---
Mahalia sighed and contemplated her actions for the umpteenth time. Was she really going to do this?
"Let's just get this over with," she muttered.
She pushed the door open and winced at the stench that assaulted her nose. The room was filled with the chattering of semi-drunk men, teetering on the edge of a brawl. Scanning the room, she looked for the person she'd come for. Weaving her way through the rowdy customers, she approached the bar.
"Can I have a special?" she asked in a low voice. She was in disguise, of course—it wouldn't do her already crumbling reputation any good if someone spotted her in a gambling bar.
Settling in a corner, Mahalia scowled as a fight broke out at a nearby table. "That's Grimjacks for you," she muttered in resignation.
Grimjacks was a favorite haunt of the king's, a place he could frequent with a good enough disguise, acting as he pleased without the judgment of his subjects. It was here that many of their meetings took place. The fact that she was here voluntarily to seek Awin only added to her irritation.
"You have good taste," came Awin's familiar voice.
Mahalia kept her expression calm, trying not to reveal how desperately she'd been waiting to run into him.
"I've never been told that," she replied dryly.
He shrugged and took the seat opposite her. She grimaced, recoiling slightly, which only seemed to amuse him.
"What's a fine lady like you doing here?" he asked, making small talk.
"If the king is a patron of this place, I doubt it's so surprising that I'm here," she replied.
Awin chuckled and took a sip from Mahalia's drink. "You won't even try to pretend. Since we're being direct… why are you here to see me?"
Mahalia made a mental note not to touch that drink again. "Why would you assume that?"
"Don't worry, I won't press you on how you know I frequent this place. Just answer me."
Mahalia sighed. "I suppose there's no need to lie. Release my mother."
Awin raised his eyebrows. "Are you mistaken about the nature of our relationship? Why would I release a prisoner—especially one accused of a serious crime?"
"Don't be ridiculous. She hasn't even been convicted."
"Either way, I can't just let her go. A crime was committed, and someone must be punished."
"Then find the actual culprit," Mahalia shot back, feeling the conversation growing tedious.
"You might not know this because of your coma, but there was evidence against her… you'll have to convince me that she's innocent."
Mahalia bit her lip, thinking, I suppose he has to keep up this façade of a just king who's simply maintaining order. Maybe I shouldn't let on that I know his real nature.
"So I should investigate and find the actual culprit before you'll release her?" she asked.
He shrugged. "You're welcome to try, but I doubt you'll find anyone."
Mahalia's face darkened. He has no idea who I am. I am Qaya Wright. Once I set my mind on something, I'll see it through. I'll fish out the evidence, no matter what.
Despite her tumultuous thoughts, she managed a calm smile and looked Awin in the eye. "We'll see about that."
---
The Mariale Easteford Penthouse
The butler entered and gave a slight bow. "Master Francis will join you shortly."
Mahalia nodded, offering a polite smile.
She was in her father's house. Well, he wasn't her real father, but no one else knew that. Still, she couldn't help feeling a mix of nervousness and happiness at being here. She was about to meet her uncle, Francis Mariale, a doctor who'd moved from his home country, the Occident Coast, to open a hospital. That move had always struck her as odd—surely he could've found success back home, and it wasn't as if Easteford desperately needed his expertise…
Maybe, it's for personal reasons, she mused.
Hearing footsteps on the staircase, she stood and went to greet him.
"Qaya! How are you?" he asked warmly, pulling her into a hug. Mahalia stiffened. Did he recognize her? But how? she thought anxiously.
Noticing her discomfort, Francis quickly apologized. "Ah, I know your mother isn't fond of that name. I just think it's rather pretty."
Mahalia relaxed, relieved and a bit amused that she'd forgotten Mahalia was technically her own namesake.
"To what do I owe this pleasure? You never visit."
She put a hand over her heart in mock offense. "You wound me, Uncle Francis! I'm more filial than you give me credit for."
"Oh, is that so?" he replied with a mischievous smile.
"Alright, you caught me. I may have come with ulterior motives."
"And what mischief are you up to this time? Ever since you woke up from that coma, you've been busy with all sorts of schemes. Don't tell me you're obsessing over that matter again?"
Mahalia shook her head. "I promise, I'm not. I've decided to let it go." Even as she spoke, she fought the urge to ask what it was that Mahalia used to obsess over, fearing it might give her away.
Francis didn't look entirely convinced. "Why don't I believe you? Maybe because it's hard to imagine you'd abandon something you used to be so absorbed in."
"I understand why you'd think that, but my near-death experience made me realize I don't need to be so reckless. The truth can't be hidden forever, after all."
"Indeed, it can't. So, why are you here?"
"I want to discuss an alliance. A treaty agreement."
Francis looked skeptical. "Why? While the idea excites me, I doubt your mother would be thrilled. And even if your father is supportive, convincing the rest of the family would require mutual benefit."
"I thought it was obvious. My maternal family, the Heris, is a charter family. We didn't stumble into nobility; our lineage is as blue-blooded as they come. That should be persuasive enough."
"I'm not so sure. Back in the Occident Coast, nobility isn't highly valued, so I don't think that alone would be convincing."
Mahalia sighed. "Uncle Francis, the Mariale family is the wealthiest in the Occident Coast, but here in Easteford, nobility holds the power. They'd never pass up the chance to gain influence in a country where they'd otherwise be treated as mere visitors."
Francis was silent for a moment, deep in thought. "Very well. I'll bring it up with them."
"Thank you, Uncle Francis. I love you!" she said, hugging him gleefully.
---
The Next Day: Milton's Trial
The courtroom was filled with people muttering and gossiping. This case had shocked the public, and many were here to watch the proceedings. Milton's family sat at the far end, trying to avoid attention, but that didn't stop curious stares.
Rachel sat calmly, her demeanor as steady as if she were attending a play rather than defending an alleged murderer. Milton, on the other hand, looked miserable. His eyes were sunken, and he stared at his feet, overwhelmed by feelings of shame.
Awin entered, taking his place as the presiding judge, as was customary for high-profile cases in Easteford. The king himself handled them. He motioned for everyone to sit, and the hearing began.
The crown attorney presented a fiery case against Milton, detailing accusations and demanding punishment. Rachel, however, remained unfazed.
"It is time for the defense," announced the clerk.
Rachel stood, bowed, and then spoke with the precision of a skilled hunter. "I'd like to question one of the key witnesses, Tyler Schmieli."
Tyler took the stand and swore the oath.
"Mr. Schmieli, who is Sir Milton to you?"
"He is my employer. I work as a handyman on his estate."
Rachel nodded. "And what was your opinion of him as an employer?"
Tyler shook his head. "He was kind. I never had any complaints."
"Do you believe he was fair with all his workers?"
"Yes, he treated everyone well."
"Then why did you suspect he was the murderer?"
Tyler wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Well… everyone thought so. I mean, who else could have done it?"
"Mr. Schmieli, this is a yes or no question," Rachel interrupted sternly. "Did you witness anything that made you think Sir Milton was the murderer?"
"No, I didn't."
"That will be all… for now."
As Tyler returned to his seat, Rachel turned to the king. "No concrete witness testimony, and now we discuss alibi."
The king tried his best to hide his distaste at Rachel's disrespect.
"Sir Milton," he said, "do you have anyone who can verify your alibi?"
Milton, standing at the accused's stand, nodded. "Yes, Melinda Charmale can testify."
Rachel smiled. "I summon Melinda Charmale."
Melinda smirked, thinking, "So this is why I was issued a summons."
"Melinda Charmale," Rachel began, "according to the accused, you were both together that night, working."
Melinda sheepishly nodded.
"Answer me," Rachel commanded.
"Yes."
"Remember, you are under oath. Is it true that you and the accused drank, and then he fell asleep?"
"Well... well, I can't say for sure. We did drink, but... I just thought maybe he killed the girl while intoxicated."
At this point, murmurs of approval and dissent rippled through the court.
"Don't speculate—just answer the question."
"I said I can't say for sure. I didn't actually see him sleep."
"Why? Were you not in the room?"
Melinda suddenly realized what was happening. Rachel hadn't just summoned her as a witness—she was trying to shift the blame onto her.
"I didn't see him sleep," Melinda said, "because he wasn't in the room."
Rachel paused, a smirk playing on her lips. "I feared you wouldn't take the bait, but like a dumb fish, you did," she thought
"Is that so?" Rachel asked. "So it was Sir Milton who stepped out of the room?"
Melinda nodded confidently.
"Interesting," Rachel said. "Because according to lay testimony submitted to the court, four servants witnessed you stepping out of the room. No one mentioned the accused leaving. So, Melinda Charmale, why did you lie?"
Melinda was speechless, and the room was filled with mutters and side comments. Rachel, as if she hadn't expected a response from Melinda, turned back to Milton.
"Sir, I couldn't help but notice that while you were writing your statement, you seemed a bit uncomfortable. I saw you wincing. Do you have an injury?"
"Yes, I have ulnar nerve damage from an old injury when I served in the army."
Rachel nodded. "Can this be verified by a doctor?"
"Yes, and my family and close employees can also confirm it."
"Then, that would explain the difficulty with fine motor control. Sacred court, I put it to you that it is unlikely the accused could have stabbed the deceased with such precision given his condition."
This time, everyone cheered and clapped.
The king called for order.
"No credible eyewitness testimony, no motive, no capability to commit the crime, and a verified alibi. It is so glaringly obvious that my client is innocent that only a fool or someone truly malevolent would convict him."
Awin clenched his jaw. Did this woman realize the disrespect she was showing? He wanted to sentence her to the guillotine right then, but he held back.
"Yes, Rachel, you've done a good job defending the accused—"
"But I'm not finished, Your Highness," she interrupted. "I'd like to call Tyler Schmieli once again."
The king frowned. Couldn't he simply dismiss her requests? But his reputation was at stake. He forced a smile. "Go ahead."
Tyler came forward once again.
"I just want to ask one question. And remember, you're under oath: who were the people who responded when the alarm was raised?"
"There were quite a few... some colleagues… wait, Lady Charmale. Lady Charmale was among the first to arrive."
Melinda bowed her head, much to Mahalia's satisfaction.
"Checkmate," Mahalia murmured.
To be continued...
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