The Royal Buyer pauses, letting out a harsh, mocking laugh that echoes loudly through the room.
"Treason?!" he laughs cruelly, taking another aggressive step forward, towering over her tall frame. "Protecting a harvest asset is my imperial duty! You think your clever words can protect you here, girl?!"
Priscilla steps directly into his space, her eyes flashing with wild, electric fury. She thrusts the green crystal vial directly under his nose.
"Look at this oil!" Priscilla shouts, her tone piercing and commandingly loud. "For five years, I have refined my skin with this exact compound! It contains silver, crushed sapphire, and powdered pearl! If King Sevan ingests my blood during the ritual, these three substances will react violently with the dark incantations and kill him instantly!"
The Royal Buyer freezes. A sudden, sharp flicker of hesitation flashes across his rough, hardened face. He looks down at the shimmering green vial, then up into her unyielding, fiery gaze.
"Lies!" the Royal Buyer roars, his rough face flushing dark red with sudden rage. He reaches out a broad, heavy hand to grab her throat. "You invent wild fairy tales to save your wretched skin!"
Priscilla dodges his reaching hand with quick, breathtaking agility, stepping back three feet and holding up the torn manuscript page.
"Here is the magical proof written by official scholars!" Priscilla yells back, her voice echoing through the entire wing. "If you force me into that carriage, you are handing His Majesty a fatal poison! You are orchestrating his assassination! Ignore this warning, and I will ensure the Royal High Mage and the Professional Central Army execute you for high treason before the week is out!"
The Royal Buyer's heavy hand stops mid-air. His rough, calloused fingers tremble slightly. Sweat begins to bead along his dark hairline as he stares at the official magic reference page held in her firm grip.
He hesitates, his breathing heavy and ragged. He turns his head toward the open doorway, barking out a harsh, panicked command to the corridor:
"BRING THE MAGE! BRING HIM IN NOW!"
A few seconds later, an elderly man clad in flowing robes of deep azure velvet, carrying a tall mahogany staff tipped with an glowing blue mana crystal, hurries into the private suite. This is a Royal High Mage attached to the harvest expedition.
"Verify this!" the Royal Buyer growls, snatching the green vial and the torn note from Priscilla's hands and shoving them violently into the elderly mage's chest. "Verify it now, or I will have your head!"
The Royal High Mage stumbles slightly, adjusting his spectacles. He holds the green crystal vial up to his glowing staff, his pale eyes narrowing as he chants a soft, low incantation in ancient dialect. The mana crystal atop his staff pulses with a bright, luminous blue radiance, casting long, liquid shadows across the cedar walls.
The mage opens the vial, sniffs the oil, and then examines the handwritten parchment note under the magic light.
Ten long, agonizing seconds of absolute silence fill the room. The only sound is the heavy, ragged breathing of the broad-shouldered Royal Buyer.
Suddenly, the Royal High Mage gasps out loud. His face pales to the color of ash. His hands begin to shake violently, nearly dropping the crystal vial.
"By... by the gods..." the High Mage stammers out, his voice squeaking in sheer, unadulterated terror as he looks up at the Royal Buyer. "It... it is accurate! The silver and pearl compounds... they are deeply embedded in her tissue! If His Majesty ingests her blood during the ritual, the incantation will collapse into a violent blood-rot! It... it would kill him in seconds!"
The Royal Buyer's jaw drops open in absolute horror. All the color drains from his rough, broad face, leaving him looking sickly and pale.
He turns his head slowly to look at Priscilla, who stands before him like an absolute queen, her posture proud, unyielding, and completely triumphant.
"I... I..." the Royal Buyer stammers, his arrogant, booming tone completely shattered into frantic, pathetic groveling.
He steps back, bowing his head repeatedly, his broad hands coming together in a frantic, trembling plea.
"I beg your forgiveness, Lady Lowe!" the Royal Buyer stammers out desperately, sweat pouring down his forehead. "I... I was ignorant! I did not know! Please, I swear on my noble house, I had no intention of endangering His Majesty!"
Priscilla raises a single porcelain hand, looking down at him with cold, absolute disdain.
"Leave," Priscilla commands, her voice dropping into an icy whisper. "And make sure you provide me with the updated list of all harvest reserves, so no other mistake is made."
"Yes! Yes, at once, Lady Lowe!" the Royal Buyer stammers out frantically. He turns on his heel, shoving his two armored guards out of the way. "Out! Get out! We are leaving immediately!"
The broad-shouldered buyer, the terrified mage, and the two armored guards scramble frantically out of the room, their heavy boots pattering rapidly down the corridor until the heavy mahogany doors slam shut behind them.
Silence returns to the suite.
Behind the carved wooden screen in the dressing alcove, Aldo lets out a long, quiet breath, a faint, stoic nod touching his chin.
A short while later, Aldo sits casually on the edge of the velvet daybed in his private room, his boots resting flat on the floor, his dark officer's coat neatly buttoned up to his starched collar.
The door opens softly.
Priscilla Lowe walks into the room. Her step is light, fluid, and bouncing with electric, victorious energy. Her tear-streaked sorrow is completely gone, replaced by a radiant, glowing excitement. Her striking sapphire blue and emerald green eyes shine brightly in the warm amber light of the oil lamps.
She glides straight up to Aldo, her hands coming together in a delighted clap.
"Aldo!" Priscilla shouts excitedly, her rich voice filled with pure triumph. "It worked! The Royal Buyer believed every single word! He apologized profusely, bowed to me, and promised to send over the complete harvest reserve list!"
Aldo sits quietly on the daybed. He doesn't jump up. He doesn't smile. He slowly raises his dark eyes, looking up at her glowing face with a completely flat, unreadable expression.
"The paper was fake," Aldo says quietly.
Priscilla stops mid-step. Her eyes blink twice. "What?"
"The paper was fake," Aldo repeats, his voice flat, calm, and utterly devoid of emotion. "The information was false."
Priscilla stands frozen, her mouth opening slightly in utter bewilderment. "The... the information was false? The chemical reaction...?"
"A complete fabrication," Aldo explains calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I randomly chose a commoner in the lobby earlier, paid him three copper bits, and had him dress up in an azure robe to act as the Royal High Mage to deceive the Royal Buyer."
Priscilla stares at him for three full seconds. Her jaw hangs open, her heterochromatic eyes wide with absolute, speechless shock.
Then, a sudden, breathy gasp escapes her lips, followed by a slow, disbelieving laugh.
"You..." Priscilla stammers, pointing a long porcelain finger at his stoic face. "You are incredibly cunning!"
Aldo merely gives a small, pragmatic shrug of his broad shoulders. "It worked."
Priscilla's laughter fades into a warm, gentle smile. Her posture relaxes completely, her posture softening as she looks down at him with deep, genuine gratitude.
"Anyway," Priscilla says softly, her voice dropping into a tender, sincere tone, "thank you for saving me."
She pauses, her golden head dipping slightly, a subtle shadow passing over her eyes.
"And... I'm sorry," Priscilla adds quietly.
Aldo's dark eyebrows rise slightly. He looks up at her face.
"Sorry for what?" Aldo asks.
Priscilla doesn't answer with words. She steps closer, leaning her tall, statuesque frame down toward him. She raises a single, long porcelain finger, reaching out to touch his forehead.
Aldo's internal combat instincts flare violently in a split second.
Wait... Aldo's mind screams as he sees her finger approaching his skin.
Her posture... her breath... she's secretly casting a spell!
Before her fingertip can make contact with his forehead, Aldo's calloused right hand shoots upward like a striking viper. His fingers wrap firmly around her wrist, freezing her arm in mid-air.
"What are you—" Aldo begins to demand.
CRASH!
The heavy wooden wall behind the daybed explodes inward in a shower of splintered cedar and flying dust!
Out of the hidden alcove behind the broken wall surges a massive, shadow-draped figure!
Aldo's eyes snap to the attacker.
It is the Royal Buyer from earlier! The broad-shouldered, powerful-armed man with dark brown hair and icy green eyes! He isn't cowering or begging—his rough, calloused hands are wielding a heavy, black-steel broadsword, swinging it in a lethal, horizontal arc straight for Aldo's head!
Aldo's mind reels in absolute, chaotic disorientation as he shifts his weight to dodge.
WHAT?! Aldo screams internally, his mind fracturing under the sudden, impossible betrayal.
How many layers does her act have?! Was she working with him all along?! Is this a double-cross or a triple-cross?! I CANNOT PROCESS WHAT IS TRULY GOING ON!
The black-steel blade whistling through the air leaves no time for analysis.
Aldo lets go of Priscilla's wrist, diving sideways off the velvet daybed. The heavy blade crashes through the wooden bedframe with a deafening CRUNCH, sending splintered oak and red velvet filling into the air.
Aldo rolls across the polished floor, springing to his feet in a single fluid motion. He doesn't look back at Priscilla, nor does he stay to fight an armored noble in his bare hands.
He turns on his heel, sprints two paces toward the arched glass window, and throws his broad shoulders straight through the glass!
SHATTER!
The glass window explodes into thousands of shimmering shards.
Aldo vaults out into the cool night air of Flora City, dropping fifteen feet down onto the steep, tiled roof of an adjacent building. He hits the tiles with a heavy thud, rolling down the incline, grabbing the gutter edge, and swinging himself down onto the stone cobblestones of the dark alleyway below.
His oiled leather boots hit the pale paving stones with a loud SLAP.
Behind him, from the shattered window high above, a heavy, angry roar echoes through the night air, followed by the sound of heavy armor sliding down the roof tiles in hot pursuit!
Aldo doesn't look back. He grips his coat, digs his heels into the cobblestones, and sprints at full speed into the dark, winding avenues of Flora City, the sounds of heavy, pounding footsteps chasing him relentlessly through the night.