The steward had been hauled to the castle's subterranean levels—rooms meant more for storage and secret meetings than for holding prisoners. The stone walls glistened with damp, the low lanterns casting long, clawing shadows across the floor. Bound at the wrists and ankles, the man sat in a chair too rigid for comfort, his powdered wig askew, his collar soaked with sweat.
Charlotte stood just at the edge of the lamplight, arms folded, her gown sweeping over the dust-filmed floor like spilled ink. Behind her, Elias loomed, silent and watchful. Mira leaned against the far wall, mute as ever, eyes sharp, fingers twitching—ready to speak, or strike.
"I'd apologize for dragging you down here," Charlotte said, her voice light with a hint of cruelty, "but I find I'm far too tired for niceties. So let's skip ahead, shall we?"
The steward's lips trembled. "Your Highness, I—I don't know what you think I've—"
"Poison," Elias cut in, stepping forward. "In a goblet meant for Princess Charlotte. You disappeared early. Mira saw you pass a ring to a noble. You were in a hurry."
The steward's gaze flicked toward Mira. She raised one brow and traced a slow, deliberate line across her palm with her finger.
"She believes you're not worth lying to," Charlotte translated with a tight smile.
"I was instructed!" the steward burst out. "To switch a goblet—just a replacement, I swear! I didn't poison anything!"
"By whom?" Elias asked coldly.
"I don't know! They wore masks! Said they were part of a 'larger balance,' that the kingdom needed a 'new direction.' They gave me coin, handed me the ring, told me who to deliver it to. I thought—it was just politics, not… not this."
Charlotte stepped closer, her voice glacial now. "So you took money, meddled with the royal wine, and handed off a ring that led to an assassination attempt. But you thought it was all harmless?" She let that hang, contempt in every syllable.
At that moment, Amelia entered the chamber, a small glass vial glowing faintly in her hand.
"He'll talk more," she said, setting it on the table beside Charlotte. "Two drops if he stalls again. Not lethal. Just… vivid. It makes the body relive what the mind wants to forget."
Elias arched a brow. "Shall we?"
Charlotte considered, then shook her head.
Instead, she took a step toward the steward. "The ring. Describe the crest."
The man swallowed hard, eyes fluttering shut. "A falcon. Holding a dagger."
Elias stiffened.
Mira's hands flew:
That's House Vellador.
Charlotte's face hardened.
"They're part of the conservative bloc," Elias said quietly. "They opposed your succession after the poisoning. Claimed it was a curse."
"And now they try to fulfill their own prophecy?" Charlotte asked, fists clenching.
"I didn't know," the steward moaned. "Please—I didn't know!"
Charlotte looked him over, cold and unreadable. Then she turned to Elias. "Detain him in the south tower. No windows. No visitors. If he speaks to anyone other than us, gag him."
Elias nodded. "Done."
As the steward was dragged away, Mira stepped forward and touched Charlotte's arm. Her hands moved slowly, firmly:You're not alone.
Charlotte met her gaze and gave a small nod.
Amelia moved closer, her voice low. "House Vellador has always whispered behind the throne. But if they're willing to kill…"
"They'll try again," Charlotte said. "But next time, we'll be ready."
She looked upward, as though she could see the ballroom through the ceiling—the glittering chandeliers, the swirling dancers, the nobles smiling over poisoned goblets.
"Let them dance a little longer," she said, voice like a blade. "We'll tighten the noose in time."