The adventure of a modern day detective turned aristocrat

The Nobles' Uproar

The ballroom was no longer a place of grandeur and celebration. The air, once filled with the delicate harmony of waltzing violins and idle gossip, now hung thick with the scent of death and fear. Gas lamps flickered, their glow casting elongated shadows against the gold-adorned walls, making everything seem eerily distorted. The murmurs of terrified nobles grew louder as hysteria spread like wildfire, each whisper a thread of paranoia weaving through the crowd.

Prince Alaric Varellion stood at the head of the room, his golden eyes surveying the chaos with an unreadable expression. His imposing figure, clad in deep navy with gold embroidery, radiated authority. When he raised his gloved hand, the noise dulled into reluctant silence, but the tension crackled like static in the air.

"No one is to leave this ballroom until an investigation is conducted." His voice was smooth but held an edge of steel. "Whoever committed this act has not left this room."

At his words, the atmosphere turned suffocating. The whispers resumed, growing frantic, a cacophony of indignation and fear. Disgruntled nobles began voicing their objections, their outrage bubbling forth in complaints.

"This is an outrage! Keeping us confined as if we are criminals? Preposterous!"

"The sheer audacity! Do you know who I am? I demand to be released at once!"

Evelyne Thorne, standing at the periphery of the gathering, watched the scene unfold with measured patience. She knew that among the feigned outrage, many were less concerned about their own innocence and more about hiding secrets—secrets that might not even pertain to the murder. The noble class had always been a tangled web of deceit and hidden daggers. Tonight, however, someone had chosen to make one of those daggers very real.

Her sharp emerald eyes swept across the gathered crowd, her mind working as if piecing together a puzzle. The murder had been calculated. It was not a crime of passion, nor an act of senseless violence. This was deliberate, premeditated.

Her attention shifted back to the prince. If she wanted to investigate, she would need access to the crime scene—and for that, she needed his permission. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way through the press of nobles, ignoring the disdainful stares and whispered remarks that followed in her wake. Each step felt like a march toward destiny, the weight of the situation pressing down on her.

"Your Highness." Evelyne's voice was firm but respectful as she approached Alaric, her heart racing with the knowledge of what lay ahead.

His gaze flicked toward her, his golden eyes sharp with curiosity and scrutiny. "Lady Thorne. To what do I owe this sudden approach?"

"I need to examine the body," she said bluntly, her resolve unyielding.

A ripple of shock passed through the nearby nobles. Several of them gasped, others sneered in disdain.

"How inappropriate! A lady handling a corpse? Unthinkable!"

"What could she possibly know about investigating a murder? She's nothing more than a relic of a fallen house."

Evelyne ignored them, her focus unwavering. She kept her eyes locked on Alaric. He studied her in return, his expression unreadable, but she could sense his skepticism. He had no reason to trust her judgment, not publicly. And yet, he hadn't outright dismissed her. That was a start.

"And why should I grant you such an unusual request?" he asked after a beat, his voice deliberately slow, measured. "You're a noblewoman, not an investigator."

"That may be true, but I am more qualified than anyone here to solve this case," Evelyne countered, unfazed. "If this murder isn't solved, Your Highness, the repercussions will be severe. Think of what this will mean for the crown. If a noble is murdered within the palace itself, at a gathering attended by the highest echelons of society, it sends a message—one of weakness. The empire will be seen as unsafe, and worse, the royal family as incompetent."

Alaric's eyes darkened slightly at her words. She had struck a nerve, and she knew it.

"But," she continued, stepping closer, lowering her voice so that only he could hear, "if this case is solved swiftly, and the killer apprehended, the empire will see it differently. They will see that Prince Alaric Varellion was the one who ensured justice was served. Your reputation, influence, and standing among the people will rise to an unprecedented height."

A pause. A dangerous game was unfolding in the space between them. He was weighing his options, calculating the risks. Then, he exhaled sharply, tilting his head slightly as he regarded her with something akin to reluctant amusement.

"And if you fail?" he asked, raising a single silver brow, the challenge hanging in the air.

"Then you can say I acted without permission, that I forced your hand," Evelyne said smoothly. "You'll remain blameless. However—if I succeed, I expect to be compensated."

"Compensated?" Alaric echoed, intrigued. "And what, pray tell, do you want?"

She hesitated for only a moment before answering, "Financial support. House Thorne's finances are crumbling. I want funds to restore my estate."

For a moment, the prince said nothing, the weight of her request hanging between them like a pendulum. Then, a slow smirk curved his lips. "How audacious. A noblewoman who bargains with a prince."

"Is that a yes?" she pressed, her heart pounding with anticipation.

Alaric sighed, rubbing his temple, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "Fine. But be warned, Lady Thorne—if you fail to deliver results, I won't be so inclined to humor you in the future."

"Duly noted."

With that, the prince gestured for her to proceed, his eyes glinting with a mixture of skepticism and intrigue.

The crowd parted as she moved toward the body, the nobles watching her with a mix of curiosity and contempt, their whispers a low hum of anxiety. Lord Hawke lay sprawled on the polished marble floor, his face frozen in a grimace of pain. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and glistening under the gaslight, a stark reminder of the violence that had unfolded.

Evelyne knelt beside the corpse, assessing him with an analytical gaze. Slowly, she began to piece together the story his body told, the clues hidden in the details.

There was no sign of a struggle. That meant the attack had been swift, decisive. The blade had been plunged into his abdomen, deep enough to cause fatal damage. Yet, the blood pattern was strange—spread in a way that suggested he had moved after being stabbed.

His fingers were curled as if he had clutched at something in his final moments. Something… or someone.

Her mind worked quickly. If he had moved, it meant he hadn't died immediately. That was crucial. It meant the attack might not have happened in this exact spot. 

"The wound," she murmured, studying the angle of the stab. "A left-handed assailant, or so it seems. But why here? Why now?"

Her instincts screamed that there was more to this. Something wasn't right. A chill crept up her spine as she considered the implications. The killer had to be someone who knew Hawke, someone who could approach him without raising suspicion.

A shift in the air made her glance up. Alaric was watching her intently, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his posture suggested he was on edge, too.

"Well?" he asked, his voice low, urging her to uncover the truth.

Evelyne straightened, brushing her hands against her skirts, the weight of the room pressing down on her. "This wasn't a crime of passion. Lord Hawke was targeted. The killer knew exactly what they were doing. This was premeditated."

The prince's expression darkened. "Do you have suspects?"

Evelyne let her gaze wander over the gathered nobles, each of them desperately trying to mask their unease, their eyes darting nervously as she studied them.

"Not yet," she admitted, her heart racing. "But I will."

Because the killer was still here. And they were watching her.

As she surveyed the crowd, Evelyne felt the weight of their gazes pressing down on her, a mixture of fear and suspicion. The atmosphere crackled with tension, the air thick with unspoken accusations. 

Suddenly, a sharp gasp broke through the murmurs. A lady in a lavender gown had stumbled back, her hand pressed to her mouth. "What if the murderer is among us?" she whispered, her eyes wide with terror.

The words hung in the air, igniting a new wave of panic. Nobles began to shift uneasily, casting furtive glances at one another, alliances fracturing under the pressure of suspicion.

Evelyne's mind raced. She needed to regain control of the situation. "Listen!" she called out, her voice steady and commanding. "We are all in danger until the killer is found. I will need your cooperation if we are to uncover the truth."

A lord with a thick beard stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "And what do you propose, Lady Thorne? How can we trust you to lead this investigation?"

"You don't have to trust me," she replied, her eyes narrowing. "But you must trust that the longer we delay, the greater the risk. I will ask questions, and I expect transparency. If anyone withholds information, they will be suspect."

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, the tension palpable as they weighed their options. Alaric's gaze remained fixed on her, a mixture of admiration and skepticism dancing in his golden eyes.

"Very well," he said, breaking the silence. "Lady Thorne will conduct the investigation. But I will be watching closely."

Evelyne nodded, her heart pounding with the weight of responsibility. "Thank you, Your Highness. I will not disappoint you."

As she turned to face the crowd, the reality of her task settled over her like a shroud. She had to navigate a sea of lies, hidden agendas, and veiled threats. Every noble present had something to lose, and that made them all potential suspects.

"First," she began, her voice steady, "I need to know who was closest to Lord Hawke in the moments leading up to his death. I will require statements from each of you, starting with those who were in direct proximity."

A murmur of discontent rippled through the crowd, but Evelyne pressed on, her resolve hardening. "The truth will come to light, whether willingly or not."

The nobles shuffled, exchanging glances filled with uncertainty. Evelyne's gaze fell on a young woman with striking red hair, who stood apart from the others, her expression a mix of fear and defiance. 

The game had begun, and she was determined to win.