This was going to be a short story... and then it rocketed into novel-length, which I suppose is good news for you if you like long fic! I've already written the entire thing, so you can expect fairly frequent updates as I'm just editing and revising the chapters.

Before you ask, there aren't any real ships in this except some implied Ristelle, and you could probably interpret it as Fluri if you felt so inclined. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: A Murderer

Flynn sat silently in the council room, watching a month of work get ripped apart. It's not personal, he tried to tell himself. It's just politics. But, after spending a month pouring his heart into a proposed tax reform to make things fairer for the lower classes, it was hard not to take it personally when Count Borden went through it line by line to explain why it was complete rubbish.

Flynn could understand opposing his plan. He'd only been the commandant for just under a year, and he knew he had not yet earned the trust or respect of a good majority of the Council. So far he had mostly stuck to dealing with the knighthood because he was a lot more confident in that area, and this was the first time he'd tried to use his position to influence the government in non-military matters. He had anticipated being met with resistance, but he didn't think Borden had to be so nasty about it. Surely he could voice his opposition without making derisive comments about Flynn's writing ability. It was his first time writing a legal document - of course it had sounded slightly amateur! He was used to writing military reports, not political briefs. He didn't see why Borden felt the need to comment on Flynn's upbringing in the lower quarter, either. The only slightly relevant part of his argument was his assertion that Flynn's proposed reformation of taxes would lead the empire to bankruptcy. He'd 'proven' this with a flurry of numbers Flynn was certain he'd made up on the spot, but he stated them with such conviction that it would take equally confident math to prove he was making it all up. Flynn wasn't nearly good enough at math to do this, nor was he entirely confident in his original calculations. Those had been estimates, not hard-and-fast calculations of percentages. He was stuck feeling like a fool while Borden pointed out all his wording, math, and genetic mistakes.

"We're running late," Borden said, "so I won't take any more of your time. I'm certain I have afforded this… attempt at a proposal more time than it's worth already." He turned his eyes on Flynn, who sat with his hands folded on the table in front of him, hoping it wasn't too obvious how embarrassed he was by all of this. "I suppose it was an admirable attempt, but I, for one, don't find it convincing of anything but that disastrous embarrassments are inevitable when people try to step out of their place."

The crowd mumbled. Flynn couldn't make out what they were saying, but he just knew they were murmuring their agreement. Ioder cleared his throat and stood up. "Yes, uh, thank you for that, Count Borden. We can discuss this further at our next meeting."

Flynn was thankful when the meeting ended. He'd never been too fond of Council meetings, but this one had been torture. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this furious with someone. It wasn't only because Borden had insulted him in front of the entire Council, but because his actions were directly hurting the people of the lower quarter. As long as Borden waxed poetic about how detrimental Flynn's proposal was to the empire, the lower quarter would continue to be crushed under unfair taxes. He stood and gathered his papers, trying not to move too jerkily or display just how angry he was. If only Borden could be removed from the Council. If only he could just disappear, the way his buddy Ragou had.

Flynn froze, and his grip tightened on the paper. He quickly pushed those thoughts away. He hated what Borden was doing to the lower quarter, but thinking about getting rid of him was unacceptable. As much as his life would improve if Borden was out of the picture, even considering such actions was hideous. He would deal with this ethically and legally, and take his anger at Borden out on practice dummies in the training yard like he always did. He straightened his papers, intent on making a quick exit without meeting anyone's eyes. It had indeed run late; it was already dark outside. He'd head home and get some of his other work done to take his mind off of this disaster. If he was lucky, there would already be a cup of tea on his desk when he got home. He usually felt uncomfortable with servants running around his home and bending over backward for him, but he had to admit that it was nice to come home from a long meeting and have a nice warm drink waiting for him. Maybe he'd even head down to the lower quarter to pay a visit to Yuri; that always cheered him up.

"Commandant."

He withheld a sigh. So much for sneaking off unnoticed. He turned around to see Baroness Joplin standing before him with a stack of papers in her arms. "Can I help you, madam?"

"Yes, you need to take care of these forms by noon tomorrow."

She handed him almost an inch of papers. Flynn took them with a frown, flipping through the first few pages. "These should have been given to me two weeks ago."

"There was a mistake," she said stiffly. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but they were lost under a folder and only found today. However, we do still need them filled out and turned in by tomorrow."

Flynn's heart sank. So much for visiting Yuri. It looked like he was going to be pulling another all-nighter. He sighed and said, "Very well, thank you."

She nodded once, and then walked away. Flynn supposed he should be grateful that was all she'd said to him, because conversations with Joplin normally included more thinly veiled passive aggressive insults. Flynn tucked his papers under his arm and made his way toward the door. By now, the floor was filled with council members standing around and chatting before heading home. Ordinarily Flynn didn't have any problems navigating crowds, but crowds of nobles were a real pain because they had all been brought up to believe that they shouldn't have to move for anyone, and that if someone was trying to get by, well they'd have to find their own way around. This made squeezing through the crowds ten times more difficult than it ought to be.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" Reyes said, giving him a poisonous glare. Flynn considered pointing out that Reyes had been the one to crash into him, but he didn't want to get into this argument. After his embarrassment with Borden, he didn't feel like facing any of them at the moment.

Instead he said a quick, "Sorry, excuse me," and hurried on his way.

He had almost reached the door when someone else stopped him.

"Commandant!" She grabbed his arm before he could reach for the door handle.

Flynn had to quell the instinct to reach for his sword. He turned around, very much wanting to tell Lady Emmery that grabbing a soldier from behind was not the best idea and that more jumpy veterans might have stabbed her by now. Instead, all he said was, "Is there a problem, Lady Emmery?" Emmery was the head of the treasury sub-committee, so dealing with her usually meant numbers, budgets, and precise math. In other words, all the things that Flynn was bad at and hated dealing with. He knew it was stupid to dislike a woman just because she got excited by math, but she disliked him just because he was bad at math so he didn't feel too guilty about his irrational hatred. At first he thought she was just another noble prejudiced against the lower classes, but she always seemed sympathetic to the lower quarter and she'd been friendly toward him until he made the mistake of making a dismissive remark about how tedious math was when he'd rather be organizing troop movements. He wondered if fostering deep hatred against a person for incredibly petty reasons was simply a thing nobles did, or if Emmery was just weird.

"Yes!" she said, waving a sheet of paper in his face. "You submitted this form yesterday, but I must ask where in the world you expect this extra 4,500 gald to come from?"

"Pardon?" Flynn creased his brow, trying to get a good look at the paper. This was difficult, because Emmery was still waving it around in fury. By now, she'd made enough commotion that a handful of nobles standing around had stopped to watch.

"What, you think you can demand as much money as you want from the Council? You are on a budget, Commandant!"

"Let me see that, please." Flynn managed to pull it out of her grip before she could flail it around again. He glanced at the form, which was covered in his handwriting. To be honest, he didn't remember filling it out because so many papers crossed his desk on any given day that most of them blurred together. Based on the state of his handwriting, though, it looked like he'd filled this one out in a rush. He looked down at the offending box, which was circled in garish red ink. "Oh, I see. I'm sorry, I accidentally added an extra zero." All the other numbers on the page were in the thousands, and he'd been rushing to get it done on time, so he had accidentally written 5,000 instead of 500. Since he hadn't added the comma after the five even though the number was in the thousands, he thought it was obvious that he had been intending it to be 500.

Emmery crossed her arms and glared at him suspiciously. "You made a mistake like this? That seems quite out of character for the man I'm told is the empire's perfect example of a knight."

"Yes," Flynn said, trying not to get angry. Yes, in fact, even he could make mistakes. A lot of Council members were watching this exchange now, and Flynn silently prayed they could wrap it up before this turned into a scene. "I apologize for the error. I'll fix it right away."

"Perhaps I can interrupt," said a new voice, and another councilman slid into the conversation. "Emmery, please relax, this form isn't a pressing concern. Flynn can easily fix it tonight and give you the revised one tomorrow."

"Zadel," she said stiffly by way of greeting. "The commandant never makes mistakes like this. His impeccable attention to detail is one of his few redeeming qualities."

Flynn frowned, but before he could object to 'few redeeming qualities', she had continued.

"Easier to believe he hoped to slip that extra zero by and pull in an extra 4,500 gald to spend on the Knights - or worse, to line his own pockets!"

Flynn's grip around his own papers tightened, furious that she would accuse him of such a thing. "Contrary to popular belief, I am, in fact, capable of making the occasional mistake. Just give me the form and I'll give you the revised copy tomorrow, no harm done."

Emmery still looked skeptical, but nodded. "Alright… but you had better not let this happen again." She gave him one last look and then walked away.

The excitement over, the gawkers returned to talking among themselves. Flynn could already hear the whispers; the commandant screwed up. The commandant made a grievous error on his budget forms. Flynn wanted to grab someone by the collar and shout that it had only been a single damn zero, and that nobody would think it worth commenting on if it had been anyone else. But no, it had been him, and the perfect commandant simply didn't make mistakes. He started to walk, but Zadel followed him.

"I don't blame you," Zadel said. "I've made much worse typos."

Flynn tried not to show just how little he felt like chatting. If accidentally adding a single extra zero set off a flurry of whispers, shouting at a friendly councilman to shove off and leave him alone might set off a few heart attacks. At least, there were certainly worse nobles to talk to than Zadel. He put a smile on when he turned to the man. "I know. I'm not too torn up about it," he said. "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh, no, I just wanted to talk," Zadel said. They stepped outside and into the hall. Flynn felt less stressed already just by leaving the room full of nobles behind him. Zadel patted Flynn on the shoulder. "Don't let Borden get you down, either," he said. "I'd say most of them Council isn't too fond of him, either. I've frequently heard complaints, for example, they he steals the best snacks from the cheese tray before the others get to it."

"That's somewhat comforting," Flynn said.

"I want you to know, I was quite embarrassed by the way he implied that all members of the council share his views on birthright. It was quite rude of him to bring your parentage into this situation. In fact, I'd say you're more worthy than any of us. You, after all, got here on your own hard work, rather than being born into it."

"Thank you," Flynn said. He'd only spoken to Zadel a few times, but he'd always seemed supportive of Flynn's ideals. During their rare conversions, he had gleaned that Zadel had been on the Council for only a few years after inheriting the position following his mother's retirement. He was still fairly young and had a lot of modern ideas, though he tended not to speak up much at Council meetings, probably due to the same insecurity that Flynn felt.

"Borden's just a traditionalist," Zadel said. "My mother is the same way." He sighed and shook his head. "Conversations with her can be so embarrassing; you know how elderly people can be when it comes to being politically correct…"

Flynn nodded. He didn't have a lot of first hand experiences, since both his parents and grandparents had died when he was young, but he'd heard enough old geezers rant about how terrible it was that Krityans were so accepted in human cities these days to understand. "I suppose the best we can hope for is that the older generations will die off and be replaced with a more tolerant one."

"Yes, I hope so," Zadel said. "His Majesty Ioder is sure to be a positive influence on the Council. Although…" he glanced down the hallway toward the door as they walked away, "I wouldn't count on them throwing their support behind your proposal just yet."

"I figured as much." It was too ambitious. He'd tried to do too much at once. The Council wasn't ready for sudden dramatic shifts of class balance - it needed to happen subtly, over a long period of time. He'd been overeager, and he could only hope he hadn't completely blown his chance of making a difference in the future.

Zadel frowned, deep in thought for a few seconds, and then said, "I have an idea. Why don't we go out for a drink tonight? It will get your mind off Borden."

Part of him was dearly tempted to take him up on that offer, but the stack of papers in his hand reminded him that he couldn't. A little rebellious voice asked what the worst could happen if he turned the forms in a bit late, but he ignored it. He had an image to uphold, and that image did not turn paperwork in even a minute later. So, he regretfully smiled politely and said, "Thank you for the offer, but I'm terribly busy tonight."

"I'm sure it can wait," Zadel said. "Please, you've been busy preparing this report for weeks. You deserve a break."

Flynn shook his head. "I need to get this done for tomorrow. Perhaps I can join you tomorrow night, instead?"

Zadel's smiled dropped. "Yes, I suppose that will have to do."

"Flynn!"

Flynn looked over his shoulder and saw Estelle rushing out of the Council chamber. Zadel saw her as well and said, "Ah, I shall leave you two to talk. Have a good evening, Commandant."

"You as well."

He walked away, and then Estelle nearly crashed into him. "Oh, Flynn!" she said, stepping back a bit. "Are you alright? I'm so angry at Count Borden!"

"I'm perfectly fine, Lady Estellise," he said. "I didn't expect my proposal to go over well."

"I know, but…" she glared. "He was just so rude to you! That was completely unnecessary. I wanted to… I wanted to punch him!"

Flynn laughed a bit. Something about Estelle getting fired up couldn't help but amuse him. It might be that it was hard to make her fist appear threatening when it was covered in a lacy white glove, or that her face seemed physically incapable of looking violent. "Thank you for the support, Lady Estellise," Flynn said.

Estelle dropped her fist and walked alongside him toward his room. "Really, Flynn, what he said was completely uncalled for."

"I suppose he had a point," Flynn said. "The writing in the proposal was, I admit, amateur."

"Well…" Estelle looked like she wanted to deny it, but then chose not to lie to him. "I guess it was, but only a bit. You simply need practice. It's ridiculous for people to hold you to the same standards of literacy considering you never got a formal education the way all the nobles did."

"I don't want to use an excuse," Flynn said. "I can't give them any excuse to use my background against me."

"Hm, that's true. Oh, I know! Next time you're writing something, bring it to me. I'll help you word it properly so sounds just as pompous and formal as the Council is used to."

"I would greatly appreciate that."

"Good. So, what are you doing for the rest of the day? Are you going to go visit Yuri?"

He glanced over at her. "Why would you suggest that?" Yuri had been in town for a couple of months now, helping the lower quarter rebuild their fountain now that the blastia were gone. They were both very busy, so they didn't often get around to visiting each other.

Estelle shrugged. "You always go visit Yuri when you're upset."

"I do not."

She gave him a knowing look.

Flynn frowned. "Alright, maybe I do, but tonight I'm busy. Maybe you should go visit him?"

"I'm busy tonight, too," Estelle said with a happy grin. "I'm going to chat with Rita!"

"Oh, that's right," Flynn said. "You mentioned something about a long-distance communication device."

"Yes!" Estelle said. "It's a… um… well, I don't actually know how to works, but Rita said the two machines were in sync somehow so that if you type on one, it shows up on the other. That way, we can talk even when she's in Halure and I'm in Zaphias."

"That sounds like incredibly useful technology. Remind me to speak with her about adopting this technology for the Knights."

"Alright, I'll ask her about it. It seems like a lot of fun, though."

"I'm sure." They reached the door to Flynn's room, which was actually his office with an attached apartment. He'd wanted to stay in his old room, but Ioder had insisted he take the commandant's suite. He'd done a considerable amount of redecorating to try to distance it from Alexei before agreeing to move in.

"Good luck with your paperwork, Flynn," Estelle said. "Don't stay up too late."

Flynn smiled. "I won't." He would.

"Bye!" Estelle said, waving goodbye.

Flynn waved briefly, and then entered his office. He smiled when, sure enough, he spotted a cup of tea sitting on his desk. He crossed the large room and entered his private chambers, and jumped when he almost crashed into someone. His heart skipped a beat and he impulsively reached for the knife on his belt, before realizing it was just a servant getting the laundry.

"I'm sorry, sir!" the young woman said, shaking a bit.

His hand at his belt landed on nothing. He glanced down for a second with a small frown. He usually kept his knife on him when he didn't have his sword because he was aware of the possibility of assassination for a man in his position (although Yuri said it was paranoia). Then again, he recalled that last night he'd taken it out to sharpen, and it was possible he'd forgotten to put it away in the sheath again. It was probably on his desk.

"Sir?" the servant said hesitantly.

His eyes snapped up, thoughts of the knife brushed aside. "No, no, I'm sorry," Flynn said. "You just surprised me." That was something he was still having trouble adjusting to: servants! They'd mostly kept out of his way when he lived here as a lieutenant, but now he had servants coming into his home at all hours, cleaning, washing, making his bed, or offering to get him tea. After spending the majority of his life as an impoverished orphan in the lower quarter, it was hard to get used to.

"I'm just taking your laundry, sir," the maid said. "Is that alright?"

"Yes, of course," Flynn said, nodding and stepping aside. At first it had bothered him to think that there were ladies who were handling his undergarments, but Estelle said it would turn into a huge mess if the commandant was seen doing his own laundry, so he had to get used to it.

"Have a good evening, sir," the maid said, and then scurried away before he could wish her the same.

Flynn sighed, and then headed in. Usually he worked at his desk in the office, but he was feeling out-of-sorts from his embarrassment today so perhaps it was a work-from-bed kind of evening. Within fifteen minutes of arriving at home, he had changed out of his uniform, carried the tea cup to his room, and curled up on his bed with a clipboard and a stack of papers. It was going to be a long evening.

Louise Shipton was a maid in Count Borden's mansion. It was a good job, if not the best. She had never even met Borden, because she only ventured upstairs at night after everyone was sleeping to make sure they would awake to a freshly cleaned house. She actually preferred it this way, because working at night was relaxing. There was nobody to yell at her, or tell her she wasn't supposed to hum on duty, and she never had to worry about family members suddenly appearing while she was working.

As such, she was in a good mood that evening as she knelt in the hallway and scrubbed the wooden floors outside Count Borden's bedroom. She hummed a little tune quietly to herself, planning the activities she would get up to on her next afternoon off. Just as she finished her song and was about to stat humming again, she heard a crash from Borden's room.

She paused and stared at the door, and a shiver ran down her spine when she heard a muffled shout. She glanced around the hallway, as if hoping someone else might be here to deal with this, but she was quite alone. Louise slowly stood up and tried to quell her shaking, and then rapped on the door. "M-My Lord? Is everything alright?"

Something thudded on the ground. Louise bit her lip, and tried knocking a little louder. "Are you alright, My Lord?"

There was no answer, but her intuition screamed that there was something wrong. Her hands gingerly went to the doorknob. She was terrified of what she might find if Count Borden was in trouble, but equally terrified of what might happen to her if she walked in on him when he wasn't. She cautiously poked her head into the room. "M-My Lord?"

Borden lay on the ground, something dark covering his neck and the carpet beneath him. The moonlight streaming in through the window glinted on it. Blood. Her stomach lurched, and then she realized that there was someone else in the room. Her legs turned to stone as shadowy figure darted out of the corner and to the open window. He crouched on the window frame for a second, looking back at her. With only the moon behind to illuminate him, he was little more than a silhouette. The only detail she could make out was the top of his head, which was covered in messy blond hair. She saw a flash of white as he smiled, and then raised a finger to his lips, like the two of them were in on a little secret. Without another word, he slipped over the side and disappeared.

Louise stood frozen for almost an entire minute, and then she screamed.

Flynn woke up slowly at first. He drifted into consciousness, enjoying how soft and warm his bed was. It was so uncommon that he actually got to sleep in and enjoy - wait. Why was he sleeping in? Flynn's eyes shot open and he bolted upright. It wasn't a weekend, he had work today! He looked to the clock, and saw that it was already ten-thirty. Shit, shit, shit - had he actually forgotten to set his alarm last night!? He didn't have any meetings this morning, but he had so much work to do. He sprung from bed and headed for his dresser to grab his uniform, but stopped halfway and looked down at himself. He was already in his uniform. Had he gone to sleep without getting undressed? He looked back at his bed and saw his boots kicked off at the side, dried mud caked on the bottom. That had definitely not been there last night.

He put a hand to his head and stared at his bed in confusion. He had a mild headache, but he was much too agitated to worry about it at the moment. The last thing he remembered, he was sitting on the bed doing paperwork. Paperwork! He hurried to his bed and found the papers discarded on the floor, a few of them wrinkled. He gathered them up as quickly as he could, and glanced over them in despair. Less than half of them had been filled out. What the hell had happened last night? Based on his boots, he'd apparently gone somewhere, but for the life of him he couldn't recall where. Perhaps he had sleepwalked. Yuri said he'd done that sometimes when they were younger, although he was pretty sure it had been years since he'd last done it. Of course, since he lived alone he didn't really have any way to be sure.

There was no time to worry about it. He needed to get these papers filled out, and he had an hour and a half to do it. Dread curled in his stomach; there were at least three hours of work here. Better get cracking. He sat down at his desk in his office and began writing. His handwriting was rushed and frantic, and almost as illegible as Yuri's. Flynn didn't have very neat handwriting in general, a side-effect of picking up his reading and writing skills without proper instruction in the lower quarter. He could make it neat when he slowed down, so that the nobles with their fancy handwriting taught by private tutors might take him seriously, but there was no time for that now.

He had filled out about four forms when a loud knock resounded through his office. Without looking up, he said, "Enter." This had better be important, because he didn't have time for distractions.

Leblanc, Adecor, Boccos, and Captain Peel marched into the room. Peel was one of the new captains, who'd been promoted during the shuffling that occurred after the Alexei crisis. With Flynn promoted to commandant, Cumore dead, and Schwann leaving the knights, there were several new captain positions to fill. Peel had taken over the Schwann Brigade, but as far as Flynn knew, they were about as fond of Peel as Flynn was and still referred to themselves as the Schwann Brigade whenever Peel was out of the room. The four of them stood before his desk. Adecor and Boccos looked nervous, glancing at each other, fiddling their thumbs, and looking worriedly to Leblanc. Leblanc's face was determinedly blank, but he refused to meet Flynn's eyes. Peel was the only one who seemed to want to be there, and Flynn wasn't sure he like the satisfied smile threatening to take over his face.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?"

"Commandant Flynn Scifo," Peel said, pulling out a sheet of paper. Flynn couldn't make out what it said from here, but he saw the Council's seal on it. "You are hereby placed under arrest for suspicion of murder."

Flynn stared at Peel, not sure what he was talking about. He was so frazzled from oversleeping and rushing through his paperwork that he'd misheard what Peel said. He could have sworn Peel said that he was under arrest, but that was ridiculous. "Excuse me?"

"Sir," Leblanc said, finally looking at him with an apologetic expression, "it would look better for you if you come quietly."

"Come where? Is this a joke?" He set his pen down, a bit more aggressively than he'd intended. "I am far too busy for such distractions today, so if you have nothing else to say, please excuse yourselves."

"This is not a joke, Commandant," Peel said. "This here," he gestured at the paper he carried, "is a warrant for your arrest ratified by the Council."

Flynn gaped at him in confusion, and then grabbed the paper. It took him seconds to glance over it. The words seemed to blur before his eyes. There were several paragraphs of wordy legalities, but all Flynn could focus on was the seal and the words right at the bottom of the page, verifying that the Council had given the Knights explicit permission to arrest their commanding officer. "But…" he said, trying to find words. "Who am I supposed to have murdered?"

"Count Borden, sir," Leblanc said.

Flynn's eye widened. "Borden is dead?"

Adecor spoke up, "He was murdered in the dead of night, I say!"

"And a witness saw a man matching your description fleeing the scene," Boccos added.

"I'm sorry, sir," Leblanc said. "None of us want to believe you are guilty, but we must follow procedure."

"Yes," Flynn said numbly. It was hard to believe this was really happening. "Of course. You can't give me preferential treatment because of my rank." He'd put great effort into ensuring all the laws were very clear on what the Knights were supposed to do if the commandant broke the law in an attempt to keep another Alexei from happening. He had never imagined it would come back to bite him. He knew the procedure just as well as Leblanc did. If they had sufficient evidence pointing at one person, they were to get an arrest warrant from their captain, or, in Flynn's case, from the Council. The suspect would then be taken into custody to be questioned and await trial.

"Well, Commandant?" Peel said. Damn him, he sounded like he was enjoying this. He was a good knight, but he was, as Zadel would call it, a 'traditionalist'. As a noble, the idea that his commandant was born in the lower quarter was fundamentally at odds with everything he believed about the social order. The chance to believe that said commandant was actually a criminal undeserving of respect must be a welcome relief to his confused classist brain. "Are you going to come quietly, or are you going to make this difficult for yourself?"

With a sigh of frustration, Flynn stood up. What else could he do? This must be a case of a massive misunderstanding. He'd work things out and then get back to work by the end of the day. He could only hope he wouldn't be blamed for the papers being turned in late. Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he would be.

He walked around the desk and held out his hands. "Well, let's get this over with."

With a face that looked like this physically pained him, Leblanc handcuffed Flynn. "I'm sorry, sir," he said in a lowered voice. Considering Leblanc usually sounded like he was trying to project to an entire stadium no matter how small the room or the crowd, this ended up at about the level of a normal speaking voice.

"It's alright," Flynn said. "You're only doing your job."

"Come on, then," Peel said, tapping his foot impatiently.

Flynn nodded, and allowed them to escort him out of the office. For the entire walk, his mind raced. Borden was dead? To be honest, he had a limited ability to feel sympathy for the man. Borden had made his fortune abusing his title and taking advantage of the lower classes. He had been a friend of Ragou's, and Flynn would bet his title he'd been involved somehow. There just wasn't a paper trail to prove it. Borden being out of the way would actually make his life a lot easier, since he was the leading voice of opposition against Flynn's proposal. As he thought these things, he realized that everyone else must know he felt this way, too. He'd certainly never gone out of his way to hide his disdain for the man, and none of this did him any favours in proving he had nothing to do with the man's murder.

As they walked, everyone they passed stopped to stare. How much did they know? What would they think upon seeing the commandant led through the halls in handcuffs? Knowing how rumours flew through the castle's gossip circles, Flynn assumed it was only a matter of time before someone was fervently telling their friends that he'd massacred an entire room and been caught in the act.

Near the dungeons, they took a turn down a side hall and through a door to a small room. Adecor and Boccos waited outside, while Peel and Leblanc led him in. As soon as he entered, Ioder and Estelle jumped to their feet.

"Flynn!" Estelle said, rushing around the table to his side. "Are you alright?" She put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a worried look.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," Flynn said.

"I heard what happened. I just don't believe it at all," Estelle said, shaking her head slowly.

"Estellise," Ioder said, "please sit down. I'm sure there is a rational explanation for all of this."

"Right," Estelle said. She squeezed Flynn's arm and then sat down next to Ioder.

"Take a seat, Commandant," Peel said, gesturing to the chair that sat alone on one side of the table. He'd been in this room before, but he never thought he'd sit on that side of the table.

"I've been informed of the situation," Ioder said once Peel and Leblanc sat down across from Flynn.

"I'd be grateful if you told me," Flynn said. "I'm still not entirely sure what's going on. All I know is that Count Borden has been killed and that somehow I've been named as a suspect."

"First of all, Commandant," Peel said, pulling something out of his belt, "do you recognize this?" He placed a knife on the table.

Flynn frowned and stared at it, suddenly remembering missing his yesterday. It hadn't been on his desk this morning like he'd thought it might be, but with his panic over paperwork he hadn't given it much thought. His eyes went to the pommel. Yep, this was his alright. Years ago, he'd gotten into the habit of putting his initials on anything he owned that might have an identical copy, because he had gotten really sick of Yuri losing his crap and then taking Flynn's and insisting Flynn was the one who had lost it. He'd been given this knife upon his promotion to captain, and all the other knight captains had identical ones, so he'd taken precautions and labelled it. He looked up at Peel and nodded. There was no point trying to deny it, since it had his initials on it. "Yes, this is my knife. Where did you find it?"

Estelle and Ioder exchanged worried glances.

Leblanc cleared his throat slightly. "Next to Borden's body, sir. That's the murder weapon."

Flynn's eyes darted back to the knife in horror. "I lost it yesterday," he said quickly. "The real culprit must have swiped it from me."

"Can you prove that it was missing yesterday?" Peel asked.

Flynn stared at the table in frustration. He couldn't even say for sure when he'd lost it. He'd left his room with it in the morning and he hadn't had it that evening. If he had reported the lost knife to someone yesterday this wouldn't be an issue, but as it was… "No," he said dully.

"Additionally," Leblanc said, "this morning, a washerwoman found one of your shirts in the laundry, splattered with blood."

Flynn jerked his head up. "How do you know it's mine?"

"It has your name on it, sir," Leblanc said.

Oh right. Damn. He'd never expected his habit of marking his crap to keep it out of Yuri's grubby hands would come back to haunt him. He slowly shook his head. "This is impossible. I didn't even know Borden was dead until you told me." He didn't know what to say about the shirt. He couldn't think of any explanation as to how it might have gotten blood splattered.

"What were you doing last night, sir?" Leblanc said.

"Nothing," Flynn said. "I was in my room doing paperwork all night."

"Is that so?" Peel said with a small smile. "You certainly didn't seem to get much of it accomplished, since you were rushing to finish this morning. Additionally, we have several witnesses who saw you leave the castle last night around eleven-thirty."

Flynn stared at him in confusion. "What? No. I…" His mind drifted to the mud-covered boots by his bed this morning. They certainly hadn't been like that when he went to bed. Had he gone out? He didn't remember leaving his room, but how else could he explain the shoes, or waking up in his uniform? His brow creased in concentration, trying to recall anything of the night before, but it was all a blank.

"What is it, Flynn?" Estelle said. "Where did you go? Tell us, so we can prove you're innocent."

"I… I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I don't remember leaving last night."

"So what you're saying is," Peel said, "you refuse to divulge your whereabouts during the time of the murder."

"I'm not refusing," Flynn said. "I honestly don't remember."

"So, you just slipped out for a little evening stroll at midnight and this entire event completely slipped your mind?"

Flynn took a deep breath and leaned forward with his forehead on his hands. It sounded awful and he knew it. Try as he might, he couldn't recall a single detail of last night other than sitting down to do his paperwork. "I don't know."

"Can you think of any explanation for the witness who saw you fleeing the crime scene?"

Flynn shook his head slowly, his face still covered by his hands. "I don't know. Maybe it was someone else who happens to look like me?"

"I see," Peel said. "Someone who happens to look like you, who happens to have your personal knife in his possession, who happens to have the name 'Flynn Scifo' written on his bloodied shirt and who happens to live in the castle and has his laundry picked up by the castle servants."

"But that's so obvious," Estelle said. "Flynn is way too smart to have put such obvious evidence in the laundry, or to leave his knife at the crime scene."

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Leblanc said, "but 'he's too smart to leave those clues' is not permissible evidence."

"Flynn," Ioder said, "this is completely out of character for you. Please, give me something. You must have some evidence to prove it wasn't you."

Flynn stared at the table. He couldn't believe this was happening. He'd worked so hard for so long to achieve his position, and he was finally so close to making his and Yuri's dream of reforming the empire come true, and now this?! He had anticipated resistance from the nobles, but to find himself facing a damned murder charge? The thing was, he couldn't even say with one hundred percent certainty that he was innocent. He had been so furious with Borden last night, and he recalled thinking about how much easier life would be if he was out of the way. What if he had killed Borden, and suppressed the memory?

"I don't know," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. He was scared - terrified, in fact. Not of going to jail, not even of the threat of execution if he was found guilty, but of the horrifying possibility that he was capable of such an act. Jail, trials, false accusations… that stuff he could handle. Those were problems that could be fixed. The thought that there might be something dark, something evil, lurking inside himself that he had no idea how to control… that was terrifying. "I just don't know."

With his gaze locked on the table, he started to cross his arms but the handcuffs tugged at his wrists and restricted the movement. Oh, damn, he'd almost forgotten about those. Here he was, in handcuffs, being interrogated by knights, and unable to disprove any of their evidence. It was starting to sink in that this was really happening. He was actually getting charged with murder.

"I… see." Ioder folded his hands uncomfortably. "Flynn, I want to help you, but with this much evidence, anyone else probably would have been convicted by now. I can't make exceptions for you because you're my friend, or my standing as a fair emperor would be ruined."

"I understand," Flynn said, still looking at the table. "I wouldn't want you to damage your relationship with the Council on my account. You're right. I would have arrested me by now, too."

"But, Flynn," Estelle said, "you're not guilty. I know you can't be."

"Nevertheless," Peel said, "the facts are that a witness can place someone with your likeness at the scene of the crime, the murder weapon is, by your own admission, your personal knife, one of your shirts was found with bloodstains, you have a known grudge against the victim, and you have no alibi to prove your whereabouts at the time of the murder." Peel failed to keep the triumph out of his voice.

"All I can think of is that someone is attempting to frame me," Flynn said. But that didn't answer why he'd snuck out of the castle last night, where he'd gone, and why he'd erased it from his mind.

Ioder let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, Flynn. I have no choice. As per the law, you will be kept in knight custody until your trial, which will be one month from today."

Flynn nodded dumbly. This is really happening. I'm being arrested for murder. What the hell?