The marble floor of the throne room gleamed like still water, reflecting chandeliers heavy with gold filigree. The air was thick with perfume and danger.
Seraphine's heels clicked softly as she walked between the rows of nobles. Every step was measured, every sway of her gown intentional—a reminder that a villainess' power wasn't always in spells, but in how she could turn a hallway into a battlefield.
At the far end, Prince Caelan sat beside the king. He looked every inch the loyal heir—until his eyes found me, flickering with an expression that said he wanted to be anywhere else but here. Lysander stood near the marble pillars, arms crossed, his shadow looming like a threat in human form.
Great, I thought. Two walking plotlines in one room. What could possibly go wrong?
The court's murmurs rose like an oncoming tide. I could feel the prickle of speculation: Why had Seraphine been summoned so soon after the Mirror Ren incident? Why did the Prince look like he'd swallowed a truth he wasn't allowed to spit out?
A chime rang. The king's voice cut through the tension.
"Lady Seraphine Noir," he said, his gaze sharp. "You stand accused of disrupting the Royal Ball, endangering the safety of the court, and—" His eyes flicked to the high councilors "—consorting with dangerous magic."
Oh, here we go. The trial scene. The one I never wrote in the original novel. Which meant the System was making it up on the fly, and that… was bad.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]:
New Subquest Generated – "Prove Your Innocence."
Penalty for Failure: Stripped of Noble Status.
Optional Bonus: Humiliate the Prosecutor (+100 Charm, +1 Notoriety).
Really? The bonus is public humiliation? You're spoiling me.
"My king," I said aloud, dipping into a bow that looked elegant and not-at-all-like-I-was-stalling. "Might I inquire as to the source of these… intriguing accusations?"
That was my opening. The prosecutor—a skeletal little man with a hooked nose—stepped forward with the smuggest expression I'd seen since my last corporate manager review meeting. "Multiple witnesses attest to Lady Noir engaging in a ritual of summoning during the ball," he said. "Dark magic that nearly killed the Crown Prince."
The room gasped.
I raised a brow. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to clutch my pearls and faint, or should I just skip to the part where I dismantle your argument piece by piece?"
Caelan's lips twitched—just a flicker—but Lysander's gaze sharpened. They both knew I was walking a fine line.
The prosecutor gestured, and two servants wheeled in… the shattered remains of the ballroom's enchanted mirror.
My blood ran cold. Not because it was evidence—but because I knew exactly what it was. The prison where Mirror Ren had almost taken control.
[SYSTEM ALERT]:
Warning: Evidence is laced with residual Host Signature. Exposure may trigger Personality Fragment Resurgence.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect. The thing that could expose everything was now front and center.
I stepped forward, letting my heels echo. "If I may, your majesty, I believe the court is confusing correlation with causation."
The king's gaze darkened. "Explain."
And so I did. With words dipped in honey and sharpened like blades, I painted a picture of chaos at the ball—of my desperate attempt to protect the Crown Prince from a mysterious magical threat. Every sentence was a gamble, every glance a careful performance. I even slipped in just enough truth to make it believable, without exposing the System or the Mirror Ren incident.
By the time I was done, the prosecutor's smirk had curdled into a frown.
Caelan rose. "I can vouch for Lady Noir's account," he said, voice steady. "If she wished me harm, I would not be standing here today."
Lysander's eyes narrowed at him—then flicked to me, as though calculating whether to speak. But he said nothing.
The king leaned back, considering. The court held its breath.
Finally, he said, "This matter is… unresolved. The trial will continue at dawn tomorrow. Lady Noir, you are confined to your estate until then."
The gavel fell.
As I turned to leave, the mirror shards pulsed faintly—like they were breathing. And in my mind, a familiar voice whispered:
We're not finished yet.
---
END OF CHAPTER