The speaker was someone they all recognized.
A tall young man with black hair and softly glowing purple eyes like his father. His suit was made from the same material and his was decorated along the sleeves with golden embroidery.
"Hello... Fred." Noah greeted Frederick Ramsay with a small wave, using the guy’s nickname on purpose to annoy him.
"Noah Webb," Frederick said, barely masking his disdain. "I see you managed to find your way in here."
"Of course. I couldn’t miss it." Noah’s smile widened. "After all, it was a personal invite from the Princess herself."
Frederick bristled, as if searching for the insult inside the neutral words. It was in there, but admitting it would put him on the backfoot. After all, everyone knew how he felt about Princess Ines.
"Hmph. be careful not to indulge too much of the wine. I’m sure you guys don’t get enough where you come from."
Ines’s voice turned cold. "Enough, Frederick."
The young noble smirked but said no more. His father gave a subtle wave of dismissal, and the Ramsays drifted away to mingle with another cluster of courtiers.
Noah exhaled softly. "Friendly people."
Ines chuckled. "In this place? That was practically a warm welcome."
Before he could answer, another voice called out.
"Noah!"
Noah turned to see Arlo making his way towards them, dressed in fine silver and black, a wide grin plastered across his face.
Behind him followed a man and woman whose resemblance to him was unmistakable. His parents.
"Mother, Father, this is Noah Webb," Arlo said proudly. "My classmate and one of the summoned heroes."
Lord Arthur Kael, tall and composed, extended a gloved hand. "Arthur Kael, Duke of Western Vale. My son speaks of you often."
Lady Camila Kael, poised and graceful, offered a kind smile. "It’s a pleasure, Mr. Webb. Thank you for keeping an eye on our Arlo during his... misadventures."
Noah returned their greetings with politeness, and to his surprise, both nobles seemed genuinely pleasant.
Arthur’s handshake was firm but not arrogant, and Camila’s tone carried warmth rather than superiority.
They might be faking it, but it seemed real enough for him.
"Your son doesn’t need much watching," Noah said lightly. "He keeps things interesting all on his own."
Arlo grinned. "See? He gets it."
They shared a brief polite laugh, but even amid the ’friendly’ exchange, Noah could feel the subtle tension threading through the air.
Conversations around them flowed with ease, yet the laughter never quite reached the eyes of those speaking.
Every smile seemed too thin and every compliment seemed to be hiding a barb.
Nobles from different houses clustered in their own corners, their alliances invisible but could be felt.
The subtle flicker of glances between the Ramsays and another group of courtiers across the room spoke volumes. Even Arlo’s parents occasionally exchanged quiet looks with others around the room.
It was a world of masks. Polite and dangerous masks.
Noah followed Ines through the crowd again, his mind quietly turning.
Beneath the glittering chandeliers and the music of the orchestra, he could feel something darker hiding underneath the beauty.
He could feel ambition, envy, and deceit.
These people smiled as if they owned the world, but their eyes were like weapons searching for weakness.
And though the evening had barely begun, Noah already knew that this was no celebration.
It was a battlefield.
[][][][][]
Lord Vine stood atop the highest roof of the royal palace, the darkness of the sky cloaking him perfectly.
The Winter Ball was taking place in a ballroom far beneath him, and the palace grounds were a hive of activity.
Guards patrolled, the servants worked, and the nobles partied. But none of those below could sense the presence standing above them, watching and waiting.
"Today," he murmured to himself, a grin appearing on his face, "the world begins anew."
He raised his hands, and his mana spread outwards, becoming invisible threads that extended across the palace grounds, down through the marble floors, the banquet halls, the servants’ corridors, and even deep into the cellars beneath.
He could feel them, his thralls. Hundreds of them, planted within the palace over the years. Servants, guards, cooks, attendants. Each one a sleeper puppet, waiting for this very moment.
Now, they stirred.
With a mere flex of his fingers, he directed them like a maestro guiding an orchestra.
A small group moved through the underground passages towards the palace’s lower chambers.
Others climbed the narrow servant stairwells, their eyes glowing an almost undetectable green under his control.
He turned his gaze towards the grand ballroom.
It was time.
He sent the command, and the thralls dressed as waiters entered merged with the ball staff.
One by one, they retrieved the silver trays of drinks being constantly sent out for consumption.
The bottles of red wine were gently poured, but the thralls carried something else within their trays. Small crystal vials filled with the hybrid potion.
The thralls moved efficiently, uncorking the vials and mixing their contents into select goblets.
The liquid dissolved in the drinks, leaving no trace. An instant later, the wines were dormant, waiting to enter the bodies of the select mages and infect whoever would drink them.
The spiked goblets were then placed among normal ones, indistinguishable to any mortal eye.
"Perfect," Vine whispered, spreading his arms wider.
He guided the thralls into the ballroom with the other waiters, moving through the crowds.
None of the nobles noticed them. The servants of Camelot were invisible to the highborn, just as he had intended.
One thrall with his tray of drinks approached where the First Premier, Thomas Ramsay, stood in conversation with several other nobles.
Thomas caught sight of the servant and gestured lazily, interrupting his talk with Lord Kael.
"Ah, refreshment," the Premier said.
The thrall bowed deeply, extending the silver tray before him.
A half dozen goblets glittered on its surface, each filled with the finest red wine Camelot could offer.
Among them was one, just one, whose liquid had something... more.
Lord Vine hummed in satisfaction on his perch, a smile appearing under his hood.
The thrall stepped closer. The First Premier’s hand reached forward.
He chose the nearest goblet.
The spiked one.
And as he raised it in casual conversation, laughter rippling through the hall, the first move in Lord Vine’s grand design quietly fell into place.