15 3.3

I exited the interrogation room with a dramatic sigh of relief. Although the room was big enough for anyone under seven feet tall to comfortably stretch out, there was just something about a room like that one that inspires a cramped feeling in your muscles no matter how much you try to prevent it. It was high time for me to eat myself into a twelve-hour coma and sleep this headache away.

A younger noblewoman in a white tiger bumped into me on her way into the room and gave me a distracted apology as she passed. She looked to be about fifteen, young enough that I hadn't been set up with her, and was probably terrified of being interrogated, even if she was likely blameless. I wasn't sure how she was involved in this mess, but she would likely be done quickly unless she was somehow involved.

I looked down the hallway and felt a flash of pity for both the members of the line and the guards that had to interview them. It appeared that more rooms were being used than simply the one the Captian was in, which would make it a bit easier. Still, it appeared that at least half the people who had been invited to the ball were in this hallway far more than I had originally anticipated. It seems that the inherent lust for gossip every noble has trained into them from birth.

Privilege and a sense of entitlement pushed the nobles to the head of the line, with the servants stuck at the back. It would likely be dawn before some of them were interviewed, but I understood the logic behind keeping them all here.

It's always best to get every detail you can, and the fresher the better. Tracking down someone with pertinent information after the fact was almost impossible when no one knew what small detail would be helpful.

As I turned to make my way to the exit at the end of the hall, my arm was rudely grabbed by a noble I couldn't identify. He was on the pudgy side of the spectrum, with greasy blonde hair and eyes that were fittingly beady for someone so distinctly unpleasant. The pig mask he was wearing suited him, but it was impossible to say if the choice was based on self-awareness or if whoever picked tonight's outfit had a rather ironic sense of humor.

My mask, along with those of about half the lineup, had long since been discarded. It didn't speak in his favor that he lacked either the intelligence or the self-esteem to have likewise removed it when he had the chance.

He had yet to utter a word, but I could already tell with some degree of certainty that I would hate him based solely on the twisted sneer he had on his face and the rage in his eyes as he looked me up and down. My eyes were fixed on the hand that had rudely attached its self to my arm, the sweat from his palm being visibly absorbed into my sleeve.

"If it isn't his most royal highness." Ah yes. I know that tone of voice. Whiny, annoying, and inevitably powerless. It was the voice of a bitter follower, a noble who would never amount to anything no matter what rank they were born at. He was likely stuck at some menial job, pushed out of the way where he couldn't cause any trouble. I imagined it stung at his pride daily to know that he would never accomplish anything greater than clinging to the heels of someone greater. He would likely have tried to suck up to one of my brothers, but as I was lower on the totem pole, he assumed that I was an easy target for his impotent rage.

However, it looked like there was something greater going on here. His eyes burned with hatred, and I could feel that at least some of it was dedicated to me as an individual, rather than simply a member of the system that he viewed as oppressing him as a whole. I wondered idly what I had done to offend him, but I couldn't find it in myself to care. I had suffered a long day, and it seemed only right that I be able to enjoy my well-deserved rest.

My attempt to pull my arm out of his grasp only resulted in him clinging to it tighter. Well. I could either look for a guard to save me, or I could opt for the less pleasant path of dealing with the odious creature myself. Option one seemed quite enticing, but there was something about this man that made me want to knock him down a few pegs. Sleep could wait; now was the time for me to take action.

Before I could say anything properly scathing, the pudgy man continued. "I heard from one of the guards that you helped the thief escape with our items, and it only seems fair to me that you compensate us for them." He looked around for anyone to support him, but was only met with blank stares. It surprised me that he didn't have at least one sycophant trumpeting the justice of his claim, but everyone else in line looked about as tired and fed up with the entire situation as I am.

He ignored his lack of support and pressed forward with the confidence of the terminally stupid. I don't know what he was trying to achieve, but minds like his never viewed logic as an impediment to their goals. Pushing past such small obstacles, this porcine man bravely continued harassing me.

"She would never have escaped if it wasn't for you, so this is your fault." His voice was so whiny; my already pounding head would never forgive me for subjecting it to this absolute pointless torture? How had no one gotten annoyed enough at that squeal to take him out of all of our misery? "She stole a priceless cloak pin that had been handed down for generations, not to mention my favorite pair of cuff links. They were custom made! I deserve compensation!"

I gave him my best dismissive sneer, copied from my father and tempered by years of court dealings that I couldn't avoid, constructed specially to inform undesirables that I outranked them, that they were considered dust under my shoe, and that I was the only one that had power here. The perfectly crafted blow to his ego was completed with the question I knew would drive him insane.

"And who are you?"