The heat of the Holy Pyre radiated across the marble dais in rolling waves of pale white and gold, washing over the front pews and driving away the lingering mountain chill.
Four hundred nobles watched in breathless silence as Jack closed the distance between himself and the sacred flames.
Duke Asher stood with arms crossed, a cruel, smug curl returning to his lip. Beside him, Earl Mortaine leaned his weight onto his silver-headed cane, watching with cold certainty.
To Asher's faction, the young heir's brazen arrogance was the final misstep. Laurence Bale was tied to dark power, and Jack's open defense of the boy meant the pyre would detect the taint immediately.
When the flames flushed crimson, the Inquisition's steel would drop, and House Kaiser's legendary authority would fracture before the eyes of the realm.
In the northern pews, Viscount Kale nervously wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with a silk kerchief, murmuring prayers to the Sun to see the ordeal done.
