"The pitcher of ice water smashed into Mara before she could even raise her hands.

By the following afternoon, word of the assassination attempt had been carefully suppressed by Lord Malakor. Instead, a new rumors circulated through the palace corridors like poison gas.

At noon, Mara was summoned to the Great Council Chamber. The entire court had gathered, whispering incessantly behind velvet fans and embroidered sleeves. At the center of the room stood Lord Malakor, holding a heavy iron box, alongside a terrified elderly woman wrapped in chains.

Mara’s blood ran cold when she recognized the woman. It was Martha, the old washerwoman who had raised Mara in the servant quarters.

“What is the meaning of this?” King Alistair demanded from his throne, flanked by Captain Vance.

“Your Majesty,” Malakor said loudly, addressing the whole court. “Last night, my guards intercepted this old servant attempting to flee the palace grounds. In her possession, we found this box containing dark alchemical ingredients—specifically, the rare phosphorus plant used to create fake glowing runes on human skin.”

The court gasped. Martha wept loudly, shaking her head franticly. “I didn't! They put it in my room! I swear by the heavens, I know nothing of alchemy!”

“Silence, hag!” Celeste snapped from beside her father, stepping forward with an expression of pure righteous indignation. “This washerwoman raised the orphan girl Mara. Together, they plotted to deceive the King, using forbidden street magic to fake the Phoenix Mark! They aimed to steal the royal succession!”

Mara stepped forward, her voice ringing clear and strong through the hall. “That is a lie! Martha is an innocent woman who can barely see! She doesn't even know what alchemy is!”

“Then how do you explain this?” Malakor pulled a small journal from the box, holding it up. “A step-by-step diary detailing how you applied the chemical mixture to your skin every night for months, waiting for the right moment to perform your little theatrical display in the ballroom!”

“That is not my handwriting!” Mara countered furiously. “I was never taught how to read or write!”

The room suddenly grew quiet. Malakor froze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard.

Captain Vance immediately seized the opportunity. He stepped down from the dais and picked up the journal from Malakor’s hands. “Lord Malakor claims this was written by a servant girl who spent her life scrubbing floors. Yet this script is written in high courtly calligraphy, using expensive imported ink that only the royal family can afford.”

Vance turned to the court lords, holding the book high. “Which of you truly believes an illiterate kitchen girl wrote high-court syntax?”

Whispers erupted among the nobles, many of them nodding in sudden realization. Malakor’s face darkened with rage.

“Regardless!” Malakor shouted, trying to regain control. “The evidence of dark magic is present! The girl must be stripped of her claims and executed alongside her accomplice for high treason!”

“Enough!” King Alistair stood up, slamming his royal sceptre onto the marble floor. The sound echoed like thunder. “There will be no executions! The Blood Ritual will take place tomorrow night at the Full Moon. The Ancient Stone of Truth does not lie. If Mara is an imposter, the stone will reject her. If she is my daughter, the sacred flame will accept her.”