Chapter 10: The Queen's Judgment
POV: Adam
The throne room of Cintra stretched before Adam like an arena designed for executions, its vaulted ceiling and marble pillars creating the perfect acoustic environment for royal displeasure to echo with maximum intimidation. Morning light streamed through stained glass windows, painting everything in colors that somehow made the formal setting feel more ominous rather than less.
Word traveled fast. Too fast.
Adam knelt on the cold stone floor, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room pressing down on his shoulders like physical force. Nobles lined the walls in their finest clothes, their expressions ranging from curiosity to barely concealed bloodlust. This was entertainment for them—a commoner about to be destroyed by royal wrath.
Ciri stood beside the throne in a position that spoke of family privilege, but her posture was rigid with tension that made Adam's stomach clench with dread.
She's scared. For me.
Queen Calanthe occupied her throne like a lioness surveying territory she'd claimed through violence and held through reputation. Her eyes—pale blue and sharp enough to cut glass—fixed on Adam with the intensity of someone cataloging every possible method of causing pain.
"You took my granddaughter to fight monsters."
The words hit the throne room like hammer blows, each syllable carefully weighted to maximize impact. This wasn't a question requiring defense—this was an accusation demanding justification.
Truth, then. She'll smell lies from here to the harbor.
"She insisted, Your Majesty," Adam said, keeping his voice steady despite the terror crawling up his spine. "I ensured her safety."
"Did you?" Calanthe's voice carried the particular chill of someone who'd ordered executions for lesser offenses. "She returned injured."
The pause that followed stretched long enough for Adam to catalog every way this conversation could end with his death. The nobles watched with predatory attention, waiting for the moment when royal justice would be dispensed with spectacular finality.
Say something. Anything. Before she decides you're not worth keeping alive.
"Grandmother—"
Ciri's voice cut through the tension like a blade through silk, carrying the authority of someone who'd never learned to fear consequences.
"I commanded him to let me come. He protected me. We saved that village together."
No. Don't make this about royal privilege. That'll just make her angrier.
But Calanthe's expression shifted slightly, calculation replacing pure fury. Her gaze moved between Adam and Ciri, reading truths in their postures that weren't being spoken aloud.
"And you're certain you controlled the situation?" she asked, her attention returning to Adam like a sword point seeking flesh.
Controlled? Against twelve nekkers while protecting a princess and collapsing tunnel systems with magic I barely understand? Control was an illusion at best.
"As certain as anyone can be in combat, Your Majesty," Adam replied, honesty bleeding through despite the danger. "I wouldn't have let her come if I thought she'd die."
The silence that followed felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to decide whether he'd fall or fly.
Then something unexpected happened.
Calanthe smiled.
Not the warm expression of familial affection, but the sharp-edged approval of someone who recognized honesty in a world built on pretty lies and careful deceptions.
"You speak plainly," she said, rising from her throne with fluid grace that spoke of deadly competence beneath royal ceremony. "I appreciate that."
What's happening? This was supposed to be my execution.
The Queen descended the throne's steps with measured pace, her approach feeling like standing in the path of an avalanche that might destroy you or might simply change the landscape around you.
"You kept her alive. More, you fought beside her as an equal, not a bodyguard. That takes courage."
She stopped directly in front of Adam, close enough that he could see the steel beneath the royal facade, the killer's instincts that had carved a kingdom from contested territory.
"You have my permission to continue training with Cirilla. But understand this—if she dies because of your recklessness, I will ensure your death is slow."
Permission. Not condemnation. Permission.
"Understood, Your Majesty. Completely understood."
[RELATIONSHIP ESTABLISHED: Queen Calanthe]
Status: Cautious Approval
Points: 30/100
Note: Royal backing acquired through demonstrated competence
"The boy has proven himself, Calanthe."
Eist's voice carried the quiet authority of someone whose opinion mattered in rooms where decisions shaped kingdoms. He stepped forward from his position among the military advisors, his weathered face carrying approval that Adam hadn't expected to see.
"He fights smart, protects what matters. Give him credit."
Calanthe's expression softened fractionally, the frost in her eyes warming to something approaching actual approval.
"Very well. Adam, you're granted access to the castle training grounds and armory. Use them wisely."
[Castle Access Granted: Full privileges]
[Castle Reputation +20]
[Total Castle Reputation: +35]
Training grounds. Armory. Real equipment instead of whatever I can scavenge or afford.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I won't disappoint you."
"See that you don't."
The dismissal was clear, but the undercurrent was approval rather than threat. Adam rose from his knees and backed away from the throne with proper protocol, feeling the weight of noble attention shift from predatory anticipation to grudging respect.
I survived a royal audience. And came out ahead.
The castle's corridors felt different after royal approval—less like enemy territory and more like a place where he might actually belong. Ciri walked beside him with barely contained energy, her earlier tension replaced by satisfaction that bordered on smugness.
"I thought she was going to execute you," she said as they turned a corner that led toward the guest quarters.
"So did I. Your grandmother is terrifying."
Ciri's laugh carried genuine amusement. "She likes you. If she didn't, you'd be in the dungeons."
That's her version of 'like'? I'd hate to see 'dislike.'
"That's... good to know," Adam said, still processing the audience and its implications. "I was expecting threats and intimidation, not equipment access and training privileges."
"You saved a village. And you brought me back alive." Ciri stopped walking, turning to face him with an expression that held emotions he wasn't sure he was ready to interpret. "That matters to her. More than you probably realize."
The way she's looking at me. Like she wants to say something but doesn't know how.
The moment stretched between them, filled with unspoken truths and possibilities that neither of them was quite ready to examine. Then Ciri stepped closer and squeezed his hand—brief contact that lasted barely a heartbeat but sent warmth racing through his entire body.
[Relationship +5]
Current Points: 60/75
Status: Very Close Friend (approaching threshold)
"See you at training tomorrow?" she asked, but her voice carried undertones that suggested she was asking about more than just scheduled combat practice.
"Wouldn't miss it."
She walked away toward the royal quarters, leaving Adam standing in the corridor with his hand still tingling from her touch and his mind racing through implications he didn't dare pursue.
Twenty-one days until invasion. Royal approval acquired. Equipment access granted. And Ciri is...
He couldn't finish the thought. Not yet. Too much depended on keeping his focus on survival and preparation instead of getting distracted by feelings that could complicate everything.
One thing at a time. Get stronger. Save the kingdom. Figure out the rest later.
But as he headed toward his own quarters, Adam found himself hoping that 'later' would actually arrive.
From the shadows of a side corridor, a figure watched him go with eyes that held knowledge of magic and destiny in equal measure. Mousesack emerged from concealment once Adam had passed, his expression thoughtful.
"The boy's magic grows stronger. And his bond with the princess... destiny has plans for them both."
The druid's observation hung in the empty air like prophecy or curse, depending on perspective.
Royal approval, castle access, and Ciri's hand in his for half a heartbeat. Today was a good day.
Tomorrow, he'd capitalize on it—better equipment, more training, and maybe understanding what that hand-squeeze meant.
Or maybe he'd just keep surviving. One day at a time.
Twenty-one days until the world burned. But today, he'd earned the right to hope it might not.