The heavy oak doors of the Great Hall Court House groaned as they were swung open, but the sound was quickly drowned out by the sharp and slow click of Alaric’s boots against the marble floor. He walked with the predatory grace of a man who knew he was being watched by every snake in the Capital.

The Emperor sat high above on his throne, his golden robes sprawling like a spill of sunlight. He didn’t speak. He simply watched his brother with a thin, unsettling smile plastered on his face.

Below him was the row of high judges of the imperial court dressed in black robes, wearing a white sash over their shoulders.

"Your Imperial Majesty!" The Marquis’s voice broke the silence, thick with forced grief. He stood at his podium, his hands trembling as he clutched a lace handkerchief. "Look at him! He walks in here with the arrogance of a king while my son—my poor Julian—is missing! I have not seen my child since the Duke hid him away! I fear the worst, my Lord. I fear the Duke has done away with Julian to hide the evidence of his own rebellious plans!"

The Head Judge, a stern man with skin like wrinkled parchment, adjusted his spectacles and looked down at Alaric.

"Grand Duke Alaric Lucien Blackspire. These are grave accusations pointed at you. What do you have to say about this? Is it true that you have kept the Marquis away from his son?"

The Duke did not respond. Saying yes would stir up so much more nuisance. Seeing this, the judge got uncomfortable and asked again, but in a less accusing format.

"Where is the son of the Marquis?"

Alaric sat in the high-backed chair provided for him with his back straight, looking like a statue of ice.

"Julian Von Astrea is resting at my estate," Alaric said, his voice flat and calm. "Due to the nature of his injury, he cannot be moved. To bring him here in his current state would be uncomfortable for him."

"A lie!" the Marquis screamed, slamming his fist onto the podium. "A convenient lie! You are stalling! You want us to wait until the body rots so no one can see the marks of your violence!"

Inside, the Marquis was jubilant. He’s dead, he thought. The Rapier Reaper never fails. Julian is a corpse, and the Duke is digging his own grave with every word he orders.

"You seem very certain of his death, Marquis," Alaric said, his blue eyes narrowing. "You speak as if you saw your son die with your own eyes. Or perhaps... as if you planned it?"

"How dare you!" the Marquis gasped, turning to the Emperor. "Your Majesty, listen to this! He mocks a grieving father!" He turned and gestured to a young man standing in the shadows behind him. "If you doubt his capacity for cruelty, look at my eldest son, Maxwell!"

Maxwell stepped forward, his face pale and his right hand heavily bandaged and cradled in a sling. "The Duke did this to me," the young man said, his voice shaking. "He crushed my hand without provocation, simply because I stood in his way. He is a man of senseless violence. If he could do this to me, I can’t imagine what he could’ve done to my ’crippled’ brother, who is under house arrest in his Estate."

The court erupted. Noblewomen whispered behind their fans, and the Councilors traded dark looks. The evidence of the Duke’s ’violence’ was sitting right there in front of them.

Alaric didn’t even look at Maxwell. He let them speak however they wanted.

The Marquis didn’t just stand at the podium; he leaned over it, his face contorted in a mask of grief that was almost too perfect. He wiped a dry eye with his handkerchief and looked up at the Emperor.

"My Lord, it is clear! The Duke has likely finished the job—murdered my son to tie up the loose ends of his rebellion attempts! He killed him to keep him silent!" The Marquis’s voice rose to a fever pitch, filled with a chilling certainty. "My son is dead! I know it in my very soul! He is gone, and this man is his executioner!"

The Emperor’s eyes flickered with interest. He looked down at his brother.

"You speak with a lot of conviction, Marquis. Just as the Duke said, it is almost as if you were there to witness the final breath," he said, and the Marquis tensed up.

What was the Emperor doing? Didn’t he create this stage for him to ridicule the Duke? Why was he joining the Duke to question him now?

Alaric remained seated, his posture dangerously calm. He turned his head slowly to look at the Marquis, his blue eyes piercing.

"Indeed. You are remarkably sure of a death that hasn’t been confirmed. Tell me, Marquis... why are you so certain?"

The Marquis’ fingers began twitching against the wood of the podium. "I... I am a father! A father’s intuition is never wrong when his child is in danger!"

"Intuition," Alaric echoed, his voice dropping into a lethal, mocking sneer. "Or perhaps it’s not intuition, but a progress report? Maybe you are so sure because you actually hired a professional to carry out the job in your stead."

The Hall went dead silent. The Marquis’s face drained of color, turning a sickly shade of grey. He let out a forced, high-pitched laugh that echoed awkwardly against the marble.

"I... I don’t know what you are talking about!" the Marquis stuttered, waving his hands frantically. "Hired someone? To kill my own son? That is preposterous! You shouldn’t frame people with such baseless lies just to save your own skin, Your Grace! It is beneath even you!"

"Baseless?" Alaric asked. He slowly raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The sound echoed like a whip-crack through the silent hall. "Then why don’t we ask the expert? Why don’t we ask the assassin who so boldly made his way into my mansion last night to carry out the act?"