Fate's oddity volume 2, page 27
Kris shot him a glare. “Dropout? Excuse you. I just got held back a couple of years. Besides, I’m a queen now, thank you very much.”
Krimson grinned. “Yeah? We’re not quite there yet, Your Majesty.”
Kris smirked, “Oh, but according to some paperwork I’ve seen, I’ve been queen for—what—almost twenty-two years now?”
He rolled his eyes. “The ink’s barely dry. Besides I don’t think that actuallycounts.”
She countered, “In Gaia, it’s close enough. Trust me, the paperwork is the only part that lasts.”
He replied, “Oh, you're right on your way to being corrupt, just like de Stol.l”
She fired back, “And you’re just a glorified errand boy who spends too much of his time with little girls who don’t know any better.”
Across the room, Celestia blinked, half-surprised. “Shit, we’re catching strays now?”
Murasaki just shook her head, puzzled. “Should we maybe, stop them?”
Celestia leaned closer. “I don’t think we can.”
Krimson rolled his eyes. “Please, the only reason you hang around the palace is to gossip with D-Dad’s actual wife. Shouldn’t you be running your own country somewhere?”
Kris grinned, not missing a beat. “I will, as soon as you get over your childhood traumas and call him dad without stuttering.”
He shot back, “I’d have less trouble with that if you didn't have to raise us off of survival teachings.”
“Oh, big words for someone who still can’t cook rice.”
They both leaned in, voices rising. “Dummy,” Krimson muttered.
Kris crossed her arms. “Meanie.”
On the other side of the room, Celestia muttered to Murasaki, “I… did not have this on my bingo card for today.”
Murasaki grinned. “I say let them fight. They're both usually more put together, so it's a nice change of pace.”
Right then, the door swung open and Vivienne stepped in, eyebrows raised as everyone turned to look at her. “Uh… did I interrupt something?”
Instantly, Krimson and Kris straightened, dropping their argument as if it never happened. “No, you’re good,” Krimson said quickly.
Kris echoed, “Perfect timing, actually.”
They both looked at her, almost in sync. “What’s up?”
Vivienne rolled her eyes, tossing her hair with a fluster. “Please. I just didn’t want to leave you all unsupervised.” Her gaze skipped right over Krimson and landed briefly, almost begrudgingly, on Celestia. “Besides, someone has to keep you all out of trouble.” She said it with her usual bite, but her voice lost a little of its edge by the end.
Celestia gave her a sly smile. “Aww, did you miss me?”
Vivienne sniffed. “Ha, as if. I came for the discussion. Not that I expect much.”
Murasaki leaned in, grinning. “Aw, listen to her. She likes us. She just can’t admit it.”
Vivienne glared, but there was a crack in her armor. “Don’t push it, rabbit.”
Kris’s smile was almost maternal. “I hope you know you're safe here, Vivienne. Even if you pretend you’re not.”
Vivienne just crossed her arms, taking up her spot against the wall—aloof, but with nowhere else she’d rather be.
Letting the silence stretch for a beat, Vivienne uncrossed her arms and asked, a touch too casual, “So, is anyone actually making a plan for tomorrow, or are we just hoping to wing it?”
Celestia, still hunched over her notes, didn’t look up. “Well, the problem is, they think they’ve got us boxed in. Prince Albrecht and the Marquis wouldn’t be strutting around like roosters if they didn’t think the game was rigged in their favor.”
Murasaki shot Vivienne a quick glance, as if including her in their huddle, then flicked her gaze back to the group. “Let ‘em strut. We'll leave ‘em chokin’ on their own feathers because they're so overconfident.”
Kris gave a pointed glance at both girls—then at Vivienne, just for good measure. “Let’s not get cocky. We don’t know what they’ll pull. All we have is what we can prove—and each other.”
Murasaki raised an eyebrow, grinning wide. “You’ve gotten pretty soft, Queenie. Must be all that time reuniting with your long-lost love.”
Kris snorted. “Long-lost? Please. There’s nothing lost about that relationship.” She stretched, not bothering to hide. “And for the record, despite disagreement, I’ve been sharing a room with him and Beatrice lately.”
Vivienne made a face, holding up a hand. “I really don’t need a report on my aunt’s nightly activities, please kay, thanks.”
Kris just smirked. “Aw, how cute. We haven't had a threesome yet, okay. Just sharing warmth.”
“Stop talking!” Vivienne demanded with a blushing face.
Celestia laughed quietly, and even Krimson rolled his eyes, the tension breaking for just a moment.
Krimson rolled his shoulders and cast a wry look at Vivienne, as if challenging her to argue. “Tomorrow they’ll throw everything at us. They'll try to split us up, dig for dirt, twist the truth. They want us to second-guess ourselves and each other. And we won't let them.”
Celestia’s pen stilled; her voice softened. “I can handle being a target. But if they start dragging Levisdia and my family into this…” She trailed off, worry briefly shadowing her face. “I don’t want Gaia dragged into a war because of me.”
Krimson’s hand found hers—solid, and reassuring. “There won’t be. We'll do this together, avoid any wars and arrest some criminals while we're at it.”
Vivienne gave a little snort, but there was respect in her eyes. “Fine by me. They want a spectacle? Let’s give them something they’re not ready for.”
Murasaki grinned, confidence flashing sharp. “Ay. Let ‘em gawk. They have no idea who they’re dealing with.”
Kris smiled wryly, her gaze moving across the whole group. “So let’s give them a story that actually lives up to the hype.”
For a moment, the tension faded—replaced by the quiet certainty of people who, against all odds, really had each other’s backs.
Vivienne had been hovering at the edge of the group, arms crossed, watching everyone with that half-bored, half-alert look she wore like armor. As the laughter and jabs faded, she hesitated—then finally spoke, voice low but steady. “I’ve gone over everything twice, just so you know. When it’s my turn up there, I won’t flake out. You can count on me.” She shrugged, glancing away. “Not that any of you were worried.”
Celestia gave her a genuine, warm smile. “We weren’t. But it’s good to hear you say it out loud.”
Vivienne rolled her eyes, but the edge was gone. “Ugh, don’t get all sentimental about it.”
Krimson met her gaze, sincere. “Tomorrow’s their stage, but it won’t be their story for long. Not if we stand together.”
Murasaki grinned. “Yeah. And if they try anything, we’ll be the ones writing the ending.”
Kris deadpanned, “That, or we’re all in the palace dungeon by nightfall. Either way, it’ll be an adventure.”
Vivienne smirked. “Well, if we go down, at least I won’t be bored.”
The mood lightened, even as the weight of the coming day pressed in. They all found seats or leaned back, sharing cold supper and quiet resolve.
After a while, as the conversation faded and everyone began settling in, Celestia leaned close to Krimson. “Are you worried?”
He paused, considering. “No. Just tired of seeing the trap coming and not being able to step around it.”
Celestia squeezed his hand. “We’ll walk into it together, then.”
The palace was hushed around them—tense, expectant, but for now, holding the smallest bit of warmth in the circle they’d made for themselves.
***
The Gaian Royal Court of Inquiry wasn’t tucked inside the palace or sealed away in the nobles’ district. It stood right at the intersection—where polished streets from the upper quarters met the bustle of the city’s middle-class heart. It never got close enough to the slums to be mistaken for belonging to the poor, but it was just near enough that the law felt present, even to those who couldn’t afford to ignore it. On hearing days, workers, merchants, and councilors all pressed into the wide hall beneath a painted ceiling of ships and stars, sunlight pouring through the open doors. It didn’t feel like a seat of power so much as a place where the city’s different worlds came to size each other up—everyone watching, everyone waiting for the next move.
Krimson entered with his companions at his back—Ruby Road all assembled and steady. He felt the weight of a hundred eyes: nobles measuring threat and opportunity, guild leaders whispering deals, commoners gawking at their new heroes. Near the front, Stoll’s circle waited in a silent, practiced row.
Tazrak leaned in just enough to keep it private. “Ya know, I think a place like this isn't for me. It just feels… wrong for people like us, right?”
Krimson agreed with a bit of a snark. “Honestly, this whole vibe is just making me want to jump on your back and bounce right out the window.”
Tazrak snorted. “I’m not Yoshi.”
Krimson winked. “Doesn’t matter if you’re Luigi or Yoshi. As long as we get out alive, right?”
Celestia, without missing a beat, said, “I didn’t realize either of you read those storybooks growing up.”
Murasaki nodded, half amused. “It was all the rage in my town as a kid.”
Vivienne chimed in, haughty as ever. “Still is, actually. Some classics never die.”
Azazel, hands in his pockets, just grunted in agreement, watching the group with the look of a hangover plastered on.
Their conversation slipped back to silence as they reached their seats, but the easy rhythm between them lingered—a small comfort in the thick, watching air.
Albrecht, dressed in ceremonial white, opened the proceedings with practiced solemnity. “Today, this court gathers as citizens of Gaia, united in our commitment to truth and order. It is our duty to examine the facts, set aside all prejudice, and honor both our laws and our conscience. Let every voice be heard with respect, and let judgment fall only where justice demands it.”
His voice echoed across the crowded hall, even and polished—but the set of his jaw betrayed just how much he had riding on this moment.
Vivienne leaned in close to Krimson, her voice pitched low so only he could hear. “Look at him—his ego’s practically floating off that podium. He always did love the sound of his own righteousness.”
Krimson smirked, eyes never leaving Albrecht. “Yeah. I can practically see him rehearsing in the mirror.”
Marquis de Stoll sat with perfect composure near the front, his wife Eloise beside him—her expression serene, hands folded neatly in her lap. Every so often, her gaze darted across the hall, sharp and assessing. Salvador sat farther off, tucked into his own circle, blending in with the crowd, his calm as unreadable as ever.
Up above, the King and Queen presided from a raised platform—not so high as to be untouchable, but just enough to remind everyone who truly held authority. Each subtle pause or glance from the crowd found its way up to their seats.
Toward the back, Kris and her daughters, Kukuri and Kalis, sat together—present, but deliberately unremarkable, their placement almost an afterthought in the swirling tension of the court.
Down on the main floor, Albrecht took on the air of impartial arbiter, voice of order and “truth,” though of course every careful phrase landed closer to defense than prosecution.
After the oaths and ritual introductions, the inquiry began in earnest.
A line of clerks—each dressed to impress, moving with stiff precision—filed in with armfuls of bound ledgers, shipping manifests, and color-coded council minutes. Every book was stacked on the central table with the care of a sacred offering, the covers gleaming under the hall’s high windows.
The lead legal counsel, a thin man with a perfectly starched collar and a voice honed for long speeches, began: “We submit for the court’s review the complete records of the Silvanus northern trade routes for the last two years, along with all relevant council approvals, shipping authorizations, and—” he flipped a tabbed page “—special exceptions granted for emergencies, as detailed here, here, and here.”
A ripple of polite boredom moved through the hall. Even the King barely hid a yawn.
Then came the “main event”: a logistics deputy named Martin Corveau—gray hair, honest face, and an air of resignation—was brought forward. His suit was just a touch too new; the nervous shine in his eyes said he’d rehearsed this part.
Stoll’s counsel gestured, all sympathy and formality. “Mr. Corveau has accepted full responsibility for the erroneous routing and mishandled communications. He has prepared his resignation, effective today, and wishes only to apologize for any embarrassment caused to this noble court.”
Polite murmurs swept the benches. Someone even offered a scattered, half-hearted clap.
Krimson exchanged a look with Celestia, arching an eyebrow. “They always find a scapegoat,” he murmured. “Never the one pulling the strings.”
Celestia’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Notice how every ‘accident’ comes with perfect paperwork? Almost like they planned it that way.”
Tazrak folded his arms, glancing at Murasaki. “Do you buy any of this?”
Murasaki’s ears flicked. “Not for a minute. Even the dumbest bandits don’t hand over evidence this neat.”
Vivienne, stone-faced, leaned toward Krimson. “Watch Stoll’s face. He’s not worried—he’s waiting for applause.”
Azazel, still looking half-hungover, just muttered, “It’s all for show. They’re giving the council what they want—an easy answer.”
The legal counsel went on, droning through technicalities and numbers, never once mentioning the real accusation—the attempted hit on the Duke’s daughter, the assassin Ruby Road had fought in the wilds, the hidden payments traced straight back to Stoll and Salvador.
Krimson’s jaw tensed. He whispered, “They’re not even pretending to address what matters. All this—just smoke.”
Celestia squeezed his hand, steadying. “Don’t worry. They can’t keep the truth buried forever.”
Across the aisle, Marquis de Stoll nodded along, serene as a priest, while Salvador simply folded his hands and stared at nothing at all.
And for a moment, it seemed the performance might actually work.
Salvador rose when called, straightening his jacket with the calm detachment of a man on familiar ground. “As deputy director, I accept responsibility for all logistical oversight under my authority,” he intoned. His apology was practiced to the word. “We regret any confusion and will be implementing further internal audits. As proof of our commitment to transparency, I submit these audit photos, policy updates, and new safety protocols for council review.”
He laid out a neat stack of photos and memos, each stamped, signed, and sanitized. To the untrained eye, it looked like an open book. To Ruby Road, it was a wall.
Murasaki muttered, “All that paperwork and not a word about the assassin.”
Tazrak grunted, folding his arms. “They’re playing the council for fools.”
Krimson spoke up, just enough to be heard by the nearest few, “Didn’t even flinch. It’s like he’s been doing this since birth.”
Vivienne, lips tight, whispered, “He probably has. Notice how none of them mention the compound or the bribes?”
Celestia shifted in her seat, frustration tightening her jaw. She tried to speak, “Given what we found on site—”
But Albrecht cut her off, voice polite but cold. “Princess, let’s stay focused on transport, factories, and tax compliance. The inquiry cannot drift into unrelated speculation.”
Murasaki, not bothering to hide her irritation, leaned forward. “With respect, councilor, if you’d review our report—”
One of the legal advisors interjected, smooth as silk. “Council has received all relevant documentation, mademoiselle. The scope today is logistics, not unfounded accusations.”
Azazel let out a low, disbelieving huff. “Every time. It’s like a magic trick. Change the subject, hide the truth.”
Krimson’s knuckles whitened on the bench. “They’re not even pretending to listen.”
Across the room, Stoll sat placidly, fingers steepled, as if none of this concerned him. Salvador finished his presentation and returned to his seat, untroubled.
Above it all, the King and Queen watched, unmoving. Alaric’s eyes, cool and sharp, flickered once to Krimson, then back to the center. Beatrice’s expression never changed.
The gallery grew restless. A few reporters exchanged loaded looks, scribbling in their ledgers, but no one dared raise the obvious.
Celestia leaned into Krimson, voice low and bitter. “It’s a play, and we’re the props.”
Krimson’s jaw clenched. “Not for long.”
Then, at the appointed moment, Salvador’s team unveiled their pièce de résistance: the decoy ledger, produced with grand flourish and elaborate detail. “In the interest of total transparency,” Salvador declared, “we offer these accounts for public review—proof that the system works, and that any errors have been corrected.”
The scapegoat signed his resignation before the court, vowing to retire quietly. The story was neat, the evidence was orderly, and the narrative seemed sewn shut.
For a moment, Ruby Road’s cause looked all but doomed.
Krimson glanced at Celestia, at Murasaki, at his hands as they clenched into fist, and then—almost by instinct—at Vivienne, seated quietly next to him. It was in that moment, that he realized: this was not the end. The gallery’s unease simmered. Somewhere, behind all this spectacle, a new hand was waiting to play its card.
***
The weight of the hearing pressed down, thick as velvet. Scripts were being read, boxes ticked, and the outcome felt prewritten—until Vivienne de Marquet, granddaughter of Marquis de Stoll, rose from her bench and said, clear enough to carry: “Your Majesties, I request leave to address the court.”
