowledge rested solely upon her lips.

“You see… I’ve introduced Evander to countless ladies over the years, yet none have ever truly captured his gaze,” Nova mused with a sly smirk. “But Regina… Regina has held his attention since birth. Remember how many times we’ve met to smooth the uneasy waters between our children?”

Maria nodded, a slow, knowing glance. “Ah, yes. I remember.”

Nova leaned in, voice lowered but dripping with implication. “I’ve pondered it deeply—perhaps Regina, though far from perfect in my estimation, could very well be the next Empress.”

Before she could continue, Maria’s voice shattered the moment, rising like a tempest. “Cut the bollocks! My daughter will never sit on the throne you once sullied!” she spat with venom, slamming her goblet violently onto the table. Red wine splashed forward, drenching Nova’s composed visage.

“And she shall never stand beside that overgrown little prick Evander!” Maria’s fury spilled over in a torrent of drunken vitriol. “Regina is no common slut to be used as a pawn! And your son? A useless, pompous, egotistical whelp—good for nothing but empty boasts and the relentless sucking of court favors! I will never stoop so low as to bind my blood with his!” She swayed drunkenly, collapsing into the arms of a nearby servant.

At the far end of the room, Evander’s eyes burned with shock and dismay. “Mother!” he called out, rushing toward her.

“Regina commands respect!” Maria slurred, fiercely defensive. “She may not be my perfect little lamb, but she holds dignity—far more than your arrogant, prickish son will ever know!” Her words snarled, sharp as broken glass beneath the sweetness of her smile.

“Mother!” Evander reached her side, heart pounding as he saw the intoxicated blaze behind her laughter.

Nova’s voice cut through like a velvet dagger. “Evander…” she purred, eyes cold and calculating, “Shall we return to our duties?”

A slow, dark smirk curled upon Evander’s lips as he nodded, a fire kindling deep within—plans unfolding beneath layers of whispered deceit and fractured loyalties.

—Vendreich Estate; Entrance Hall, 11 PM—

“LILLIAN!” Regina’s frantic cry tore through the heavy night as she flung open the great doors to the Vendreich Estate.

The Entrance Hall lay shrouded in darkness—no candles, no lanterns, not even the faintest ember in the immense ornately-carved hearth. A dense, oppressive silence hung in the air, as if the manor itself held its breath. The only illumination crept in behind her: the pale, cold moonlight streaming through the open doorway, casting Regina’s shadow long across the marble floor, barely lighting more than a few uncertain meters ahead.

Regina’s heart thundered in her chest, each beat deafening in the void. Her eyes darted, searching for even the merest sign of life.

Tap.

A sudden touch on her shoulder jolted her entire frame. She whipped around, pulse racing, only to find Jett’s familiar form, his voice steady—even gentle—in the gloom. “Reggie. Calm down. The girls will be alright.”

The silhouettes of Caspian and Damien emerged behind her, their faces masked by shadow, worry palpable in their postures. They could only see Regina’s rigid back, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

“Yeah, Regina. You must steady yourself,” Damien started, his tone low and rational, “We need clear minds or—”

“SPLIT.” Regina’s command rang out, sharp and desperate, her hand darting to swipe away a single tear that slipped unwilled down her cheek. “Divide and help me search the estate. Every room, every corner. Now.”

“Alright, I’ll take the ground floor!” Caspian barked, vanishing at a sprint into the labyrinth of shadowed hallways.

“Second floor!” Jett called, his footsteps echoing upward, urgency driving him.

“I’ll search the first floor!” Regina bolted for the main stairway, boots striking hard against polished wood, determination shielding her trembling heart.

“Uh…outside…?” Damien mumbled, uncertainty giving way to grim purpose as he hurried from the entrance, braving the moon-washed gardens and shadowed grounds.

The search began, frantic and raw—Regina’s voice, her love, her fear, all echoing through the darkness of a house that felt, tonight, more tomb than home.

—Drosnik Manor; Stables, 12:39 AM—

“Hah.” Rafael swung off his horse, exhaling sharply into the chill lacquered air. The distant clip of hooves and the soft rustle of straw were the only witnesses to his late arrival.

Cassian stood waiting, silhouette limned pale by the wavering lantern affixed to the post. He leaned indolently against the stable wall, one boot planted flat behind him, arms folded loosely and a sly, entertained smirk riding his lips.

“Oh, dear brother…” Cassian drawled, gaze flickering up as Rafael approached.

“Cassian?” Rafael’s brow furrowed, suspicion dancing in his eyes. “What ever brings you prowling here at such an hour?”

“Me?” Cassian’s tone was innocent mischief. “Merely lending a hand—thought you might require assistance putting your steed to rest.” He strolled forward, deliberate and unhurried.

“Ah, right.” Rafael met him halfway, eyes cool with veiled threat as he pressed the reins into Cassian’s hand. “Servant,” he spat, voice clipped. He tapped Cassian’s shoulder with just enough force to remind him precisely where he stood in the pecking order.

Cassian’s smile broadened, eyes briefly closed in mock piety, yet something sharp and unreadable glinted beneath his calm. “Yes, dear brother,” he replied silkily.

With measured grace, he led the horse into the low, fragrant gloom of the stables—ever the loyal sibling, ever the outsider, playing his part in the family’s midnight theatre.

—Drosnik Estate; Cassian’s Study, 6:00 AM—

Cassian lounged in his high-backed chair, one leg propped lazily over the other, hands steepled with fingertips pressed together as dawn’s cold light crept through frosted windowpanes. Shadows from the ticking clock played along the polished chess board, where the ‘Queen’ stood poised—a quiet testament to his philosophy.

“Orders have arrived,” he declared softly, voice carrying the weight of both boredom and omniscience. “From Her Imperial Majesty herself.” His eyes flashed with amusement as he inclined his head toward the grim-faced Commissioner who had presented himself at such an ungodly hour.

The Commissioner, hat in hand and posture formal, dipped his chin in deference yet could not keep the frustration from his voice. “You are aware, my lord, that His Majesty—the Emperor—will demand answers. His words ought to hold greater sway—”

Cassian’s lips curled in an unapologetic smirk. “To you, perhaps,” Cassian interrupted coolly, fingers now idly tracing the imposing Queen piece on the chessboard. “But in chess, as at court, the Queen the greatest latitude—her power eclipses all others, cause she commands the longest reach and traverses the board with unmatched power.” He tapped the sculpted chess piece, eyes half-lidded in mock thoughtfulness.

The elder commissioner, taller and more broad-shouldered, stepped forward, his patience finally eroding. “Enough, arsehole!” he barked, seizing the younger man’s collar and wrenching him up to eye-level. “You may have earned the Empress and the Emperor's favor and may be the Leader the Royal Commissioners, but the Emperor himself demands answers regarding Count Cernava’s case! You're not the Head to decide anything except to lead us! The final decision still lies in the Head's hands. Know your place, lad.” The older man growled, eyes blazing.

Cassian’s eyes widened theatrically, staring cold retribution into the older man’s soul. “So you’re prepared to flout the Empress’s will, in allegiance to a waning sovereign?” he growled, hands prying the commissioner’s grip free. He flung the man’s hands off and straightened his tunic with a mocking laugh, running a hand back through his sleek black hair. “Since when did the bishops and rooks presume to dictate the course of kings?”

His madness sent discomfort rippling through the room. The commissioners exchanged wary glances as Cassian rounded his desk, drew out a drawer, and produced a heavy file, slapping it onto the desk with satisfying finality.

“Peruse this, gentlemen,” Cassian announced imperiously, reclining once again. “The Empress’s command in writing.”

The elder man unfurled the letter, eyes darting across the elegant, venom-laced script:

“Dear Cassian,
I write to command your neglect of the following murder investigations. Do not question the accused under any circumstances. If the Emperor inquires, supply only falsehoods. Failure will bring ruin upon your household.”

Speechless, the man crushed the letter in his fist. “Supply falsehood?” he spat, voice cracking in disbelief.

The younger commissioner ventured forth, voice a hushed tremolo of moral dilemma. “Sir…Count Cernava, then? Must we truly earn our coin in this manner? Even if we lie to His Majesty, would not such money feel like theft—robbery—when we deceive the Emperor for the Empress’s gold? A swindler’s wage rather than honest coin. Where is the honor in that?"

Cassian’s long fingers idly traced the paper, lost in faux contemplation, his lean form angled against the table, eyes flicking upward as he pressed the corner of the letter beneath his lower lip. “True. There’s no virtue in bribes—no savor in bread won through shame—No longer the fruit of honest labor—mere spoils split among thieves. It would no longer be money earned by honest sweat—”

“ARGHH!” The elder commissioner's frustration broke, twisting the letter in his fist. “Brat, do you not see we are all being played?” the elder erupted, slamming the crumpled letter down. “The Empress and that mongrel bastard son of hers—The Crown Prince—are toying with Imperial power! They are making fools of the Emperor’s faithful! The Emperor’s faction is feebler than cobwebs in a gale! Are you content to let the Empire’s backbone wither to dust?”

Cassian’s gaze darkened as he stood away from the desk, stalking past the men, voice velvet-coated threat. “Oh? And you thought I was blind?” he sneered, pausing to stare the younger commissioner down.

“Then why play coy? Why hesitate when the stakes are laid bare—shouldn’t we act now, if you truly see all?” the elder challenged, voice growing shrill with urgency.

“My, my—you’re far too loud for a delicate dawn.” Cassian sidestepped him, gliding to the gilded door. “Let me propose a wager,” he said, hand poised on the brass handle. "If I rally the Emperor’s support and shift the balance, will you back me as The Head Commissioner of the Empire?”

The elder snorted. “So that’s your play—greed outstripping ambition, at last revealed!”

Cassian’s head lolled back, a cold laugh tumbling from his lips. “That old fox has lived long enough and beside—That old hag’s hours are numbered. It's nearing the end faster than the speed of Light. This…” his hand curled around the door handle as his smile turned razor-sharp, “is merely morning’s curtain call.” He flung the door open, signaling the men to depart with a sweeping, theatrical motion. His eyes glittering with mock courtesy.