Katherine and Rosalynde had been quick and efficient in sneaking back into their quarters without getting spotted by the staff of the Imperial Citadel, climbing over the stables before crawling up on the roof as they minded their step.

Thirty minutes before the meeting started, and both of them weren't wearing presentable clothes of the occasion, especially Rosalynde – who could still feel on her skin the drying blood of the man she'd just killed back close to District Street.

Nobody knew of this meeting, nobody except for the few who'd been extended the invitation to.

The secrecy had always been kept, the attending members' names never spoken out loud, for only their codename could be uttered while sitting on those plush armchairs enclosing a rectangular table at the centre of the room.

Rosalynde's name there would change to Apostle V or 'Smiling Dame,' for even when facing death her stare would remain unfazed, the corner of her lips naturally curving upwards, smiling at the face of danger without doing it on purpose. While Katherine's name would morph into the Ivory Muse, name coming from the occupation she professed during the light-hours, posing as a member of the Imperial Orchestra, playing the harp in the far back of the rows. Ivory for the color of the robes she used during harp practice, muse for the compliment she'd received from the Empress years before entering the private lines of the first woman of the empire.

"You think everyone will attend the meeting this time?" Katherine whispered to her friend.

Rosalynde, who was in the middle of blowing off her face a strand of hair that the wind had carried with its almighty power, didn't right away give a proper reply.

After struggling to remove the lock of hair from her face, Rosalynde didn't turn around as she imposed to the other absolute silence, index finger over her lips to make sure Katherine had understood. Crouching down to avoid being caught, she laid on the same level where the roof tiles had been positioned before hearing Katherine mimicking her gestures right behind her.

Unfamiliar male voices soon filled the air, rough and muffled, the scurrying wind concealing their timbers.

"Have you any idea why they sent us up here? I really would like to know what the captain drank this morning at breakfast." Rosalynde raised her right hand slightly, curling it in a fist as she slowly started moving towards where the voices were.

She thanked her luck for a chimney blocking her view as the conversation of the two men went on.

"Rumour has it that Captain Clarence received the order from the higher ups to station a patrol of nightguards close to every roof exit. And when I say order from the higher ups I mean from Lord Sandors himself," the other guard commented, ending it with a half sneer.

Rosalynde moved a bit closer, wanting to take a better look, only to be stopped by a tiny square of rock hitting her head from behind.

Turning around she was met with a knowing stare from Katherine, silently reminding her where exactly they were standing.

Katherine was right, they had no time, the meeting was going to start soon.

After leaving Katherine and the two guards, Rosalynde decided it was time to prepare for the meeting, and after sliding down the roof and localizing her room as she took from under her cloak a rope with a hook at the end made out of titanium, securing it between two steady tiles before throwing her body off the roof and into the frigid midnight air.

The hook didn't give in, making Rosalynde breathe a sigh of relief, once again thanking her lucky star for choosing the right roof tides to use.

But that moment of relief was short-lived after she took a glimpse towards the clock hanging on the wall.

Twenty minutes remaining, and for their standards, it meant already being late.

꧁꧂

The Imperial Citadel had always been considered one of the biggest palaces scattered round the different kingdoms centuries ago, with its white walls and polished golden tiles. Rumour had it that every single tile had been made out of pure stacks of gold from the far lands on the other side of the ocean, and that a single tile taken from there could settle a whole family of six coming from District Street for life.

Nobody had ever dared tried taking on thought, the risk of getting shot from the patrolling guards wasn't worth the risk of leaving family and friends alone and starving during winter.

Just as nobody had ever dared ascending the last floor of the Imperial Citadel, a ghost floor, where none of the regular servants had ever stepped onto, and the reason for that was because nobody actually knew the path that led there.

Only a few had been given the high honour of learning how to step on that floor, on the floor where time had stopped flowing more than fifty years ago. The curtains made of thin lace blocking the light of the sun had never been changed, just like the black obsidian pillars sustaining the weight of the whole roof.

If the Imperial Citadel could be considered a golden cage keeping inside all deceptions and lies, then the sixth floor of the Citadel could have been thought as the place where all the deceits could roam free, of course still carefully enclosed within the hearing range of few.

Taking out from under her uniform a golden mask shaped with a set of guns on both cheeks, she tied it around her face as tight as possible to make sure it would not fall off.

"You're late Smiling Dame, did you have fun playing cat-and-seek with my guards?" Rosalynde said nothing as she crossed under the golden archway that led to the rooms of meetings.

As she'd expected, only about half of them had decided to attend the meeting, six empty seats - five now, thanks to her arrival - were eagerly waiting to be occupied. But nobody else would have come, even if the others hadn't even bothered sending a letter.

The man that had greeted her first stood up in greeting - his golden mask adorned with a lion right under the crack of the right eye covering half of his face. He bowed his head in greetings, making Rosalynde bow down herself as reply right before getting closer to him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Jesting Guard." Shaking hands with him, Rosalynde looked around the room, her eyes locking with Katherines' hazel glimmering ones, her friends' lips consciously pursing into a loose smile of bold sagacity as Rosalynde took her designated seat next to her.

"Of course you don't, just don't give me more things to work with. I already have a lot on my plate." The Jesting Guard, or Apostle VII - who went in public with the name of Lord Sandors sighed, massaging his forehead with his thumbs to keep a headache from forming.

"I wonder what could possibly make the head of the General Lowelian Police look as if he'd seen the devil coming out of the earth, cursing to the masses before descending back into the depths of Hell." Rosalynde stood back up as Pharah Des Reslow crossed the archway filled with grace, hand raised in a curt sigh of greeting before taking her seat besides' the head of the table.

"Don't get me started, Apostle II, a report just came in from the garrison of District Street - seems like the Finger Keeper's body has been discovered lying in an alley close to District Street." A crack of knuckles coming from Katherine was the only thing that could be heard as Lord Sandor poured a glass of brandy in a small glass.

"Finger Keeper? The serial killer that'd been known for first robbing and then killing young girls from wealthy families, before leaving their bodies close to the main street minus the ring finger?" Pharah asked with unprecedented curiosity.

Lord Sandors nodded twice.

"Indeed. And for the looks of it, whoever killed him left seemed to hold quite the grudge against him," Katherine kept quiet, occasionally throwing side-glances to Rosalynde, who kept on cracking her knuckles one by one.

"We should be happy that such a man has been taken out of the picture, any witness?" Rosalynde suddenly interjected.

"None, and knowing those who dwell on those streets, I can attest that no one will stand up and talk." The ends of Rosalynde's lips tugged upwards a bit more as Sandors spoke those last words.

She knew that no one would have spoken, she'd assured that herself, but hearing it coming from the head of the General Police made her toes curl up in delight.

"It's time to end these dramatic greetings, Apostles. Collect yourselves," no words were spoken after those slicing vocals were uttered out loud.

The people still standing in the room were quick in composing themselves, back straightening and their eyes following the new figure that'd stepped out of the shadows.

The King of Cards, the first of the nine Apostles had arrived. Dressed in white, black, and a delightful shade of periwinkle, slightly lighter than the color of his eyes.

Lord Regulus had arrived, or maybe, he'd always been there - hiding within the shadows that the now moonless sky cast inside the room of meeting.

Everyone stood until he was seated, even Pharah Des Reslow did, she who'd had the highest rank in terms of authority had decided to stand up in sign of respect - something that did not go unnoticed by the rest present.

"You all know why this meeting was held today. Brek Haywire will be sorely missed, but life goes on, and we can't permit ourselves to keep on clinging to the past," everyone silently agreed with his statement, some tapping their foot on the ground because of their growing anxiety, some making their made their fingers create a singular rhythm against the armchairs they were sitting in.

"We'll need to find a new lawyer for their Majesties, Brek was an excellent asset, it will be difficult to replace someone capable like him," Lord Regulus stated, but that wasn't the only reason, there was another, a more serious one.

Something that just could not be postponed.

"Her Majesty the Empress has decided on who will succeed to Haywires' position as head of the Secret Services of our glorious Empire," and there it was, the one and only reason behind their gathering.

"Her Majesty didn't for sure waste time in deciding on the new Head," Pharah Des Reslow commented.

Speaking of her mother with that tone of reverence had become something everyone present inside the room had become accustomed to, especially after she'd been chosen as first apparent heir to the throne, title that everyone had been sure would have been given to her brother - as he was a man, and she a woman.

"An Apostles' death carves itself with its memories into the depths of our heart," Lord Sandor - the Jesting Guard said, closing his eyes after pouring himself a new glass to gulp down in one go.

"We Apostles act for the well-being of the Empire, no matter how much blood will stain our hand, and now more than ever, we need all positions full," stated Lord Regulus.

The Head of the Secret Services, the left hand of the Crown, the very own position Rosalynde Steel had aspired to obtain after realizing how the world truly was – how outstanding and cruel it always had been.

Lord Regulus sign before getting up from his seat, eyes void of emotions as he slowly started circling the table.

After circling the table for the first time, he spoke again.

"Smiling Dame, do you know what it means to serve the Crown as the left hand?" Lord Regulus asked, stopping right behind her, both hands resting on the end of her seat.

"To serve till death, to conceal and protect. To deceive, for the wellbeing of the Crown and all descendants bearing the blood of the first conqueror," she replied, sounding as if she'd been reading those words from a book placed in her lap.

"Just like reading from a manual," Katherine mused.

Unleashing her fists, Rosalynde moved her stare, her pale eyes meeting the enigmatic ones of Lord Regulus, the first Apostle.

"By the way, the rest of us?" Pharah asked, both hands resting at the top of the table.

A question that everyone already knew the answer to, for it never happened ever since the founding of the Apostles of the Crown, that all members had ever been gathered all together under the same roof at once.

"Apostle number III is currently operating in the outskirts of the capital with the help of the Crown, Apostle VI is... busy with some experiments unknown even to myself. Apostle VIII has sent out a missive informing us that he unfortunately would have not attended the meeting, and the former Apostle IV now lies under a fresh pile of dirt," Lord Regulus said.

The walls keeping their small talk from reaching strangers' ears suddenly seemed to get closer, encircling Rosalynde's mind as her breaths became uneven at the mentioning of the sixth Apostle.

She then started feeling the gaze of someone staring at her barely still emotionless face, her pale eyes meeting the gaze of Pharah Des Reslow, who'd tilted her head aside to take a better look at her lady-in-waiting.

"Well, it's not surprising that they decided to openly decline the orders given, I still wonder why the Empress keeps them close to her side. Everyone except from Apostle III of course, after all blood is considered thicker than water in cases such as this one," Lord Sandors grunted in disdain, earning the silent approval of Katherine, who nodded her head without uttering a single word.

"It matters not what the Crown decides to do with their lives, you should rather worry about making sure that it won't be your head that rolls from your shoulders," Rosalynde said, snapping out of the enchantment she'd fallen.

A knock on the table demanding for the conversation to end had the desired effect, Lord Regulus' severe gaze looking at each other Apostle was the sudden reminder why they had assembled in the first place.

"You've been all called here to become witnesses, not to idly chat on the habits of your comrades." That was when the first Apostle stood up, the ends of his long robes sliding on the floor as he started circling the table, hating his walk each time he got close to another Apostle.

The wait was restless, the pacing of his steps an agony for all seated Apostles awaiting for the final judgment to be carried out.

Fiddling with her thumbs, Katherine exhaled a low sigh of relief when the first Apostle passed by her side and yet stilled as he then stopped in between her and Rosalynde.

Then, something started sliding on the table's smooth face, placing it between her and her friend - a golden coin with a skull enclosed in a crown of thorns.

"It took a few days to decide who to choose, two candidates equally experienced were selected, one by me, one by the Empress," everyone knew who he was talking about.

You don't leave the sigil of the left hand between two people, for there can only be one to succeed to the position.

Then, Lord Regulus placed his index finger on the coin, staring at it for a while before sliding it towards Rosalynde's seat.

"Congratulations, Smiling Dame, or should I now say Apostle IV?" Katherine turned around with excited eyes, patting her friends' shoulder in a happy manner, but the congratulatory gesture was not even taken into consideration.

Rosalynde kept staring at the coin for an indefinite period of time before making her hand slide against the table, taking the coin between two of her fingers before hiding it in an inner pocket of her robes.

"Apostle IV accepts without reserve." Rosalynde raised her head to meet the inscrutable gaze of Apostle I, who seemed to sneer at her from behind his mask at the actions displayed by the young maiden.

A beacon of raw, indisputable power.

That's what she'd just become.