The banquet continued until the early morning hours.
Sibyl saw every family member off at the castle gates.
Ophelia had spent the entire evening quietly coaching Claire on how to apologize to the family head.
Even as they rose to leave, she still wore a worried expression.
The grand hall emptied.
Crystal chandeliers dimmed.
Morning light spilled through the windows, turning the floor into a flowing river of quicksilver.
Only Claire remained in her seat.
Before departing, Herta had leaned close and told her she could trust Sibyl.
Claire was no stranger to the family head and bureau chief.
She knew her adoptive mother and Sibyl shared a close bond, and bureau work often benefited from Sibyl’s protection.
Yet the two of them had never spoken privately.
A resentful voice rose behind her.
“Little brat. You couldn’t even leave me a shred of dignity.”
Sibyl had returned after seeing off the guests.
The calm mask of the family head was gone.
Her brows were lightly furrowed, her eyes carrying clear displeasure.
“I’m sorry, Director. I lost control at the banquet. But I saw it with my own eyes—the dragons and the county police massacred those demonkin residents. The report is nothing but lies!”
Claire stood, agitation sharpening her voice.
“No need to explain. I already know. You could at least have played along for my sake.”
Sibyl tapped Claire’s head lightly with her pipe.
The rebuke was real, yet the indulgence beneath it was even clearer.
“Were there outside ears at the family banquet?” Claire asked, startled.
“Of course. Until we tear the mask off completely, I won’t drag them into the light. That’s the unspoken rule between factions still maneuvering for advantage. My own people are planted in other departments too.”
Sibyl walked to the window.
Dawn light silvered her long dress.
Her silhouette looked both solitary and fragile.
“If you had taken the cue and said you were willing to accept honors at the hearing, it might have thrown off the people watching you.”
She sighed.
“Me? Why would anyone be watching me? Don’t they just want me to commit perjury so they can claim credit?”
“Child, you see too little. Crushing the Kent riot is only their surface goal. Their real target is your identity.”
Sibyl turned, her gaze deep and steady.
My identity?
Does Sibyl know my secret?
Did Herta tell her?
What does she plan to do to me?
Claire’s hands clenched tightly without her realizing.
“Don’t be nervous, little princess. I guessed it on my own. Herta had nothing to do with it. Her protection of you isn’t flawless. If I could figure it out, others will too.”
Sibyl met Claire’s eyes directly. In those crimson irises so like her own, Claire found no malice.
“Caution is wise. Many people do want to harm you. But I am your family head, your superior, and Herta’s closest friend. Believe in me. Believe in the family. We stand with you.” Sibyl’s voice was firm, warm.
Claire was quiet for a moment, then nodded stiffly.
Sibyl rested both hands on Claire’s shoulders, gently pressing her back into the chair before taking the neighboring seat herself.
“Then… who exactly wants to know my identity? That night I saw a white-robed elf and a fire dragon. Are they working together?”
“Very likely. Long-lived species who think too highly of themselves forming private alliances is hardly rare.” Sibyl nodded.
“Are they the Crowned Ones?”
Claire had heard the rumors—long-lived species secretly pulling the strings of nations.
She was beginning to suspect the stories were not entirely fiction.
“No one would admit to such a ridiculous name. The people targeting you are far more than some secret society. They are the hawks in Parliament.”
Seriousness and worry edged Sibyl’s tone.
Parliament was the true center of power in the United Kingdom, holding both legislative and policy authority.
It consisted of the Lower House—whose members were chosen by nobles of the various ducal territories and by municipal halls—and the Upper House, also called the Standing Parliament, made up of the actual heads of the departments that ran the country.
The hawk faction Sibyl spoke of was one of the major blocs in the current Parliament, with influence in both houses.
Its internal factions were tangled.
Elves hungered to conquer the Falen mining region for its anti-magic metal.
Fire dragons sought to use war to secure their race’s military standing.
Their interests differed, yet all of them pushed for war to crush the Southern Continent’s rising power.
“…Hawks? Why would they come after me?” Claire’s brow tightened further.
“There is no confirmed intelligence yet, but rumors say the Lucis Empire’s Imperial Electors’ Assembly will soon convene. You don’t need me to explain how valuable a princess with a legitimate claim becomes at a moment like this. The hawks are desperate to confirm your identity.”
Unease flickered in Sibyl’s eyes.
“They want the merits from the Kent incident to drag me into politics?”
“Not only that. If you accept honors at the hearing, they will smoothly arrange a post for you—special investigator or something similar—and use it as an excuse to transfer you out of the Cerberus Bureau. Once that happens, I won’t be able to protect you.”
Sibyl drew her hand across her own throat in a sharp cutting motion.
“Then what should I do at the hearing?” Claire asked quietly.
“Exactly what you did at the banquet. Tear their lies apart without holding back. It will also let us see how many people in Parliament are watching you. Do you have any evidence of the massacre?”
Claire shook her head.
By the time she reached the containment zone after waking, the square had already become a mountain of corpses and a river of blood.
She had tried to rush in and search for survivors, but the police had stopped her.
Later the municipal hall burned the entire zone to prevent disease.
Nothing could remain on that scorched ground.
“A witness would work too. Your partner, for example.”
“Liz… she might have been bought or threatened. She was there when the massacre happened. I don’t know why she did nothing…”
Tears welled in Claire’s red eyes.
She still could not accept that her closest friend had betrayed her.
“Enough, enough, good child. I’ll help you pressure those bastards at the hearing. You’ll be fine. Five days remain until the hearing. Enjoy your vacation until then.”
Sibyl patted Claire’s back lightly.
She could feel the girl fighting to hold back her tears.
This little princess who had already endured so much was stronger than she had imagined.
By the time Claire’s carriage returned to Londinium, dusk had fallen.
The setting sun rested on the distant church spire.
She walked through the city that was both familiar and strange, breathing in the drifting scent of spices.
Towering buildings rose like a granite forest.
Three years ago, whenever Claire strolled through these streets, Liz had been beside her.
Now she walked alone through the stone forest, a lone crow that had lost its flock.
She passed through narrow, elongated alleys and stopped before a shabby little building.
A signboard hung above the door:
“Specializing in all kinds of mechanical repairs. Third-rate prices, first-rate craftsmanship.”
It was a mechanical repair shop, nothing luxurious.
Through the long-uncleaned window she could see iron cabinets crammed with strange parts and half-finished machines.
Everything inside looked exactly as it had three years ago.
This was Liz’s shop.
Family subsidies and academy scholarships alike had all been poured into this place.
During holidays Claire had often come here to keep Liz company, quietly watching her tinker with delicate, complex mechanisms.
After the two of them left on their hunting journey three years ago, the shop had been left to gather dust. If Liz had returned to Londinium, she would surely have come here first.
Yet the doorway was still thick with spiderwebs.
“Liz… where are you?”
Claire whispered, a faint tremor hidden in her voice.
***
On the north bank of the Thames, the Isaac Hotel blazed with light.
Luxurious carriages lined up at the entrance.
Doors opened.
Gentlemen of every sort stepped out, each with a graceful, beautiful girl on his arm.
Their skirts swayed, revealing delicate high heels.
These girls had come from every corner of the United Kingdom.
Before reaching Londinium they had all believed their looks would open doors.
They soon learned that in this city beauty was cheap currency.
Appearance alone could not buy a better life or entry into a great house.
Many had become playthings for the wealthy, attending social events in the hope of one day rising into high society.
The Isaac Hotel was one such gathering place.
Tonight it hosted a grand banquet.
Rumors said high-ranking church officials would attend.
Red-clad dancers spun across the floor while guests murmured among themselves, eyes filled with shifting emotions.
On the hills of the south bank, Liz lay prone, eye to the scope of her rifle, searching for her target.
She had ridden from Kent to the small town of Potri north of Londinium, pawned her documents at an inn there, then taken a carriage back into the city.
The note Lady Miriel had given her named the man behind the young priest who had persecuted her teacher.
Jeffrey Bird. Secretary to a bishop in Londinium’s upper district.
A mere secretary—an insignificant figure in the capital’s power games. Liz had found it hard to believe at first.
The note added that this infatuated man had accepted bribes from the young priest’s family.
Using the bishop’s seal, he had helped the priest expand his influence in the lower district, ultimately causing the tragedy.
The teacher’s death and the young priest’s suicide had meant nothing to him.
He had not fled.
He had taken no special precautions.
Even the thugs sent to kill Liz had been hired by the young priest’s family.
His indifference showed that this level of corruption was routine for those in power.
The death of a small person like her teacher was beneath notice in this noisy city.
At last Liz found her prey in the scope.
An old man with graying hair, reeking of alcohol, one arm around a hotel waiter and the other around a girl.
He looked nothing like a clergyman.
That was the face of her enemy.
Rage burned through Liz’s chest, impossible to contain.
Avenge the teacher.
He deserves to die.
Kill him.
Kill him.
The thought filled her mind. Her finger tightened on the trigger—then a sudden, powerful sense of wrongness stopped her.
She forced herself to ease off the trigger and shifted the scope away from the secretary.
What she saw next made her blood run cold.
On the second-floor windowsill of the inn across the way stood a tall, slender man. His skin was pale as paper.
Blood-red eyes glowed with feral light in the darkness.
It was Alexander, head of the Toriduo family—the “Elegant Tyrant.”
Liz understood at once.
The murderous impulse had come from the charm art unique to the Toriduo bloodline.
She drove her fangs deep into the back of her own hand, using the pain to break the spell’s hold.
Through the scope she saw Alexander wave toward her, almost lazily.
Horror crawled up her spine.
Alexander was one of the Crowned Ones.
Everything clicked into place.
The note had not been an olive branch offered freely by the Crowned Ones.
It was a trap Alexander had laid with care.
If she had given in to the killing urge and fired, that single act would have given them a permanent hold over her.
Lady Miriel had said the Crowned Ones’ informants inside the Cerberus Bureau had already looked through Claire’s files.
They were watching Claire.
If Liz became one of their tools, she would eventually be used against her.
Her teacher’s gentle smile rose in her mind.
The teacher would never have wanted this.
Liz rose slowly.
The rifle in her hands felt impossibly heavy, as though it carried every ounce of her hatred and every memory of the past.
She stared at it for a long moment.
Then, with sudden force, she swung her arm.
The rifle arced through the night air and vanished into the dark, quiet waters of the Thames.
Liz stood motionless, watching the ripples fade. Only after a long while did she turn away.
She knew someone was still waiting for her in that city.
She wanted to go back to her side.