"...I dreamt of a maze garden with scattered pieces of paper everywhere. I picked up these fragments and pieced them together into a story - one about the true relationship between Judas and the Holy Son, offering a different interpretation for Judas's betrayal... The spirit Lorenzo I previously encountered held the same view as expressed in those paper fragments."

  Yvette returned the "Temperance" card to Ulysses and then recounted her dream.

  She didn't mention that inexplicably repulsive short poem, nor had Lorenzo actually told her about the contents of the Gospel of Judas. The organization's inspectors had merely probed her without revealing specifics. At the time, Yvette didn't understand the implications of those hints, but now she knew - the inspectors wanted to discover whether she'd heard this story before.

  Was the story taboo? In her past experiences, those she killed and stained with blood would always appear in her dreams through their memories. But Lorenzo didn't seem to have died by her hand nor been stained with blood. Why would she dream about content related to Lorenzo?

  ...No, perhaps precisely because of this, she only dreamed of fragmented paper scraps, like leftovers nibbled away by something, rather than memories from Lorenzo's perspective.

  "Because this story likely reflects 'truth' in some sense. Many ancient prophecies and occult theories borrow sayings or acts of the Holy Son and disciples to subtly convey what their authors wished to express, disguising themselves as legitimate texts. Your inspiration drew from this, causing it to reappear in your dreams. This isn't something worth overanalyzing - even the original writer probably didn't fully understand those vague omens," Ulysses said plainly as he took back the card, casually slipping it into a book.

  "...Um, one more thing... Because of the recent assassination attempt at Windsor Castle, Her Majesty intends to appoint me as a Knight of the Garter. After some consideration, I'm inclined to accept. I'd like your opinion, Sir - whether this might affect my worldly identity arranged by the organization."

  "That's your freedom. Using supernatural abilities to pursue worldly wealth and honor is actually endorsed by the organization, so long as methods don't violate rules... After all, someone too free from desire can hardly be settled. A significant portion of Albion's nobility descend from supernatural bloodlines, though not every generation manifests abilities."

  Yvette reflected that this seemed true. Spindle was brother to the Duke of Lancaster, and even the unassuming Winslow descended from a cursed noble lineage - though his awakening caused such commotion that the townsfolk grew suspicious, forcing him to fake his family's sudden death and start anew under changed names.

  "...Moreover, a peerage recognized by Albion's upper echelons would serve you better than your current status as 'Ulysses's nephew' for living in this country. After all, you'll have your own life ahead. I may not remain here forever. If someday I..." Ulysses began to say a certain word but paused inexplicably, changing tack, "...If my identity becomes compromised, requiring me to relocate under new aliases, the territories I currently oversee would likely fall to you."

  Yvette had never considered this possibility. Unlike later eras, this was an inflexible society with little mobility. Without incident, supernatural beings typically maintained ancient titles, spending lifetimes in mansions surrounded by servants. Until now, she assumed that if her later years passed peacefully, she'd continue living under her current identity, switching freely between two worlds with her fellow travelers until old age...

  She'd never imagined alternatives. Indeed... exposure would necessitate new names and foreign lands.

  Ulysses's tone suggested not mere contingency planning, but rather... as if he knew his eventual disappearance was certain.

  After Yvette left, Ulysses stretched out on the sofa, gazing absently at the ceiling.

  The alibi of relocation under new names was one he'd rarely used before, since "living" inevitably meant correspondence that could expose him. Given frequent exchanges between Albion and the Continent, what if someone visited old comrades and noticed his unchanged appearance? Even the Holy See wouldn't accept such explanations without proper pretext.

  Only death offered clean breaks - allowing fresh identities in Byzantium, the Holy Roman Empire, the New World... anywhere unconnected to "Ulysses."

  Yet why couldn't he voice that word earlier?

  Fortunately, he excelled at shelving thorny problems. Within minutes, he swept these troubles from his mind like a slob kicking dirty socks under the bed, discarding them with older memories into mental refuse piles.

  ......

  "Different coats of arms carry distinct meanings. Since you wish to break from ancestral heraldry for a fresh emblem, we can design patterns representing your ideals, convictions, family honors, or personal conduct. For instance, lances symbolize knightly duties and pursuit of glory; shells indicate maritime experience or naval command; stags represent strategy, peace, and harmony..." The College of Arms official, gold-chain spectacles gleaming, patiently explained to Yvette like an old friend under royal request.

  As Knights of the Garter must enshrine armorial shields in St. George's Chapel, Yvette needed to register an emblem in Albion. Accepting the queen's offer, this marked her first step honoring the commitment.

  "Hmm... What do snakes symbolize?" Yvette asked, recalling the gigantic serpent eyes from her dream.

  "They represent eternity and knowledge."

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  "Then I'd like snakes as my arms' primary motif..." Yvette answered casually.

  "Mr. Fisher, arms demand more than singular elements. Through history, families incorporated additional symbols - crowns indicating royal marriages, chains denoting ancestral achievements, towers showing royal service or capturing enemy notables... You need supplementary charges displaying ancient honors."

  "Ah?" Yvette blanked - inventing such details on the spot proved impossible.

  Fortunately, the herald had rich experience patching genealogies for wealthy commoners bribing their way into nobility, a practice as universal as Tang emperors claiming descent from Laozi or Cao Cao from Han minister Cao Can.

  "You're modest, Mr. Fisher. Might I humbly suggest..." Sketching rapidly, the herald drafted a design: "Garlands denote special contributions - your thwarting of the regicidal plot merits this. Harps signify contemplation, suiting your character, complemented by fleur-de-lis..."

  The final design showed two crowned serpents in mirrored S-curves, tails crossed forming harp arms, all amidst lilies and vines - elegant and aesthetically pleasing.

  "This exceeds my expectations. Thank you."

  "Your praise honors me. Additionally, Her Majesty requested I inform you of her wish for an audience once you visited."

  Becoming a Garter member this year indeed warranted meeting the Order's Sovereign Head beforehand.

  With the queen returned to St. James's Palace from Windsor, Yvette could attend without lengthy travel.

  For Margaret IV, Yvette's arrival brightened her day. She ordered royal chefs to prepare Windsor-style pastries Yvette favored, eagerly awaiting the youths soft-featured appearance.

  "Your Majesty." Yvette kissed the proffered royal hand.

  "Your acceptance as my knight gladdens me."

  Unaccustomed to such overt royal favor, Yvette bashfully averted her gaze - monarchs had seemed impossibly distant in her past life.

  "...Beyond this, I hope... to enter Westminster Palace..."

  Westminster Palace, Parliament's seat housing Lords and Commons.

  Margaret IV started in pleasant surprise: "I intended this, but no haste needed. The Garter is merely step one. Soon I'll grant a peerage - any rank above baron qualifies you for Lords."

  Currently, the House of Lords (unlike its later ceremonial role) controlled over 80% of Commons seats besides wielding full legislative powers.

  Yvette's response stunned the queen further: "Your Majesty... I actually prefer the Commons."

  "The House of Commons? What could possibly draw you there?" inquired the Queen with a puzzled arch of her brow.

  To the aristocrats of the House of Lords, the Commons was but a vulgar playground for merchant-class upstarts—a sentiment that had colored Her Majesty's own perception of the institution as inconsequential.

  Yvette, however, hailed from a parallel timeline where history's inexorable tide had long favored the Commons. The Lords' decline had been gradual yet irreversible, their adversaries among the bourgeoisie proving ruthlessly competent where aristocratic complacency reigned.

  Much like how power-hungry courtiers schemed endlessly for the throne while bored monarchs yearned only for indolence, Yvette observed that Albion's nobles wielded their privileges with remarkable lethargy. Parliamentary reports painted the Lords' chamber as a sea of empty benches, its rare debates tepid compared to the Commons' electrifying clashes. These gatherings of interconnected peers devolved into vacuous exchanges of flattery, participants as eager for adjournment as underpaid stagehands. No wonder newspapers covering their proceedings gathered dust on shop shelves.

  Thus the bourgeoisie had boiled the aristocracy alive—not with revolutionary fervor, but through decades of legislative attrition. Statute by carefully crafted statute, they'd pried wealth and power from noble hands until the Great War's aftermath saw their complete ascendancy.

  Yet Yvette knew better than to trust historical parallels absolutely. This world's French Revolution, for instance, had ended in baffling anticlimax—rioters butchering nobles by the dozen, only to kneel like spellbound subjects when the Sun King emerged at Versailles' gates. The uprising's leaders met the block, while ordinary participants still spoke in awe of the monarch's divine bearing.

  Such unpredictability demanded firsthand observation. Yvette needed entrée to the legislative engine room, where tomorrow's laws took shape—preferably with some capacity to adjust their course.

  She offered the Queen a more palatable rationale: "Your Majesty, London's newspapers reveal an intriguing dynamic. While Commons backbenchers ride waves of popular support for reform, their Lordships seem content to rubber-stamp legislation—when they bother attending at all. Remember the 1832 Reform Act? Only mass demonstrations outside Parliament finally compelled their consent."

  Margaret IV knew the truth of this. Royal protocol demanded her presence at parliamentary sessions, where the Lords' absenteeism was impossible to miss.

  "Our current equilibrium is fragile," Yvette continued. "Capitalists and aristocrats alike must couch their ambitions in rhetoric of public good to secure allies. Yet I suspect neither faction truly reveres the Crown—the nobles having wrested power from Your Majesty's ancestors, while these new moneyed elites eye further concessions."

  She leaned forward intently. "If there exists some means to restore monarchical authority, it lies not with fickle elites, but with the masses whose approval both camps seek. Hence my desire to learn the Commons' workings—to master the rules before the game turns dire."

  The Queen's piercing gaze wavered with uncharacteristic hesitation. "But tampering with constitutional balances..."

  "Not overturning, merely... moderating," Yvette assured. "As lands and commerce concentrate influence, Parliament becomes a battleground where competing interests must be arbitrated—preferably by one of singular wisdom." She permitted a rare flush to color her cheeks. "In my estimation, none could fulfill this role as admirably as Your Majesty."

  Margaret IV suppressed an undignified flutter at the young scholar's bashful earnestness. There was something tragically poetic about this androgynous beauty—his delicate features destined to coarsen with age like all mortal men.

  "Very well," she conceded. "You'll be introduced to Lord Spencer—Buckingham's younger son and a Commons secretary. He'll appreciate an astute protégé."

  The Marquess of Buckingham's ties to royalty ran deep—his family having intermarried with the crown for generations, even selling their London residence to become Buckingham Palace.

  Lord Spencer proved unexpectedly vigorous for his fifty years, his upright bearing honed by foxhunting. Over tea, his practiced charm concealed sharp political instincts nurtured through decades of careful ambition. As a second son denied hereditary privileges, he'd staked everything on attaining a peerage through ministerial service.

  And if Her Majesty's interest in this peculiar young man hinted at heterosexual potential, so much the better—better than her rumored sapphic inclinations ever drawing scandal, at any rate. The upper classes turned blind eyes to such discreet proclivities among their own, provided appearances were maintained. Lord Spencer could name a dozen titled sodomites whose wives dutifully played the devoted spouse at society functions.

  But monarchs had no such luxury of discretion. With Margaret IV stubbornly unwed, the throne loomed ever closer to passing to her Spanish cousin—a man reportedly struggling with basic Albionese. Young Mr. Fisher might not boast noble blood, but his very presence suggested the Queen's preferences weren't entirely... unconventional.

  Two days later, Yvette arrived at Spencer House to begin her political apprenticeship beneath oil paintings of bewigged ancestors. The chessboard awaited its newest player.