Johann stepped back into Aleric's office, accompanied by another.

"Your Highness," Johann said, "I have brought Sir Hayrod for your convenience."

Aleric looked up, surprised to see one of his head commanding knights. "What is the meaning of this, Johann?"

Johann coughed. "I know you've been meaning to speak with him. The Trevel office is quite the trip, and you've been behind on work since the other day." He turned to gesture towards Hayrod, who gave a curt bow.

Aleric's focused scribbling took a sharp turn off the page, staining the desk. "Ah." He replied, gazing at the mistake, "Yes. Since that day. Hayrod, if you may?" Aleric flicked his head towards a red velvet couch. In front of it, a dark wooden coffee table held a series of savory and sweet refreshments. Hayrod's cheeks flushed, his forehead showing a thin sheen of sweat as he struggled with where to set his removed helmet.

"It is an honor to be here, your Highness." Hayrod managed out. The man had been a commoner, and while thrilled to work with Aleric, being in a castle was out of his element. It showed in the stiff way he sat, and how his eyes darted around. Aleric noticed and decided to keep things short.

"The usual report, sir," Aleric said, dipping his pen back into fresh ink before beginning to write again. Mid-day sun streamed through the window, illuminating the gardens and greenhouse beyond Aleric's study. Johann excused himself to retrieve tea. The prince and his knight were left alone.

Hayrod began to give his monthly update. Aleric assigned a head knight to each of the outposts in the four rings; four, not five. Despite his efforts, the Outreaches remained ungovernable by him. Anything implemented only worked superficially. Aleric suspected the illegal doings of the Outreaches had support, but he didn't know from where. Hayrod recounted several arrests, cooperative events with the Church of Ysid, and surveys near the Outreaches. He went over payrolls and the success of his squire, Pierre.

"I heard Dame Louise was searching for a squire," Hayrod noted, offhand.

"Yes," Aleric confirmed, and they both shared a knowing look. Dame Louise, while incredibly talented, was notoriously quirky. She had a strong sense of justice and believed in equality between sexes in all avenues of society. Often she challenged people to a duel to prove her strength, despite her rank in the top ten strongest knights of the Myther Dominion.She wanted a female successor who shared in her heroism, but none who had appeared so far met her odd standards. They were always 'too sheltered' or 'unmotivated' or 'uncaring of the common folk's plight!' Aleric was relieved she wasn't his knight, but the king's. He had enough to deal with already.

"Anything else?" Aleric prompted, prepared to send Hayrod off for the day. Hayrod averted his gaze, a characteristic move of his when tempted to lie or lying. They'd spent enough time together for Aleric to notice. "Go on, Hayrod. Lay it all out."

Hayrod sighed in defeat. "There was a murder. At the Swine's Haul Tavern in Trevel. Behind it, not in it. I'm bringing it up because I got a nasty twist in my gut about it." Aleric raised an eyebrow, his golden gaze locked on the knight's every move. Part of why Aleric trusted Hayrod to lead the knights in Trevel was because of his incredible instincts. Whether for danger, liars, or solutions, it didn't matter. Hayrod's 'gut' always seemed to pull towards the correct conclusion. So when that same gut got a bad feeling about a killer, what would normally be a problem left to the knights caught the prince's attention. "Lots o' witnesses," He said, "All saw em holding the bloody glass shards. One man dead, and another girl, the tavern worker, soon to be next. He didn't succeed in getting her though. She survived, though terrified. The poor thing." Hayrod shook his head, mourning the damages. "Ah, but what caught my attention...the killer was manic. Real crazed. And even after he was gone, felt like I was being watched. By him and his strange red eye."

Aleric set down the pen, leaning back in his seat. "Red eye?" He crossed his arms, "Were they albino?"

Hayrod shook his head. "Not that kinda red, at least not according to witnesses. A deep red. Deep as the blood he spilled, they said."

"What is it that concerns you? Besides his odd personality."

"Hard to say, your Highness." Hayrod laughed, looking embarrassed, "I probably shouldnt've brought it up. Just getting the sense that this won't be the last we will see of him. But I will keep an eye out, no worries." He promised, retrieving his helmet from the floor and standing up, "Nothing to be concerned with."

A knock at the door. "I've returned, your Highness!" A muffled voice rang out, becoming clearer as the door cracked open, "Today is Darjeeling- oh." Johann cut off, seeing Hayrod preparing to leave. Aleric shook his head.

"I'll take it, Johann. You are excused, Sir Hayrod." With a curt nod and a bow, Hayrod left.

"Oh dear," Johann said, shutting the door behind him, "I can't ever seem to make it on time." He set the tea tray on the sole empty spot of Aleric's desk and poured him a cup. Aleric took two sugars. While Johann never mentioned it, he secretly thought about how in some ways his prince had never grown up. Always a fan of sweets.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

"Any news, Johann?" Aleric asked as his servant placed the cup beside him, decorated with intricate floral patterns and the Sonhest crest.

"About? Ah." Johann asked before realizing what it was the prince was referring to. The blood-sucking incident. Or, a blood-sucking question incident. Johann didn't want to believe his liege had been subject to such a barbaric thing. "I'm afraid not. Nothing cursory at least."Aleric ran his fingers through disheveled, white hair. Nothing? At all? Surely someone must have heard or seen something.

"Keep tabs on it. If anything comes up, let me know. Immediately." Aleric commanded, taking a sip of his tea. His face soured. "It's too bitter." Johann stopped his mouth from falling agape. He added another sugar to the cup of tea whilst holding back laughter, unbeknownst to the prince.

***

"Here is what you asked for this morning." Yiriel said, tossing a dark, corked flask in my direction, "That's for your voice. A sip a day should do the trick."

I uncorked it, and if my nose could've escaped it would've. Yiriel, seeing a flash of disgust across my face, smirked.

"Yeah, it's like that. Nothing I can do! Might fix it later, but I am so busy being forced against my will to help out a crazy stranger that I don't have the time!"

'I might be crazy but I am not a stranger.'

Yiriel waved goodbye as she opened the hefty front door, out to run errands. "Have fun using that poison of yours. Wherever it went."

The iron slammed behind her, followed by a cloud of dust. Did she ever sweep? Pinching my nose, I took a quick swig of the vial. It tasted like the liquid version of skunk smell and decay, and I had no doubts that she did it 100% on purpose. Forcing it down my throat took more strength than opening one hundred of Yiriel's weighted apothecary doors.

'This better work or that girl is going to wish I'd killed her.'

In all truth, I didn't mind Yiriel's minor acts of rebellion. In her shoes, I would've done the same. Forcing someone into a deal wasn't my modus operandi, but the high stakes of reincarnation left little choice. I needed answers and assistance, and while Diane had pledged herself to me, she wasn't useful to me yet. Yiriel happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and fell right into the trap. A few moments after drinking the mixture, and hacking up a lung, I tested the effects by speaking to the empty room.

"Hello? Yes? Is this working?" A low voice, husky and unfamiliar, filled the room. It passed far better than the boyish, androgynous attempts I had made before. This wouldn't be so easily seen through, ensuring my disguise as Raven, a male, worked. People had fallen for it so far, but for both the sake of my poor throat and as insurance, this was preferable. Even if it tasted unholy.

With a final check that everything was in place, my cloak, bandage, belongings, and appearance, I exited the store. Today was the moment of truth; the day bets were cashed out at the gambling arena. The place would be packed with the desperate and bored, all eager to watch six fights determine their monetary future. The past day I'd kept my attention on the connection between Yue and I. It gave me the chance to practice mediating the Contract of Souls. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred, no sudden spikes of fear or desperation. I'd improved my ability to focus on a particular contract too. I could now determine their feelings at that moment. For each of my three contracts, I could sense, among desires and fears, general emotions, intentions, and loyalty. Yue had done her job. I was almost positive, just shy of seeing the results myself.

No better time than the present.

I began the walk in the early evening and arrived at the fighting ring just as the sun set over the tree line. There were people everywhere. Faces hidden under cloaks, covered in scars and strapped with weapons. Many scratched at old wounds with dirt-coated fingernails, their faces sunken, thin, and desperate for cash. A crowd of mercenaries, the despondent, and survivors. The bouncer didn't check twice as he let me in, eager to get folks underground before any nearby guards noticed the event. Shoulder to shoulder we funneled underground, the path heavy with the smell of beer. Tables full of people armed with drinks chatted in slurred, hopeful voices. The carnage would begin soon; you could feel it in the air. The contestants should be getting ready. I settled down at a lone table up in the rafters. A few people recognized me from the other day, making jeering comments about my crazy bets. Good.

Having a beer would be nice, but I decided against it on second thought. The last time I had a drink after a big win, things didn't go well. Power meant comfort, but only once you'd secured it. In the meantime, life played dirty, and I had no intention of rolling in the mud. It would be no surprise if a drink or two got spiked with something nasty to ensure certain betters didn't win.

Time ticked on, and I lazed in my chair, keeping attentive to the surroundings. Then, a lanky fellow with a handlebar mustache and a striped suit strode into the center of the arena. As he did, the room fell silent. All eyes were on him.

"Welcome, one and all! You've waited patiently for the show. You've cast your bets and arrived back tonight to claim the spoils. Fear not! Tonight's six rounds will not disappoint. Let the dismal nature of man be on full display, for your entertainment." He said, and the crowd cheered, causing the flame lights to flicker. With an elaborate wave of the hands, he retreated into the dark. Several moments later, he reemerged coming up the stairs. To reach as many folks as possible, he perched on the highest rafter of the lower floor.

"Now," He announced, "For the first fight of the night. Round 1! The terrible Stone Menace, and the devilish Chain Wielder!"

I hadn't bothered to check stage names. Two men dressed in belted rags, bald, and scarred, entered from opposite sides of the arena. I recognized the man with hands like rocks to be the one I poisoned. He must be the 'Stone Menace.' The other, with a chain around his waist, would've been the 'Chain Wielder'.

Heckleben's Right Eye affects the nervous system. The person poisoned often doesn't realize anything has happened until they need to move fast. It slows their ability to both think and respond in time, making them a terrible fighter. Even if they are the person supposed to 'win' the fight tonight, the audience won't buy it. Once the crowd sees them sluggish and falling over themselves, no amount of coercion will convince them. The showrunners will be forced to give the fight to the other man. Otherwise, they risk losing all credibility, admitting to the scheme.

One odd characteristic of the poison is that it causes visible twitching in the left pinky finger. It's a key sign to determine if the poison was successfully consumed. I stared down at the Stone Menace, eyeing his left hand.

There it was. His pinky finger trembled like a man on his fourth shot of espresso. I let out a smile, hidden in the shadows of my hood.

'Here we go.'