In the shape of crowns, man's desires are wrought in.

- KATO VERSE

THE MOMENT I HAD STEPPED OUT OF THE CAGE, I hadn’t remembered feeling particularly victorious.

I had lied, I had betrayed, and I had backstabbed - murdered, tortured, kidnapped. I had heard the screams of the innocent, and it was as if the Gods had bottled the sound up and uncorked the vial every single day as the fire and blood and desperation replayed in my ears.

Looting their dead bodies and burying them - not because it was the right thing to do, but because blood attracted flies and with fire came smoke - had become second nature.

I had never liked being a part of the Gods’ play.

I had never liked being just an ink blot on the scrolls of history.

I had never liked being part of something bigger, and I had never liked being reminded of it.

That day, I hadn’t relished the roars and cheers of the Colosseum, the thousands of Imperials’ reactions at my return. I hadn’t paid much attention to the announcer’s voice booming as he congratulated my arrival.

The thud of my crimson-speckled boot landing on the platform still echoed in my ears.

That day, the screams replayed again, and it was the stabbing and the lying and the calculating - Gods, all the calculating - all over again, and so I closed my eyes, hoping that the Hints would go away.

It may have appeared as if I was simply basking in the light of being an Imperial candidate, of a new surname and a chance at a new life, of a shot at sitting on the Chryselephantine Throne that anyone could only dream of.

Appearances were deceiving.

I heard the Hints, again - the stories, in the people’s mutters and sounds and yells. But I couldn’t bring myself to delve in them, to lose myself in their worlds like I always had even though I detested the whole concept of being involved in matters larger than myself.

The medical term for it was shock, I realized. It was as if I was in control, but I wasn’t - the reflexes were there, but the consciousness wasn’t as I stared out at the pillars of the arena.

I could name all the architectural elements of the structure, name all the architects that made them along with their favorite flavor of tea, I could recite the Empire’s history of two thousand years including most of the minor events, but that day…

Pinpointing the day, but not the moment, when I had neared the edge of insanity, was easy enough - but what exactly had pushed me off that cliff eluded me still.

Trying to bring myself to look at my hands, they were shaking ever so slightly. With the murder of the final contestant, I had won, I said to myself, opening my eyes.

Seraphina Queenscage, now. I had the possession of a writ declaring my claim to the Throne, I had now power and influence and wealth beyond my imagination. I had the blessing of the Gods, I was Chosen.

It was probably that day I had realized.

The sun shone down upon me, the rays touching my bruised and blistered face as if Helios himself was trying to comfort me. The light touched the filth in the depths of my soul, the very soul that even that Athena had classified as broken. As I looked up into the fiery orb, in all its glory, and cursed the sky it belonged to, I had realized.

That day, I had won.

And that day, I had lost.

“Imperial Princess Seraphina. The Prince is visiting.”

The lady-in-waiting called out.

An inkblot on her right sleeve, right-handed, the ink took more seconds to dry. Cheap ink for an Imperial maid and lesser noble, written letter to her family using the resources at hand. Overnight stay at a lover’s house. A commoner lover. A fling.

“Wait.” A short, curt response escaped my lips. More words were unnecessary, as I set down the book I was reading. It was a short piece that argued for the use of guerilla tactics towards the end of the Forsaken Invasion, against many scholars.

The writer was eccentric, by the looks of it - an ‘ecstatic’ used when there was a more proper term available, the arrangement of the sentences - but they brought up valid, although controversial topics. Usually, most of the dusty Scholars preferred to address complicated, conservative stratagems from dustier wars like the Skirmish. But it was interesting.

It was my Ability that had compelled me to pick it up, probably a sign from Athena that could be interpreted in a thousand different ways. Another Hint for the future, a haphazard object that the Gods threw in my path.

The Prince. There was only one Prince that didn’t consider me an eyesore, and it was the one I was trying to kill at the moment.

He’s still alive?

I considered abducting a Poisonmaster to look it over, but my brew had never failed me before. Arathis had probably discovered it and would retaliate. It was a game of ours, I supposed.

The maidservant - no, lady-in-waiting - obeyed my command, and reached towards the door handle to inform Ara when they suddenly flung open, hitting her square in the nose.

“Sera!” the Forsaken smiled toothily. His stark white hair had taken some getting used to, but so had the fact that he was probably responsible for the death of all eleven Chosen. Ruthless, murderous, and one of the most treacherous people I knew, my brother was. Not blood related, alas, just a shared surname and a similar background as one of the winners of the Queen’s Cage.

“Ara,” I greeted, “you’re not dead.”

“Yes, I am not, my clever little sister,” Arathis agreed as he helped himself to the couch, barely casting a glance at the noble’s daughter he had undoubtedly injured. Compliments, bad news. The ever-so-slight emphasizing of ‘sister.’

“Astounding observation skills. I saw the poison you put in my tea. Quite a pretty brew - you’re a genius for thinking of crushing sarawolf’s leaves and mixing them with an invisibility potion so I wouldn’t see them amongst the tea leaves. Even more genius for recruiting the person who provides my teabags and making them seal it inside." He added, "Thorough, too, for getting the teapot handle.”

Compliments meant next to nothing from others if they didn’t get the job done.

Compliments from Arathis, however, were compliments meant to be taken.

“The balm was sticky,” I concluded as I frowned. “I’ll work on that. Thanks, brother.”

With the thank you, Arathis’ grin widened.

“Josie and the others are setting up a tea party - she refuses to call it that, but it’s obvious she’s setting up another honey trap for Cyrus. Honestly, will she never learn? That guy’s barely interested in anything aside from killing and swinging that damn sword.” Ara rolled his eyes. “And it’s not the fun kind of killing either, but the Cyrus kind of killing, like, who-”

“Does that?” I finished. I paused. “Cyrus,” I answered the question.

Arathis made a face.

“If I wanted to kill Cyrus,” he pondered, “I wouldn’t use honey traps. I’d wear him down, mental attrition, lures. He wouldn’t see a common mugger coming, so if a small thief took his sword and led him to an alley-”

“His Ability,” I pointed out. “Also, he’s hard to kill. Annoying, too.” I accompanied the astute observation with another face.

“I got three sentences out of ya!” Ara gasped in mock-joy. “But you’re wrong, dear sister, he-”

I shrugged. “I know. His moral superiority complex. He wouldn’t use a sword on just a small-time thief. But psychological warfare won’t work if he has the Lightning King.”

Arathis’ face fell, just for a bit. “Don’t ruin my fantasies,” he whined. “That’s mean.”

But, of course, he was just acting.

I was, too.

Today, he was the Ara persona he donned most of the time - childish, maybe a tad whiny, playful. He seemed weak, like I could easily crush him in my fist and slit his throat in his sleep. But that was why most everyone aside from the Victors were dragged along by him like dogs on a leash.

They humored him, acting like they were playing along with a child instead of a mass murderer that toyed with powerful personages the same way he ate monster organs for breakfast. The wrong thing to assume about him was that he killed for shits and giggles - there was always a ploy, always a trap, and if you assumed that he would make an exception for you, your assumption was wrong.

The thing about Arathis was to never, ever believe what he was saying. If he wanted to, he could probably burn down the Empire and earn the Throne if Greta wasn’t in the way. But there Greta was, and it was lucky Arathis’ ambitions never stretched beyond the average catastrophe...or so it seemed.

“Bleh. Let’s not talk about these things.” Ara winked. “I don’t want to be a spoilsport. Josie’s asked me to invite you to the tea party. Greta’s coming.”

“Invited or coming?”

“She and Orion got into an argument, and Orion’s at the party, so she’s probably coming to beat Orion up. Or burn her playthings at the stake in public as a warning against us again, not sure.” Slight undertones of resentment, undoubtedly towards Greta. Not a sense of inferiority, just annoyance. His hand moved towards his hair. Restlessness, the Hints told me. I never could read further than the emotions he felt at the surface, which was also a problem.

“Alright. Now?” My eyes ventured towards the clock.

“For lunch. Everything’s prepared. Food is really good, too, by the looks of it.”

“Anything aside from monster organs? I’m on a diet.” I never liked eating monsters, but Arathis and his race did and my sisterly persona didn’t want to offend him.

Ara offered, “there’re sandwiches.”

Good enough. The party was important.

“I’m coming,” I decided.

“Good choice. Let’s go.” Ara stood up and offered his arm, which I accepted. The maid’s nose that had been bloodied by his entrance was still red, liquid flowing from her nostrils as she ushered to open the doors. She was a lesser noble’s daughter, but she had heard the Imperial rumors, no doubt. Which meant she was tactful, although the lover bit threw me off a little…

Oh, well. If she would pose a problem in the future, I would ask Mercy to kill her.

My brother’s arm circling around my own, I assumed a faint, sisterly smile as we headed towards the tea party hosted by my favorite sister in the entire world.

“Sera!” Josephine squealed.

“Josie,” I greeted, forcing a natural smile to touch my lips. I let it vanish, however, as I met the eyes of the others seated around the table.

“Cyrus, Orion,” I acknowledged.

Cyrus grunted. “Why is she here?” Emphasis on here. He has spies, my Ability whispered incessantly. Arathis? My paranoia slowly creeped in, but it was quickly vetoed by further Reading. Hands tightening on his sword. Senses a threat. Eyes flickering, uneasiness. A recent betrayal, likely from an aide.

He was always the type to trust easily among the currently existing Victors. His tone was much more hostile than usual. I would need to send someone to probe further, I mentally scheduled.

“Seraphina.” Orion, who I was slightly on better terms with, decided to reply blandly. He had seen thirty-six years, but had never liked me in the three months I’d been here. Bland welcome. Even tone suggests no love lost, although respectful. No fear.

Cyrus frowned. I never could Read any of the Victors much, to my regrets. Cyrus was one of the better ones in terms of impulsivity - better for me, at least, worse for him. In terms of terrible personality, though, he lost to even Greta.

Armed with a superiority and inferiority complex and a very sharp sword, he practically radiated raw power. We weren’t allowed to Watch each other’s Footage, but I was willing to bet quite a large amount that he strong-armed and strategized his way to victory.

My slight smile didn’t falter.

The atmosphere always crackled with electricity when he was around, and I never wanted to acknowledge it enough to ask him to stop. Dark hair covering “brooding” blue eyes, the Paladin - as the Cagekeepers called him - was admittedly handsome enough. But there was a reason why I never liked to look at his face for long, and it wasn’t because of his ass for a personality.

I didn’t let my eyes linger across the Ninety-Seventh Victor’s face. “With such a warm welcome, how could I not?”

“Sarcasm!” Josephine crowed victoriously. “By the Gods, our youngest sister’s having a good day!”

The beautiful Ninety-Eighth Victor was dressed in thin fabric that most would barely classify as clothes, but I was sure that even if she was wearing a sack Josie would draw eyes. With the caramel skin of the East and bright, unusual golden eyes that belonged to many Eurusans, Josie’s unparalleled beauty was probably the reason why she had drawn Aphrodite’s attention.

Arathis smiled as he collapsed on a chair. The pale-haired Forsaken nodded in agreement, “the next thing you know, I bet Greta’ll walk in and - no, it’s too impossible, I can’t even imagine it.”

I raised an eyebrow, smiling amusedly. “What?”

Arathis leaned in conspiratally as I took the seat beside him. “Who knows, maybe today’s the day,” he said in a loud whisper, “Greta Highlander smiles.”

I snorted, while Josephine collapsed into a fit of laughter. Even Orion’s lips twitched, as Cyrus looked on the view with the same stony expression. Greta the Great smiling? There would come a day.

My Ability whispered to me in warning.

Right, it would be best not to take the Acting too far.

“By the Gods, how did you manage to get the rest of the boys here?” Arathis asked Josie, after he popped a raw, bloody square into his mouth. Josephine snickered, as she cast a look at Orion and wiggled her eyebrows.

“I know someone who knows someone who knows Orion’s current toy,” Josephine said, reaching for a sandwich. “It was more a matter of calling some people and stationing them near his house, sending an invitation, and lo and behold, he came.”

Orion clicked his tongue like he was reprimanding a kid. We were all kids to him, I supposed. “Don’t call him a toy.”

My eyebrows arched higher. “Older brother has a lover?” I let my mouth drop open. “Take it back, Arathis. Your prediction might come true.”

“Hear, hear, I’ll keep an eye out for Her Greatness Highlander,” said the Forsaken, curiously glancing at the older brother in question. Calculation. It wasn’t just curiosity that glimmered in both Josephine and Arathis’ gazes, it was that ruthless glint of an opportunity.

Toys among the Imperial Victors were common according to the history books, even though I disliked the practice myself. But the fact that Orion didn’t use the toy title, and the fact that he came to the gatherings he hated just in case Josephine would hurt him - which everyone knew she had no qualms about - was interesting.

I said interesting, everyone heard leverage.

The dark-skinned predator snarled. “He isn’t my lover.”

“Sure sounds like one to me,” chipped in Josephine. “Or is it unrequited, the attachment?” Attachment, not affection or love. Suggests problems with romantic ventures. It was obvious, though, that fact. It was a pity Cagekeepers couldn’t be bribed - I would’ve liked to see Josie’s footage.

Orion sounded irritated, although he toned it down. I could still hear the simmering anger beneath his voice - he was obviously mad at Josie for making it public, and for good reason as any one of us could start a massacre unprovoked. He was mad at himself, too, by the looks of it, for letting him lose his temper.

“No. Nothing of the sort. He’s boring, and I’m bored.” Change of the subject, a slight misdirection. Doesn’t want Josie to sink her claws into him, caution. Interesting. Very, very interesting.

I decided to play along. “Then why is Oldest Imperial Brother here? Does he have a lover, too?” I said it nonchalantly, in my usual flat tone.

The group obviously knew that I was helping Orion - I saw Arathis’ and Josephine’s smiles flicker, and Orion’s eyebrows lift a bit in surprise - but they seemed to be going along with the conversation’s flow, which was the safe choice for everyone.

From the Hints, Ara and Josie had planned this beforehand to take Orion down a notch. But just because I was friendly with them didn’t mean I would help them every step of the way - I would find out more about Orion’s secret lover, and both of them would try to manipulate me, but it was better to do things on my own terms.

Cyrus didn’t look pleased at having the attention suddenly on him. But his fingers twitched - recent betrayal - and I pinpointed the reason for his discomfort. He stayed silent.

“Ah...I did recently hear about the backstabbing.” I tutted. “Really a shame-”

“Stop it.” The electric atmosphere increased, and I could feel my skin prickle as my placid smile grew wider. Cyrus met my eyes, and I could see regret that he hadn’t realized I was probing on purpose.

The fact that he had even reacted at all, like Orion, was surprising. Something was going on, and if the commonalities added up...A male. Cyrus being recently betrayed. Orion harboring a secret lover. My Hints pieced themselves together as I burst into a bright, satisfied smile. Cyrus flinched, but perhaps that was just what he wanted me to think, that he was unsettled.

I watched Arathis’ and Josie’s amused eyes on me as I pieced the most likely result together.

A love triangle.

This was going to be very, very interesting.

I had only been here three months, but the Palace was a place of deceit. Sure, there was blood, and screams, and the odd person on fire, but this...I could work with. Lies and misdirection, I thought as I poured myself a cup of tea, was just my chalice of wine.

Mercy frowned. Her real name wasn’t Mercy, of course - it was Xanthe Nameless, but we both much preferred Mercy, what with our similar sense of humor. (It was ironic, given the fact that she was an assassin, but the fact that I recruited my dead lover’s sister - and the fact that the aforementioned lover’s death was my fault - was ironic in itself.)

“So,” she clarified, “you want me to scout your sister’s guards and see if there’s anywhere unusual that they swarm?”

I didn’t correct her on the sister part - although the Victors were a tad murderous for a family, they were now my legal relatives.

“A bit more complicated,” I said, sparse in my words, “they’re smarter than that.” I was back on my bed, fiddling with my blade as I analyzed the map rolled out on the mattress. Mercy was lounging lazily on the window seat, like she usually was at night, and I blinked.

The map was a good map, I decided after scanning it. The Hints only divulged its origin and background, but it was fairly accurate and overlapped with the many geographic tomes I visualized in my head.

I closed my eyes, rooting in my head for the information I needed as I finally found the correct volume and date I had seen the map I needed. I mentally traced a ragged paper, with elaborate ink sketched upon it, as I laid out the formation of the Emperor’s capital city in my head. Possible paths blazed to life, supported by my Hints and my memory - this way, that way - until I sighed and opened my eyes again.

“Along the Port, likely.” The Hints reinforced my conclusion, my Ability humming as it confirmed my conclusion. Orion said he was boring. Boring, for him, means routine, the Hint reminded me. Routine, and Orion was an archer who hated drills.

A Dockworker? It was the most boring job a person could have, but why was Cyrus and Orion down on the docks? They were Imperial Princes, with the Queenscage surname, unless…

“Prioritize finding the person,” I said. “There’s something that my older brothers are up to, and Arathis and Josie know it.” Which was the reason behind the tea party. The younger Victors wanted to warn them into submission, and I had made a bad call by not letting them.

“A Dockworker whose home is swarmed by hidden Imperial Guards. Involved in a likely disguised shipment that involves weapons,” I decided. My Ability answered with a hum as I shot my Wisdom into my conclusion, picking apart the idea.

How did I not notice? A bad call - no wonder my Hints hadn’t reinforced it. I hadn’t noticed, getting myself swept up in triumph - you are too arrogant, Athena’s whispers came back to me.

I saw Mercy nod. “Shall I send the Scouts?” she questioned, referring to the five or six hidden people she had under her wing.

“No. Use the homeless system. And the Seraphs.” Both systems that he had suggested. It was no use getting sidetracked - I was already late, had made a bad call, and was in a disadvantageous situation, surrounded by enemies who everyone called my family. But I was at least comfortable, I whispered to myself. Better lies and deceit than being stuck behind those bars again. Never again would I be imprisoned. Never again. Never again. Never again. Never.

Mercy’s nod snapped me out of it.

Good. I wasn’t going to go down another spiral again. I couldn’t afford to.

“I’ll come after you’ve scouted the area.” My decision was accompanied by a resonance, however faint. Scouting the area was always the best thing to do when uncertain, just as information was one of the most important things you could have. Information. Piece everything together, logically.

Was I angry at Arathis and Josephine from keeping this for me? No, I couldn’t be, I answered myself as I organized my thoughts rationally. I had no right to, because we didn’t trust each other. All of us Victors, try as we might, could never truly trust someone - off-track, Seraphina, I chided myself.

I suspected that they both liked me - I liked them, too - but if I was an obstacle in their path they would get rid of me. A logical decision. One I would make. I clung to knowing things, was one thing I had noticed about myself. A weakness. Knowledge wasn’t power. Knowing what to do with it was.

My Ability flared to life, again, as Mercy went away. Love was unreliable blackmail material, usually. But Orion’s interest, along with Cyrus’ trust, were hard to earn.

An outlier, I then decided, like Greta.

Outliers were dangerous.

I had edged very close to spirals today, and this was important. Every day was important, but my Ability pulled at the person’s existence, tugging at it like a pet dog trying to show me a bone they had brought back.

It was important. I couldn’t afford to lose it to spirals. And so I did what I always did when nearing the cliff - a habit developed back then, a habit to keep her from falling asleep - and closed my eyes. A board of Queen’s Crown, the pieces replaced by the figures of people and the Scenarios replaced by the current situation.

I moved a Paladin forward, just as I flipped the board and sent a fleet of Soldiers against myself as a distraction, which I obviously would not allow.

Simulations.

As I shifted the Archer’s Arrow and went for the offensive, I furthered myself from the edge of the spiral.

Outliers were dangerous.

The slash of a knife, the blood dripping from a pale throat; the boy’s lingering smile, his foot on the edge of a cliff; a girl’s last cry, her throat beneath my hands.

I shook my thoughts out of it as I continued playing.

Keep moving the pieces forward. Keep attacking, defending. Keep going.

I had never been satisfied with just being a part of the Gods’ play.

I had never wanted to be reduced to just an ink blot on the scrolls of history.

I had never hated being part of something bigger, because I wanted to be bigger.

But I had made a bad call.