The Obsidian Palace was a hive of golden light and poisonous whispers. Musicians played a hauntingly beautiful waltz that masked the sound of political knives being sharpened in the corners.
Justine stood near the balcony, her midnight-velvet gown absorbing the light around her. She watched the crowd with the detached hunger of a hawk. In her first life, she had spent this night hiding in the shadows, waiting for a secret glance from Red. Tonight, she was the center of the storm.
"Lady Justine! Oh, thank the Heavens I found you!"
The voice was like spun sugar, dripping with artificial concern. Lana, the Grand Vizier’s daughter, glided through the crowd. She was a vision of celestial purity in shimmering white silk, her golden hair braided with rare pearls. To the Empire, she was the "Holy Sister," a woman of such kindness that birds supposedly sang at her touch.
Justine felt a visceral spike of disgust. She remembered Lana’s face as it truly was—distorted with a sadistic grin as she watched the guillotine blade drop.
"Lana," Justine said, her voice a cool, flat line.
Lana reached out, her gloved hands grasping Justine’s with a motherly squeeze. "My dear, you look so... distressed. Prince Red told me about your 'episode' at the villa. He is so worried about your fragile mind."
As she spoke, Lana leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper meant to be overheard by the nearby Duchesses. "Is it true, Justine? Are the rumors of your... illness... getting worse? You can tell me. I’ve brought a special herbal sachet from the High Temple to soothe your nerves."
Lana’s hand moved toward the folds of Justine’s skirts. In her palm, she concealed a small, jagged glass vial—the same one she had used in the past life to plant "illegal stimulants" on Justine, framing her as an addict before the Emperor.
Lana gave a small, deliberate stumble, leaning her weight into Justine. "Oh! Careful, I—"
But Justine didn't brace her. Instead, she stepped back with lightning precision.
As Lana’s momentum carried her forward, Justine’s hand lashed out, not to catch her, but to grip Lana’s wrist with a strength that made the "Saint" gasp.
Justine’s thumb pressed hard into a specific pressure point, forcing Lana’s fingers to snap open.
The glass vial tumbled.
Justine’s other hand swept through the air, catching the vial inches from the floor with the grace of a predator.
The crowd gasped. Lana, now off-balance and clutching her bruised wrist, looked up with wide, watery eyes, instantly shifting into the role of the victim.
"Justine? Why did you pull away? I was only trying to give you my blessing..."
"A blessing?" Justine held up the vial, the clear liquid inside shimmering under the chandeliers. "Then perhaps you won't mind drinking it, Lana? Since you are so concerned with 'health.'"
Lana’s face went momentarily ashen. "It is meant to be... inhaled. For the spirits."
"Is that so?" Justine’s smile was a terrifying thing to behold. She stepped toward Lana, her presence so cold that the surrounding nobles actually retreated. "Because this looks remarkably like Lunar Root, a poison that mimics the symptoms of madness. The kind of thing a 'saint' might use to ruin a rival before she can speak the truth."
"Justine, you're being hysterical!" Lana cried, her voice trembling perfectly.
"Someone, please! She’s hurting me!"
Red appeared then, cutting through the crowd like a savior. "Justine! Release her! What madness has taken you?"
Justine didn't let go of Lana’s wrist. Instead, she leaned into the girl's ear, her voice a lethal silk thread. "I know about the three drops of nightshade you put in the King’s tea this morning, Lana. And I know you and Red share more than just 'political goals' in that Southern Manor."
Justine suddenly let go. The force caused Lana to stagger back into Red’s arms.
"Keep your 'blessings,' Lana," Justine said, loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear. She took the vial and poured its contents into a nearby decorative fountain. The water instantly turned a murky, sickly grey.
"Tonight, I am making a donation to the Royal Guard," Justine announced, looking directly at the Grand Vizier, who was watching from the dais. "I’ve discovered that the Oakhaven funds have been 'misplaced' by the Prince and his fiancée. I will be conducting a full investigation with the High Inquisitor tomorrow morning."
She turned her gaze to Red, whose face was a mask of sheer, unadulterated terror.
"I told you, Red. The hand that fed you has become a fist. And 'Saints'..." she looked at Lana, whose white dress was now splashed with the tainted fountain water, "...look very different when they're covered in filth."
Justine turned her back on them both, her head held high as she walked toward the exit. She had survived the first trap. Now, it was time to send a message to the North.
