CHAPTER 37: POISON

Edward pushed past the soldiers, his boots striking the marble floor as he knelt down.

Chief Warren’s wife clutched her husband’s shoulders, shaking him desperately, her sobs tearing through the stunned silence of the hall. Edward’s eyes dropped to the man’s limp hand. The fingernails bore a faint, unnatural purple hue.

"Poison..." he muttered under his breath.

The wife was still trying to shake the man awake, but the truth was undeniable. The Chief was already gone.

Edward rose, his gaze sweeping across the hall, sharp and searching. Dozens of faces stared back at him—nobles, merchants, priests, soldiers, servants. Anyone in this room could have slipped something into the chief’s goblet.

Who? When?

His jaw tightened as questions spiralled in his head.

Moving swiftly to the nearest soldier, he pulled a token from his coat and pressed it into the man’s palm. "The chief has been poisoned. Secure the area. Don’t let anyone out."

The soldier’s eyes widened. He glanced once more at the chief’s lifeless body, then straightened and barked sharp commands. His men surged into motion, closing ranks around the doors.

The prince strode over, his expression hard, his royal physician already kneeling beside the body to confirm what Edward already knew.

"What happened?" Prince Arthur asked.

"Poison," Edward replied flatly. "We can’t allow anyone to leave. The killer must still be inside"

The prince’s jaw tightened.

He flicked a hand toward one of his royal guards, who saluted sharply before directing his men. In moments, the great doors slammed shut, iron locks sliding into place. Windows were shuttered and posted with sentries. The once-merry hall was now a gilded prison.

At Edward’s side, Aeris and Seraphine appeared, their faces pale with confusion.

"What—" Aeris began, but her words cut short as her eyes fell on the chief’s body. Her expression darkened instantly.

Edward’s voice was cold and steady.

"Someone at this banquet murdered the chief," he said.

Aeris’ sharp gaze darted across the room, lingering on each guest in turn as if weighing their guilt. Seraphine, however, clutched Edward’s arm tightly, her usually bright demeanour silenced by fear.

Around them, whispers spread like wildfire, until one of the prince’s guards bellowed, "Silence!"

The prince ascended a small dais, his voice rising above the crowd with commanding weight. "People of Ashenhold," he began, his tone formal but edged with restrained anger. "You have my deepest apologies, but none of you may leave. A high official, Chief Warren himself, has been assassinated. The killer is still within these walls."

A collective gasp echoed through the hall, followed by panicked cries and heated protests. But the clamour died swiftly beneath the steel-sharp shouts from the guards.

Edward let the noise wash over him, his eyes never ceasing their hunt. He studied trembling hands, darting eyes, and beads of sweat on noble brows. Somewhere among them, guilt hid like a serpent in tall grass.

"Edward."

Prince Arthur’s voice cut through his thoughts. Edward turned, meeting the royal’s somber gaze. The Prince stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The chief spoke very highly of your... expertise in catching killers and solving mysteries."

Edward remained silent, his posture rigid.

"I can lock down the room, I can command my guards to search every person here," the prince continued, "but uncovering the one truly responsible... that is beyond me. Beyond any of my men. I need you to find them."

The Prince’s usual pleasant expression had vanished, replaced by an unflinching severity. His words carried not just a request, but a command weighted with the gravity of the crown.

Edward gave a single nod.

He knew what was being asked.

"Do what you must to find the killer," Prince Arthur said firmly.

With that, he stepped back, leaving Edward standing in the center of the hall. The weight of every gaze seemed to shift onto him—suspects and innocents alike watching and waiting for his next move.

Edward inhaled slowly. The air was heavy with perfume, roasted meat, spilled wine... and now, the sharp stench of fear.

This was no longer a banquet. It was a crime scene.

And he had just been made its investigator.

Edward turned swiftly to Aeris. "Go speak to the chief’s wife. Find out who he spoke with tonight and who he shared a drink or meal with. She’ll trust you more than she would me."

Aeris hesitated, glancing at the grieving woman, then nodded. Without another word, she crossed the floor, her movements firm but careful.

Edward moved toward the chief’s table. He scanned the half-eaten dishes, the scattered cutlery, the goblets. Nothing looked unusual at first glance. Every plate was prepared identically. Every cup bore the same golden sheen of the hall’s drinkware. Yet the others at the chief’s table still lived while he lay dead.

This had not been random. The poison was meant just for him.

A sharp argument drew Edward’s attention. A cluster of town officials shouted angrily as guards rifled through their belongings.

"You have no right—!" one of them barked, but the reply was swift. Steel flashed, and with the scrape of metal, a soldier cut open a noble’s satchel. Empty wine flasks and crumpled cloth spilled onto the floor.

The royal guards showed no mercy. "Refuse and we’ll open it for you," one growled, his blade hovering inches from another man’s coat. Fear spread quickly, silencing any further protests.

Edward frowned.

Whoever orchestrated this would be too clever to keep evidence in their pocket. His eyes drifted across the hall once more, lingering on each guest.

Then he saw him.

The tall man with long black hair—the one who had earlier introduced himself as Auron, a supposed friend of the chief. While others had abandoned their goblets in panic, some even hurling them aside as if the wine itself were cursed, Auron still drank. His expression was completely unfazed despite losing a supposed friend.

"Coincidence...?" Edward wondered, though doubt gnawed at the word.

"Edward."

Aeris’ voice pulled him back. She rejoined him with a grave expression on her face. "I’ve rounded up everyone the chief spoke with. The guards are searching them now."

Edward turned to see a large group of guests standing separated from the rest, their belongings examined piece by piece. Purses overturned, sleeves rolled, seams probed for any hidden compartments.

And then—

"What? No—NO! It’s not mine!"

One of the men cried out as a soldier yanked him forward, shoving him to the ground. Blood splattered as the man’s face cracked against the marble floor.

The guard held up a small vial, its glass glinting under the chandelier’s light. A faint, oily residue clung to its rim.

"Take this trash away!" the guard snarled.

The accused man writhed, shouting, "It’s not mine! I swear, it’s not mine!" His words rang hollow against the solid evidence displayed in the soldier’s gauntleted hand.

Around the hall, a new wave of murmurs spread, heavy with fear and suspicion.

Edward’s eyes narrowed. His instincts told him the truth was far different from what had been presented.

"What kind of assassin leaves the poison ampule in his pocket?"

Edward’s eyes moved across the hall to where the prince was standing. Their eyes locked for a moment, and what he saw was the exact same feeling he was experiencing—doubt.