The courtroom was louder than usual.
Voices overlapped beneath the high stone arches, carried through the vast hall by the warm morning air.
The polished stone floor reflected the flickering light of rows of brass oil lamps, while carved pillars rose along either side of the chamber, each bearing intricate motifs of serpents, birds, flowers, and celestial figures.
At the far end of the hall stood the royal throne upon a raised platform, framed by ornate golden pillars and deep crimson drapes.
But that morning, no one was admiring the grandeur of the court.
The Queen had ordered the reopening of former Queen Amaranda’s death investigation.
Ten years after Clasida’s ascension.
More than three decades after Amaranda’s death.
Curiosity moved through the chamber like a restless current, tempered by unease.
“Strange timing,” murmured the Ashwa Clan’s representative, who owned a prominent logistics business.
“After all these years.”
“Even if a culprit is found,” the Head of the Merchant Union added, “what proof could still exist?”
“There is more to this,” the education minister said quietly.
“The Prime Minister visited the Royal Security Chief last night.”
A few heads turned.
“He is your cousin. You must have some idea,” the finance minister asked the Surya representative.
“He is,” the man replied evenly.
“And he will say nothing. Mervil has never confused family with duty.”
The finance minister shrugged.
Before another question could be raised, the guard’s voice cut cleanly through the murmurs.
“Her Majesty, Queen Clasida of Mannan.”
The court rose as one.
Queen Clasida entered without haste.
The rustle of silk, the faint clinking of jewelry, and the murmurs of conversation disappeared almost instantly beneath the weight of her presence.
She crossed the hall and ascended the raised platform.
Bows followed—measured and reverent.
She took her seat upon the throne.
“Proceed,” she commanded.
Prime Minister Mervil stepped forward.
His signature smirk remained in place, but his gaze carried intent.
“Your Majesty, the investigation into the fire at the southern training camp has concluded. No evidence of sabotage was found. Extreme heat remains the sole cause.”
He paused.
“The Tarankan Clan wishes to add their assessment.”
The Queen inclined her head.
“Your Grace,” the Tarankan representative said, stepping forward, “our divinations warned of severe heat this year. Such incidents may become frequent. Precautionary measures are advised.”
“What precautions?” the Queen asked.
“A full report will be submitted shortly,” Mervil replied.
“And the injured?”
“Recovering well. Several have already returned home.”
“The training camp?”
Chief Sendrav stepped forward.
“Once security checks conclude, restoration will begin. Within forty-eight hours.”
“Very well,” the Queen said.
Her gaze shifted toward the Finance Minister.
“I still await the financial assessment.”
The minister stiffened.
“You will have it by tomorrow morning, Your Majesty.”
“See that I do.”
The minister bowed.
Proceedings continued.
Trade routes.
Infrastructure.
Harvest forecasts.
Taxation.
The ordinary machinery of a kingdom continued moving, even while an old death had quietly returned to the center of everyone’s attention.
At last, the Ashwa representative rose again.
“Your Majesty…”
His voice was steady, though the tension beneath it was not.
“Is it true that you have ordered the reopening of former Queen Amaranda’s case?”
The Queen stood.
“Yes.”
She looked across the gathered representatives.
“And let me be clear—no questions will be entertained on this matter beyond those directly assigned.”
No one spoke.
The Queen turned and walked toward the exit, followed by her maids of honour and guards.
The court remained standing.
The silence she left behind felt heavier than the rumours that had filled the room.
Mervil studied the unsettled faces before him.
Interesting times.
He turned toward the Garuda Clan’s representative.
“I will require an audience with your clan head,” Mervil said evenly.
“At your convenience. No formalities necessary.”
Before the representative could answer, the Ashwa representative interjected.
“Is this related to the investigation?”
Mervil looked at him.
“Surveillance.”
A beat passed.
Then Mervil smiled faintly.
“Does that concern you?”
“Of course not,” the man replied quickly.
The Naga representative stepped forward.
“We understand discretion. If assistance is required, our clan stands ready.”
Mervil regarded him for a moment.
“How considerate.”
“We share the sentiment,” the Garuda representative added.
Mervil inclined his head and took his leave.
From a distance, Chief Sendrav watched without comment.
Mervil walked through the long corridor outside the courtroom.
The polished stone beneath his feet echoed softly with each step.
A presence followed him.
Mervil glanced sideways.
“Speak, Mahel.”
“Your instincts rival Garuda’s,” the Surya representative said lightly.
“One would think you were born to the wrong clan.”
“And yet here I am,” Mervil replied, still walking.
Mahel quickened his steps.
“Everyone is pressing for answers. I know you won’t give them—and I won’t defy Her Majesty.”
He lowered his voice.
“Tell me only this: what should I say to keep the waters calm?”
Mervil stopped.
“Remind them of the Queen’s will.”
“And family?”
Mervil was silent for a moment.
“For now, family waits. Nothing is certain yet.”
Mahel studied him.
Then he placed a hand briefly on Mervil’s shoulder.
“Court or home, remember—you’re not alone.”
Mervil arched a brow.
“Careful. You’re sounding sincere.”
“I understand the gravity,” Mahel replied.
Mervil smiled once and moved on.
Later, in the Prime Minister’s office, Sendrav was already present, speaking with the Deputy Prime Minister.
“Planning my assassination?” Mervil asked as he entered.
“Not today,” Sendrav replied dryly.
Mervil took his seat behind the large wooden desk and opened his diary.
He gestured for the others to sit.
“Report.”
The Deputy straightened.
“I have compiled a list of those who served the late Queen and remain alive.”
Mervil’s pen moved across the page.
“Anyone of interest?”
The Deputy hesitated.
“The maid who accompanied Her Majesty on her voyages.”
Mervil’s pen stopped.
Sendrav leaned forward.
“Her whereabouts?”
The Deputy looked toward him.
“The Land of the Fallen Stars.”
Mervil slowly leaned back in his chair.
For the first time that morning, the faint amusement disappeared from his face.
He looked at Sendrav.
“Chief…”
A pause.
“Let’s hear your latest report on palace security.”