Valdemar covered his face with a gaudy golden mask and swirled the wineglass in his hand. He was at a masquerade ball put on by one of the dukes of Charlgia. Usually, only a select few elites were allowed to attend, but thanks to the spending money the crown prince had given him, Valdemar had been able to buy his way in with little trouble.
“Please keep in mind we have a mission to complete,” said a man attempting to keep stride while Valdemar stopped to speak to every woman who caught his eye.
This man wearing a white porcelain mask was Jože Divak, who was like a brother to Valdemar. Out of all the hangers-on Valdemar had brought with him from the northern march, Jože had been with the family for the longest. His combat style made heavy use of stealth and reconnaissance auramancy, which made him incredibly versatile, and indispensable to have along on a mission like this. The only problem was that he wouldn’t stop wagging his tongue in Valdemar’s ear.
“I spent a pretty penny getting a hold of this invitation,” Valdemar replied, “I’d be a fool not to get my money’s worth.”
Then, ignoring Jože’s protests, Valdemar set his sights on a group of nobles standing at the far end of the hall.
Three of them were middle-aged men in tuxedos, while the fourth was a woman wearing a black party dress. There was a prickly air about them, which even nearby partygoers seemed to notice.
“Could that be them?” asked Valdemar.
“It seems so,” Jože replied. “The broad-shouldered man is Viscount Kozmus. The man with the pencil mustache, Viscount Premru. The one in the back is a big name. That’s the current Marquis Peterka. He used to be the royal treasurer, too.”
“I’m surprised you can recognize them when they’re all wearing masks,” Valdemar remarked. “Since when were you so knowledgeable about foreign nobles?”
“They’re important people, young master. It would behoove you to learn their names and faces, too,” replied Jože wearily.
“That gloomy lot? They sure don’t look it.”
“I didn’t say important in a good way.”
“True.”
“They’re all the same, young master. Each of them was affected by the actions of Princess Tishna.”
“The Wicked Princess’s victims, eh?”
Valdemar scoffed.
The three men had a poor reputation around these parts. So much so that when the news broke of an assassin targeting Princess Tishna, people started to suspect it might be one of these three who had hired him. There was no proof or anything linking them to the plot, but it was enough to pique Valdemar’s interest. After hearing that they would all be attending this masquerade ball, Valdemar had decided to come and meet them for himself.
“I wouldn’t call them victims,” said Jože coldly. “They’re all guilty of something, after all. But the fact remains they all have reason to hate Her Highness.”
The Wicked Princess Tishna had been responsible for uncovering various crime and corruption plots around the royal court. Strangely, however, it wasn’t out of a desire to mete out justice. If anything, it was the complete opposite. Tishna acted in selfishness, and yet by sheer coincidence, her actions always seemed to bring those crimes to light.
For example, she once took an interest in the necklace worn by a nobleman’s daughter and demanded he present it to her as tribute. Because of that, it was eventually found that the necklace was stolen. That led to the discovery of an enormous burglary ring that the nobleman had been operating in secret. Tishna, of course, earned nothing from it except that man’s ire.
“Are these three the only people who have been harmed by her?”
“It’s better to say that those are the only three left,” said Jože.
“What happened to the others?” Valdemar asked.
“They’re all slaving away in the mines these days.”
“…All because of a seventeen-year-old girl?”
“If so, she’s even more terrifying than the stories say. It’s no wonder that even the king himself is afraid of her.”
“You don’t say.”
No matter how well Tishna kept up appearances, it was obvious at first glance that there was something dangerous about her. The current king wasn’t brave enough to keep the girl close by.
“That’s why he’s trying to get rid of her,” mused Valdemar. “I did think it strange that the fourth princess was first in line to wed Prince Auriol, but it all makes sense now.”
“His Imperial Highness surely noticed it as well,” said Jože. “I wonder why he agreed.”
“I’ve never been able to understand that boy, ever since our academy days,” remarked Valdemar. “Perhaps those two really are perfect for each other.”
“I sure hope so,” added Jože with an awkward smile.
Valdemar’s words may have appeared disrespectful at first glance, but coming from him, they were the highest praise. Contrary to his frivolous behavior, Valdemar was a proud man with noble blood and a stout arm. Even after losing his duel to Kanalayka, he kept his end of the bargain without complaints. That was all because, on some level, he respected the crown prince.
Or perhaps that, too, was all in accordance with Auriol’s plan. Valdemar’s strengths lay in gathering intelligence through all the means available to him. The crown prince knew that, and he also knew just how to pique Valdemar’s curiosity.
“Ah, they’re on the move.”
As if on some signal, the four people suddenly began walking. They left the main hall and entered a small lounge, clearly preparing to have a private conversation.
“Don’t tell me you mean to follow them in there, young master.”
“Why else do you think I brought you along?” said Valdemar, striding toward the group. “It’s time to earn your pay.”
Jože sighed. “Just try not to make any noise.”
Following alongside him, Jože cast auramancy that altered the refractive index of the surrounding air, allowing the pair to blend seamlessly into the shadows as they tailed the four partygoers.
“Is it true that they captured the empire’s assassin?”
Hidden from view, Valdemar listened in on the nobles’ conversation. The first to speak was the broad-shouldered man, Viscount Kozmus. It was Viscount Premru, with the pencil mustache, who answered.
“It appears so,” he said. “He and his broker were both seized as they attempted to enter the country.”
“This Eterusia has turned out to be nothing more than a group of bumbling idiots,” Viscount Kozmus spat.
“True. The empire’s resources in this capacity are scant. We were right not to trust them from the start.”
“Indeed.”
Marquis Peterka nodded along to the conversation between the viscounts before looking up at the woman seated opposite him. She was wearing a mask modeled after a bat, and her hair was a burning crimson, like fire. Judging from her voice, she seemed surprisingly young, yet with a commanding radiance that captivated all those who saw her.
Behind her stood a man with silver hair, a loyal lapdog ever-present by his mistress’s side. He wore a black mask around his eyes, and while weapons were confiscated at this party, he alone wore a sword at his hip. That was because the woman he was guarding was the host of the evening’s event.
“I trust the arrangements are all complete on your end,” said the marquis. In response to his stiff words, the woman nodded coolly, as though she outranked even his lordly status.
“Yes,” she said. “The ingredients have been gathered.”
“And when is the cooking to begin?”
“Before dawn breaks on the night of the feast.”
“That is…earlier than I was expecting.”
“The ingredients will not last,” the redheaded woman replied. “I trust that does not present an issue, Marquis?”
She leveled a gaze through her bat mask at Peterka. The marquis quickly shook his head.
“Not at all, my lady,” he said.
“Doesn’t it displease you as well, seeing that woman do as she likes with the empire’s blessing? When the big day comes, try not to leave the house, if you can help it.”
“As you wish.”
The three men all bowed their heads at once to the woman, who looked upon them with a pleased smile. Just then, the silver-haired man leaned over and began whispering into the woman’s ear.
“My lady,” he said. “It seems we are joined by a pair of flies. Do you mind if I deal with them?”
“Flies? The empire’s lapdogs, I wonder?”