"Do you deny these accounts, Lady Elira?"
The question rang through the chamber like the toll of a bell. My breath slowed. Eyes narrowed. Not one of them wanted the truth—only a scapegoat.
I glanced down at the ledger again. The ink was mine, but the story it told wasn't.
"I request the right to examine the full document," I said.
Murmurs rose.
A few council members exchanged uneasy glances. One of the advisors, an older man with graying temples, nodded.
"Granted."
I stepped forward, fingers brushing the edge of the parchment. My heartbeat steadied—not from calm, but from calculation.
I didn't need to fight the lie. I just needed to show how clumsy it was.
"This list cross-references magical supply chains, correct?" I asked.
No one answered.
"Then explain why House Averlar appears here—twice. In conflicting capacities. Once as supplier, once as intermediary. In the same district, on the same date."
One of the nobles shifted in his seat.
"A fabrication," I continued, "is only useful if it doesn't contradict itself."
The error was too obvious. Too convenient. Part of me began to wonder—was this planted on purpose? A bait to draw out my response?
The room fell into silence. For a moment, I thought they might relent.
Then a new voice cut through.
"Regardless of the errors, the ledger suggests the intent to subvert noble boundaries."
I turned slowly. Lord Halreth. Loyal to Reina's father.
"Then let's discuss intent," I said.
But my voice wavered, just slightly. I could feel it—
The shift in the room.
I caught glimpses of exchanged glances. Some narrowed their eyes—not at the evidence, but at me.
The murmurs weren't about the contradiction. They were about my defiance.
Where I thought logic would prevail, suspicion had already sunk its teeth in. They didn't want evidence.
They wanted a target.
And Reina had made sure I looked perfectly cast.