“Isn’t Demetri Ballenci the current successor to House Ballenci?” La’Resha asked from my right, her lilting accent accentuating the word successor.

Victor grunted and spat red liquid in a brief coughing fit. “Aye, if anyone betrayed Lady Brianna, it was that rotten noble bastard.”

“I need more than just a gut feeling,” I replied in a bored tone. “I don’t tolerate anyone who stands in my way. Whoever caused this... delay will pay dearly. But if you're trying to protect someone by leading me to an innocent, you’ll suffer an end that none would wish upon their worst nightmare. Do you understand?”

The spy—or informant, whatever he was—nodded. His eyes burned with rage, though the paling of his olive skin betrayed his understanding of my threat. “I haven’t been to the main house in Cerulean for over a year, so I can’t give you the solid evidence you’re after. However, before my reassignment to Sealrite, I was part of an investigation into the death of Baron Ballenci’s eldest nephew. He was slaughtered in his bed chambers—split from head to toe in a single, clean slice. The investigation began to point to Demetri Ballenci when the Baron ordered the team to disband. That Demetri kid is psychotic. The things I found out during that investigation… they can’t be explained in mere moments.”

“Does Brianna know any of this?” I asked, leaning forward, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Victor shook his head vigorously, sending sweat and blood flying from the shaggy mop of hair plastered to his dirt-streaked face. “No. No one knew about it except those of us on the investigation team. And the baron. And probably whoever cleaned up the bodies.”

La’Resha swore in a language I didn’t recognize, while Aargorn punched a massive crater into the stone wall of the prison. The entire place trembled for a few seconds as dust rained down. I turned slowly toward the field marshal with a frown. “Really?”

“The duke was a kind man,” Aargorn growled. “But I warned him—we all warned him—that there would be those who’d take advantage of his kindness.” He looked like he wanted to punch the wall again but restrained himself under my glare. “They now spit on his grave.”

“As they often do,” I said. “Nobles are known to protect their heirs, even when they're murderous. A baron shielding his psychotic successor isn’t surprising. If anything, I’m more surprised that such information has remained unknown for so long. From all the reports I’ve read, House Ballenci is considered a rather reputable noble family in Lysoria, aside from its fallen status.”

Victor chuckled, a small trickle of blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “Where do you think the other noble houses get their information? House Ballenci runs the largest information network in Lysoria. Our reach expands into foreign countries, some even beyond the seas. If the patriarch of that house wants something buried, it stays buried.”

“And Brianna Ballenci knows nothing of her brother’s true nature?” I pressed, my eyes narrowing.

“She believes him to be the kindest, most generous brother in the world,” he said, his tone flat.

“If he’s fooled her for so long, why betray her now? Why not continue the charade?"

“I’d guess it has something to do with Lady Lilliana reaching out to her. Demetri sees Brianna as his—that’s why she’s never had a serious marriage offer. Every proposal was designed to be rejected. Lady Lilliana is essentially forcing Brianna to leave Demetri’s grip by bringing her to Sealrite.” The spy shot us a crooked smile. “And if even half the rumors about Lady Lilliana are true, any attempt from House Ballenci to retrieve Bri- Lady Brianna, would result in the house’s utter destruction.”

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“So his brilliant plan was to attack Lady Lilliana’s envoys?” I snorted, rolling my eyes. “The stupidity here doesn't exactly inspire confidence in your story.”

Victor shrugged. “As I said, I’m not his confidant. But I think Demetri believed he had a better chance if he interfered before she reached your compound. That, and it seems he’s now being backed by a ducal house. That likely provided him with some extra… courage.”

"More like foolishness,” La’Resha interjected with a dismissive smirk, her lips curling upward. “Everyone knows the Goldenhearts are selfish bastards. They won't lift a finger to help him the moment he becomes inconvenient.”

“I never said the man was smart,” the spy grumbled. “His father’s the smart one. Demetri’s brutal. Efficient. Cruel. But my investigation revealed he’s never faced consequences for his actions. He lacks the experience to understand how cruel life can be."

Classic spoiled prick, I thought.

“You don’t think the baron knows about their alliance?” I asked.

“I doubt it. The baron cleans up Demetri’s messes—he doesn’t plan them.”

“Hmmm,” I muttered, leaning my chin against the palm of my hand and tapping a finger to the side of my cheek. Then I smiled, standing from my chair. “Well, your house seems pretty fucked. Good luck with that.”

Victor blanched. “Will you not help us? At least tell Lady Lilliana of our situation—maybe she’ll help?”

I shrugged, mimicking his earlier gesture. “That depends on whether Brianna comes back alive. If she doesn’t, I doubt Lady Lilliana will have any interest in this petty squabble. The names of the most likely culprits have been noted, and justice will come when time wills it.”

“What about Brianna?” the man asked, his voice rising as all pretense of calmness vanished from his previously placid features. “If Lady Lilliana has others at your level, she might be able to save Brianna.” His words slurred together as panic clawed its way into his speech and down his throat.

I shrugged again, ignoring his desperate cries as I turned and climbed the stairs out of the prison. He shouted something after me, but I didn’t bother to listen as I exited the underground prison and walked out to a group of waiting field marshals.

“Take me to the Marquess,” I commanded, and Daneara moved swiftly to my side while Aargorn and La’Resha flanked me. We weaved through the tented military camp until we reached a rundown stone building, its surface covered in dull green moss, wet and slimy under my fingers as I ran them across the smooth stone. A guard stood at the entrance, clad in golden armor slightly too large for his thin frame.

As we approached him from around the corner, the man was mid-yawn. One hand stayed unmoving on a spear, though his free hand reached up toward the sky in a stretch as he let out a soft moan. Daneara coughed and stared daggers at the unsuspecting guard who literally jumped in place, his spine straightening to a flatline. The knight gave a Lysorian salute to the field marshal before his eyes shifted to me. His mouth proceeded to drop ajar, though he somehow still remembered his duty and side stepped to allow us through.

Daneara jogged ahead a few steps to open the door. It creaked an ominous welcome of rusted hinges to reveal a quite contrasted inside. The area was only a single room that looked more spacious on the inside than it had outside, with one cordoned off area that I figured was probably some sort of restroom. Different from the rustic outer stone layers, the room was rather lavish. Carpets of fine silk and stitching covered the otherwise cold stone floor, while a half dozen candles lit the space in a warm orange glow. They flickered wildly around with a happy rhythm, dancing over an older man and a woman in her late twenties or early thirties. Neither wore their usual luxury attire; instead, both dressed plainly in brown trousers and white shirts.

The older man, the Marquess, sat comfortably on a rocking chair, the well sculpted wood moving without a sound, unlike the ancient stone door. The girl, Juniper, paced back and forth, her lips turned down into a deep frown that stretched from either side of her face. When we entered, Juniper’s head snapped toward us, her frown turning into a snarl. Her hand shot to her waist for a sword that wasn’t there, her fingers clenching and unclenching in frustration. The Marquess, however, smiled brightly.

“Lady Lilliana, to what do I owe this pleasure?” the Marquess asked in a cheerful tone, though none of the warmth reached his eyes. “I hope you haven’t come to tell me I’m in the wrong prison. I have grown particularly attached to this domicile."

"I have an offer to make you," I said, glancing toward Juniper with a wry smile.

"Oh?" The Marquess leaned forward on the rocking chair, folding his hands together.

"How would you like to earn your freedom back?" I asked, to which the Marquess joined his daughter in frowning though his was much lighter.

"I would say I am quite interested in that possibility. What must I do?"

I grinned. "You must become my Marquess."