Red had made two mistakes at Lord Ardent's wake.
The first was underestimating the ridiculous strength packed into Alzein's wiry frame. A throw meant to startle had turned into a hand-cannon shot that dropped a trained assassin in one hit.
The second was not anticipating the chaos that followed.
Now the King's chamber felt smaller than it should. The carved ceiling arched high, painted with fading murals of the Light Goddess, but the air was thick and hot with too many voices clashing at once. A sour-sweet trace of wine clung to the stone; the stain beneath the table was dark enough to hide the blood.
"The assassin bore the crest of Bylon!" Lord Aurum slammed a ringed hand against the table, rattling the lamp. "They've been quiet since King Alador's passing, and now they try to kill one of us during a lord's funeral!"
"Then we answer back," Lord Kleitz growled. His hunting knife rested on the table, silver hilt catching the lamplight. "They struck first—we'll strike harder."
Red leaned back, letting the fire spread. Panic was the point—he'd seen it before, in another world, in another hall, under banners and music that couldn't hide the screams. The memory kept his hand near his blade even now.
Kieran, Baram's vassal, stepped forward. The silver-white plate of a Radiant Knight glinted as he moved; sunlight caught on the crest etched into his cuirass. His gauntlet trembled faintly.
"We found traces of drowsia in the guards' wine," he said. "Served during the knights' ascension ceremony, hours before the funeral. Enough to leave them half-awake, but not dead."
"And the wine?" Red asked. He already knew.
Kieran's gaze slid to the door as it opened. "Imported from Bylon."
Commander Garan entered. A scar cut down his jaw, his leather cape frayed at the edges. His plain armor was dented in all the right places, every mark earned. He still smelled faintly of oil and rain.
"My fault, Prince Alzein," Garan said, voice like gravel. "I should have checked the supply chain myself. I'll take the blame."
"Noted," Red said evenly. He turned to the others. "Remind me—why are Bylon supposed to be our friends?"
Baram's mouth tightened. "Because they were, once. Schlager reveres the Light Goddess. Bylon is the Magisteel City—they forge the finest magic weapons in the west. We've traded, trained, and defended each other for decades."
"Until one of their crests shows up in our chandelier," Kleitz muttered.
"Until then," Baram agreed.
Lady Corna, still holding her daughter close, spoke up. "I'm sure that Bylon assassin is the same one who killed Lord Ardent."
Red wanted troop movements, trade schedules—anything useful—but there were too many fires. Lumiaris was missing, her protective runes gone. Ardent's killer was still unidentified. And the statue—the one he'd been sent to find—was still nowhere.
"I don't want to continue as the head of Schlager Castle," Baram whispered, mostly to himself. His voice carried the weight of a man who'd fought his last battle. "I don't want to die yet."
No, Red thought. The assassin was directly beneath Lady Corna when I threw the chalice. She's his target. That's my only solid lead.
The meeting bled apart into smaller conversations. Lords drifted to safer rooms, already carrying fresh rumors in their pockets. Red caught Baram before he could leave.
"How did you know?" Baram asked quietly. "That an assassin was here?"
"The Goddess told me," Red said, lying without blinking. "She wants me to protect you."
Baram studied him, then beckoned him back into the light pooling beneath the chandelier. His cane tapped on the stone floor.
"Your Highness, a lesson," he said. "Schlager was built to serve the Light. Every lord here descends from the First People she blessed. Light barriers. Light healing. Light as a weapon. The royal family hears her voice directly. My bloodline… we protect her oldest church."
His gaze lifted to the chandelier above them, the same one from Ardent's funeral, now missing two crystals. "And we can tell when someone is lying. But only when they're in the Light."
The lamplight laid a bright bar across Red's knuckles. He kept still.
"You told me you'd protect me earlier during the funeral," Baram said. "That was true. But you're lying now."
Red hesitated. A breathing lie detector. Something he'd learned to bypass when he was young. He tested to see if Baram was the same—if mixing half-truths could mask the lies.
"I am," Red admitted. "The Goddess wants me to find Lumiaris. I suspect the one who abducted her is the same who killed Ardent. That's why I became cautious during the ceremony—and why I asked Brayl to investigate."
Baram's eyes narrowed, then eased. "You're telling the truth."
"The Goddess has chosen me as her champion," Red continued. "I protected you because you can help me find Lumiaris."
Another long pause.
"Also true," Baram said at last.
"I need her to help craft something to locate the statue. My memories may be gone, but my mission hasn't changed—end the war in this world."
Baram's lips tightened, then he inclined his head. "Praise Her Light. I don't know why she's chosen someone as reckless as you, but you are royalty. I won't press further."
Red stepped out of the chandelier's light, making a mental note: never stand in it when Baram was around.
The chamber door swung open. A guard stepped in with a sealed scroll. "Lord Baram. A message from Bylon."
Baram broke the wax. The parchment crackled; a scrap of red seal clung to his thumb. His jaw tightened as he read.
"Bylon is demanding an audience."
Red arched a brow. "Why?"
"They claim…" Baram's voice stayed steady, but his fingers curled the parchment's edge, "…an assassin from Schlager killed one of their lords."
The word assassin hung in the air like a blade, waiting to drop.