Elara stood at the chamber entrance and counted exits — three doors, two windows, one hidden servants' passage behind the tapestry. The public hearing would begin within the hour, and somewhere in that room sat a judge her uncle had already bought. She needed proof of her birthright, but all she had were words and the ability to read a room faster than most people could blink. The judges arranged themselves on a raised platform stacked with twenty mattresses of crimson and gold, each layer thick enough to muffle the sound of truth slipping through the cracks. The bed towered over the chamber like a monument to excess, forcing anyone who addressed the court to crane their neck in submission. Elara recognized the theater of it — make the claimant small, make the judges untouchable. She stepped forward anyway, her hand closed around a small glowing object in her pocket. She placed the enchanted pea on the petitioner's table, and the chamber fell silent. The thing pulsed with soft green light, casting shadows that moved wrong across the judges' faces. One of them shifted in his seat — the third from the left, older, with rings that caught the light too deliberately. He stared at the pea like it had just named him aloud. The others leaned forward, curious but cautious, waiting to see what it would reveal. The pea's glow spread across the table, then died. But Elara had seen what she needed — the corrupted judge's flinch, the location of his seat, the way his eyes darted toward the distant fortress visible through the eastern window where green flame flickered against diamond walls. She didn't have documents or seals, but she had leverage now. One judge was compromised, and she knew exactly which one.