HIS RUIN

Untitled Episode

The hall should have ended in whispers, not screams. The laughter had been brittle all evening, stretched too thin across too many lies. The Queen Mother’s watchful silence was a weight on everyone’s shoulders, and Ayérí felt it most — the way her every movement was dissected, measured, and stored away, like evidence for a trial yet to come. But then, Lady Isemide raised her jeweled goblet, that perpetual smirk fixed like a mask. It was meant to be another gesture of mockery, another subtle reminder of who belonged and who did not. Instead, her smile faltered. Her throat seized. The goblet slipped from her hand, crashing against the marble floor. Wine spilled out, scarlet and gleaming, spreading like fresh blood across the banquet table’s reflection.

Gasps ripped through the room. Isemide staggered, clawing at her throat, her eyes bulging with terror before her body crumpled to the ground. One final shudder—and then she was still. The silence was immediate, suffocating. Servants froze mid-step, pitchers suspended in trembling hands. Nobles shrank back from their tables as though death itself had pulled up a chair. None dared touch their wine. The Oracle Òbírí rose slowly, his staff striking the marble floor with a c***k that echoed like thunder. His voice carried through the hush, low and unyielding:

“The garden’s poison has seeped into the feast. The shadow does not ask for permission—it chooses.”

The words curled into the air like smoke. The Queen Mother stood at last, her gown black as stormclouds, her presence filling the room. She didn’t glance at the lifeless Lady Isemide sprawled at her feet. Instead, her gaze carved straight through the hall, finding Ayérí with terrifying precision. And the hall turned with her. Dozens of eyes fixed on Ayérí, suspicion hardening into certainty. The weight of accusation pressed against her chest, making every breath feel stolen. Ayérí’s instinct was to rise, to defend, to speak—but her body betrayed nothing. She held her bow low, regal, unshaken, even as her heart pounded like a war drum. Fear could not be seen here. Fear was death. Prince Òsàze’s jaw clenched. His hand twitched once, as though to move toward her—but he stopped. He, too, could not defy the Queen Mother’s glare. Not yet. The Queen Mother’s voice cut the silence, sharp as a blade:

“Poison does not find its way into a queen’s banquet without intent. "Someone dares to make a spectacle in my house.” She stepped forward, her gaze never leaving Ayérí.“And the timing of it…” Her lips curled, slow and deliberate. “How… convenient.” The words were not an accusation. They were a sentence. Ayérí made her stare, spine unbent, and at that moment she understood: this was no longer about survival. This was war, and the first blow had already been struck.

The Lockdown“Seal the hall,” the Queen Mother commanded.

Her voice was calm, but it carried the authority of thunder. Guards moved at once, slamming the bronze doors shut. The echo reverberated like a death knell, cutting off any hope of escape. Nobles flinched as the bolts slid into place.

Servants scurried under the weight of the order, seizing goblets from every hand, emptying pitchers, and lining the vessels along the floor for inspection.“None leave until we find the serpent among us,” the Queen Mother declared.

A ripple of panic spread through the nobles, hushed whispers erupting into frantic speculation. Fingers pointed in every direction. Some accused the servants. Some whispered of foreign plots. But too many glances returned, again and again, to Ayérí.

She felt it—the heat of suspicion clinging to her like oil.

The Queen Mother was stoking it deliberately.

The Oracle Speaks Again

Òbírí lifted his staff once more. His blind eyes seemed to look through them all, unshaken by fear, untouched by politics.“The banquet is not the beginning,” he intoned, his voice like gravel. It is the echo. Poison was planted long before the wine was poured.

The Queen Mother’s jaw tightened. “Speak plain, Oracle. "Who is guilty?” Òbírí tilted his head, listening to something only he could hear. “The guilty hides behind masks. Tonight, a shadow fell, but the shadow was guided. "If you tear at one branch, the root still lives.”

Murmurs rippled through the hall. His words offered no clarity, only deeper dread.

But Ayérí caught something else. A flicker in his tone. A shift in his staff’s direction, angled not toward her—but toward the dais, where the Queen Mother herself stood.

The message was veiled. Yet Ayérí felt its weight.

Ayérí’s Silent Battle

Ayérí kept her face still, even as the whispers grew sharper around her.“She was jealous of Lady Isemide…”“She came back from nowhere—who knows what she brought with her?”“The poison must be hers. Who else benefits?

The Queen Mother let them speak, her silence fueling the fire.

Ayérí forced herself to breathe slowly, her mind whirring. Whoever had poisoned Lady Isemide had done it to set her up. It was too precise, too perfect. And it meant one thing: someone already knew who she really was.

The thought chilled her blood.

Òsàze Breaks the Silence“Enough.”

The word cracked across the hall like a whip. Prince Òsàze rose to his feet, his golden cloak spilling down his shoulders, his voice commanding attention.“This is no trial ground. Lady Isemide is dead, and yet you trade accusations like fishwives at the market.”

The Queen Mother’s eyes narrowed.

“Would you silence your court while poison spreads unchecked?”Òsàze met her gaze, unflinching. I would remind them that guilt is not proven by whispers. Or do we now abandon law and justice for fear and shadows?” The room trembled with tension.

For a heartbeat, Ayérí saw it—the boy she once knew, the man he was becoming, standing against even his mother’s iron will.

But then the Queen Mother’s voice sliced back, cold and precise:“Spoken like one too soft to rule. Or perhaps… spoken like one too blinded by loyalty to see betrayal in front of him.

”A hush fell. The meaning was clear.Òsàze was defending Ayérí. And everyone saw it.