I woke up to Tom shaking my shoulder and the horrifying realization that I'd slept through half the day.
"What time is it?" I croaked.
"Three in the afternoon. You've been out for almost twelve hours." Tom set down a tray with food. "The Duke said to let you sleep. Also said you're not allowed in his study until you've eaten."
I sat up, my body protesting every movement. Every muscle ached. My brain felt like it had been replaced with cotton wool soaked in regret.
"Twelve hours. The ball is tonight. We have—" I did mental math. "—approximately five hours to finalize everything."
"Which is why you need to eat and look presentable." Tom gestured at my clothes. "You can't walk into the Royal Ball looking like a haunted accountant."
"I am a haunted accountant."
"Yes, but you need to look like a *professional* haunted accountant." He grinned. "Mrs. Blackwood had your formal livery prepared. It's on the chair. She still thinks you're suspicious, but apparently the Duke insisted you attend the ball as part of his personal staff."
I stared at the black and silver uniform draped over the chair. It was gorgeous—tailored, expensive, with the Valorian crest embroidered on the shoulder. The kind of livery that screamed "important servant of a powerful house."
"I'm going to the ball," I said slowly. "Where every noble in the kingdom will be. Where someone tried to poison the Duke. Where the king's treasonous cousin will be. Where every single doom flag from the game converges into one catastrophic evening."
"Yep!"
"This is a terrible idea."
"Yep!" Tom was far too cheerful about this.
I ate quickly—some kind of roasted meat and vegetables that I didn't have time to appreciate—and changed into the formal livery. It fit perfectly, which meant someone had taken my measurements while I was unconscious. Creepy, but efficient.
When I looked in the small mirror, I barely recognized myself. The uniform made me look competent. Professional. Like someone who belonged in a ducal household instead of a software company's server room.
"Looking good," Tom said approvingly. "Very 'mysterious butler who knows all your secrets.'"
"I don't know anyone's secrets. I just know accounting."
"Same thing in noble circles."
Fair point.
We made our way to the Duke's study. The manor was chaos—servants rushing everywhere, preparing for the Duke's departure to the palace. Formal carriages being polished. Guards checking weapons. The organized panic of a major event.
Cassian was in his study, already dressed in formal attire that probably cost more than my previous year's salary. Black coat with silver embroidery. High collar. Hair pulled back. He looked like he'd stepped out of a painting titled "Aristocratic Intimidation."
"You're awake," he observed. "Good. We have work to do."
The desk was covered with documents—the evidence we'd gathered, Wickham's written confession, cross-referenced ledgers, everything meticulously organized.
"I've secured an audience with His Majesty," Cassian continued. "Private. Before the ball officially begins. We'll present the evidence then."
"How did you manage that?" I asked.
"I told him I had urgent intelligence regarding a threat to the Crown. He couldn't refuse without looking suspicious." His smile was sharp. "Also, I implied I was finally ready to support his northern expansion. He practically tripped over himself to grant the audience."
"And if he already knows about the conspiracy?"
"Then we're walking into a trap, and we'll need to improvise." He said it so casually, like walking into traps was just part of his Tuesday routine.
Maybe it was.
"Your Grace, I've been thinking about Lady Meridian—"
"As have I. She'll be at the ball. If the king refuses to act, we'll need to confront her directly."
"That's a terrible idea," I said flatly.
"Do you have a better one?"
"Not yet, but I'm working on it."
Tom cleared his throat from his position by the door. "If I may? Lady Meridian has a reputation. She's... how do I put this delicately? She collects people."
We both turned to look at him.
"Collects people?" I repeated.
"Blackmail material. Secrets. Leverage. She's known for knowing things about people that they'd rather keep hidden." Tom shifted uncomfortably. "My cousin works in the palace kitchens. Says Lady Meridian has files on half the nobility. If she goes down, she'll take others with her."
"Mutually assured destruction," I murmured. "She's protected by the threat of exposure."
"Which means even if the king knows about her involvement, he might not be able to act," Cassian said grimly. "Not without risking massive scandal."
This was getting more complicated by the minute. In the game, Lady Meridian hadn't even been a character. She was background lore at best. But here she was, a major player with blackmail material and royal connections.
"We need leverage of our own," I said. "Something she wants more than she wants to protect the conspiracy."
"Such as?"
I thought about it. What would a woman who collected secrets want? More secrets? No, that was redundant. Power? She already had that through her connection to the king.
Protection.
"We offer her immunity," I said slowly. "Full pardon in exchange for testimony against Master Edwin and anyone else involved. She walks away clean, keeps her position, loses nothing except a conspiracy that's already falling apart."
Cassian frowned. "That's letting a traitor go free."
"That's preventing a civil war. Your Grace, we can't punish everyone. We can only neutralize the threat. If Lady Meridian testifies against Edwin, the conspiracy dies. The king saves face. You get vindication. Everyone wins except the people who actually deserve punishment."
"That's not justice."
"No," I agreed. "It's pragmatism. Justice would be great, but I'll settle for 'everyone survives.'"
He studied me for a long moment. "You think like a survivor. Like someone who's seen what happens when idealism meets reality."
"I've seen what happens when good people lose because they insisted on perfect solutions," I said quietly. "Sometimes good enough is all we get."
The Duke nodded slowly. "We'll offer her the deal. But only if the king refuses to act. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
A knock at the door. Mrs. Blackwood entered, her expression as severe as always. "Your Grace, the carriages are ready. We should depart within the hour."
"Thank you, Mrs. Blackwood." He turned to me. "You'll ride in my carriage. We'll review the evidence one final time during the journey."
Mrs. Blackwood's eyebrows rose slightly—apparently, butlers didn't usually ride with dukes—but she said nothing.
After she left, Tom grinned at me. "Riding in the fancy carriage. Moving up in the world."
"I'd rather be moving away from conspiracies and potential assassination attempts."
"Where's the fun in that?"
---
The carriage ride to the palace was exactly as awkward as I'd expected. Cassian sat across from me, reviewing documents in silence while I tried not to think about all the ways this evening could go catastrophically wrong.
The capital city rolled past the windows—grand buildings, crowded streets, the kind of fantasy architecture that would've been amazing to explore if I weren't currently living in a political thriller.
"You're nervous," Cassian observed without looking up from his papers.
"I'm terrified, Your Grace."
"Good. Fear keeps you sharp." He finally looked at me. "But don't let it paralyze you. Tonight will be chaos. Expect the unexpected. Trust your instincts."
"My instincts say to fake my own death and move to a small farm somewhere."
He almost smiled. "After tonight, that might be an option for both of us."
The palace appeared on the horizon—massive, white stone, towers and spires that looked like someone had given a wedding cake delusions of grandeur. Guards lined the entrance. Carriages of other nobles were already arriving, a parade of wealth and political ambition.
"Remember," Cassian said as our carriage joined the queue, "in public, you're just my butler. Invisible. Unremarkable. But stay close. If something happens, I need you nearby."
"Why me? You have guards, advisors—"
"Because you see patterns I don't. You think differently. And right now, different thinking is what keeps us alive." He straightened his coat. "Also, you're the only person in my household I'm certain isn't compromised."
That was probably the closest to a compliment I'd ever get from him, and it made my chest feel weird.
The carriage stopped. A footman opened the door. The Duke stepped out first, immediately surrounded by the noise and spectacle of arriving nobility.
I followed, trying to look professional and unremarkable simultaneously.
The palace entrance was chaos—nobles greeting each other, servants directing traffic, guards watching everything. I caught glimpses of faces I recognized from the game. Baron Helmore, looking nervous. Count Rothford, sneering at someone. Various ladies in dresses that defied physics and probably cost more than my previous life's car.
And then I saw her.
Standing near one of the palace pillars, surrounded by admirers, was a woman in a deep purple gown. Beautiful. Calculating eyes. A smile that promised secrets.
Lady Meridian.
She looked directly at me. Our eyes met across the crowded entrance.
And she *winked.*
My blood went cold.
She knew. Somehow, she knew I was investigating her.
"Your Grace," I murmured to Cassian. "Lady Meridian. Three o'clock. She's watching us."
Cassian glanced over casually. "So she is. Interesting."
"That's one word for it."
"Arjun." His voice was quiet but firm. "Whatever happens tonight, remember: we're here to prevent catastrophe, not start it. Stay calm. Stay sharp. And for god's sake, don't do anything heroic."
"I'm a butler. Heroism isn't in my job description."
"Good. Keep it that way."
We entered the palace proper, and the sheer opulence hit me like a physical force. Gold everywhere. Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors so polished I could see my reflection. The kind of wealth that made the Duke's manor look modest.
A royal attendant approached. "Duke Valorian? His Majesty will see you in the private audience chamber. Please follow me."
This was it. The moment we'd been preparing for.
Cassian straightened his shoulders and followed the attendant. I trailed behind, very aware of the eyes watching us. Lady Meridian's gaze boring into my back. Count Rothford's suspicious glare. Other nobles whispering behind fans and gloved hands.
We were walking into a room with the king of the realm, armed with evidence of treason involving his own cousin.
This was either going to save the kingdom or start a civil war.
Possibly both.
The attendant opened a door to a small, private chamber. "His Majesty will join you shortly."
We entered. The door closed behind us.
And we waited.
"Your Grace," I said quietly. "If this goes wrong—"
"It won't."
"But if it does—"
"Then we improvise. Together." He met my eyes. "I trust you, Arjun. I don't say that lightly."
Before I could respond, another door opened.
King Leopold III entered the room.
He was younger than I expected—maybe forty, with a carefully groomed beard and tired eyes. He wore formal robes that somehow made him look both powerful and exhausted.
"Cassian," he said warmly. "Thank you for requesting this audience. I'm eager to hear about your change of heart regarding the northern territories."
The Duke bowed. "Your Majesty. Before we discuss the north, there's something you need to see."
"Oh?"
Cassian pulled out the ledgers. The documents. Wickham's confession.
"Your Majesty, for the past six months, someone in my household has been systematically embezzling funds to bribe my political enemies. The goal appears to be my isolation and eventual removal from power." He set the evidence on the table between them. "And the conspiracy reaches higher than I initially believed."
The king's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "Higher?"
"Lady Meridian has been meeting with my chief administrator. Coordinating the operation. Your Majesty..." Cassian's voice was steady. "I'm not accusing you of involvement. But I am asking for your help in rooting out treason that touches your own family."
Silence.
The king looked at the documents. At us. At the door.
When he finally spoke, his voice was very quiet.
"Close the door, Cassian. Lock it. And tell me everything."
Relief flooded through me. He didn't know. The king didn't know.
We had a chance.
I locked the door while the Duke began explaining, laying out the evidence piece by piece. The king listened, his expression growing darker with each revelation.
This was working. We were actually pulling this off.
And then, from somewhere in the palace, a scream echoed through the halls.
Followed by bells. Alarm bells.
The king's head snapped up. "What—"
The door burst open—I'd locked it, but apparently royal guards had keys—and a pale-faced attendant stumbled in.
"Your Majesty! There's been an incident. Baron Helmore—he's dead. Poisoned. His body was just found in the east gallery."
My stomach dropped.
Baron Helmore. Dead. Poisoned.
At the exact location where, in the game, the first major death occurred during the Royal Ball.
The doom flags weren't just triggering.
They were accelerating.
---