A King Who Moves Too Late
King Mavren chose his moment carefully.
Too carefully.
By the time the summons from the Union Council went out—marked urgent, sealed with crimson wax instead of the usual blue—Valenfirth already knew it was coming.
The Veil had warned Lysandra three nights earlier.
"He will try to reverse the narrative," the operative had said. "He believes delay favors you. So he will force confrontation."
Force was Mavren's instinct when subtlety failed.
The wording of the summons confirmed it.
"In light of unresolved accusations and in the interest of judicial completeness, the Union Council will reconvene to address prior allegations of attempted regicide raised by the Kingdom of Valenfirth against the Crown of Asterfell".
No mention of borders. No mention of frozen assets. No mention of the seized lands.
Only the old accusation.
The one Mavren believed had been buried.
When Daren finished reading the notice, he looked up slowly.
"He's reopening the assassination charge."
"Yes," Lysandra replied calmly. "As expected."
"He thinks the lack of a public verdict weakened your claim."
"And he's right," she said. "It did."
Daren frowned. "Then why—"
"Because," she interrupted gently, "this time he won't be arguing against suspicion."
She met his eyes.
"He'll be arguing against proof."
Preparations That Do Not Show
The Valenfirth embassy did not scramble.
There were no hurried meetings, no raised voices, no midnight rewriting of arguments.
Everything that would be needed was already prepared.
Zelda oversaw documentation. Serene coordinated diplomatic alignment. Rhedon ensured that Valenfirth's military presence in Luminor remained visible but disciplined. Aira reviewed security redundancies twice over.
And Lysandra—
Lysandra read nothing the morning of the hearing.
She sat quietly in her chamber, hands folded, breathing slow and steady.
Daren stood nearby, adjusting the clasp of his ceremonial armor.
"You're calm," he said.
She smiled faintly. "I've already lived through this once."
He paused.
"You mean the attempt."
"Yes."
She rose, stepping toward the window.
"This accusation nearly ended me," she continued. "Not because it lacked truth—but because it lacked timing."
She turned back to him.
"Mavren believes truth only matters when it arrives early."
Her gaze sharpened.
"He's about to learn what happens when it arrives prepared."
The Council Convenes Again
The Union Council Hall felt different this time.
More crowded. More guarded. More afraid.
Representatives from twelve kingdoms filled the outer tiers, their banners hanging stiff and formal. Some faces were curious. Others openly wary.
This was no longer a border dispute.
It was a test of whether a king could be accused of ordering regicide—and survive.
The councilors entered in pairs, their expressions carefully neutral. Those previously implicated by Valenfirth's evidence now sat straighter, quieter, painfully aware of every glance.
Mavren arrived first.
He wore black and silver, his crown set low, his posture relaxed. He greeted no one, acknowledging the hall as if it already belonged to him.
When Lysandra entered from the opposite side, the room shifted.
She wore Valenfirth blue, her regalia modest but immaculate. No unnecessary ornament. No attempt to dominate.
Only presence.
Daren followed one step behind.
Their eyes met across the chamber.
Mavren smiled.
Lysandra did not.
The bells rang.
The hearing began.
The Old Wound Is Named
The presiding councilor, Lord Halveth, cleared his throat.
"This session is convened to address the reopening of an unresolved accusation raised by the Kingdom of Valenfirth against the Crown of Asterfell," he announced. "Specifically—the alleged orchestration of an assassination attempt against Empress Lysandra of Valenfirth."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Mavren rose first.
"My lords, my ladies," he began smoothly, "this accusation was raised in a time of chaos. Emotions ran high. Evidence was thin. And no verdict was ever reached."
He inclined his head toward Lysandra.
"I respected the Union's caution then. I respect it now. But unresolved accusations fester. They poison diplomacy."
He spread his hands.
"I ask this council to finally put this matter to rest."
Several councilors nodded.
Lysandra remained seated.
Mavren turned slightly toward her.
"If Empress Lysandra still believes this claim has merit," he said gently, "she is welcome to present whatever she believes supports it."
His eyes gleamed.
"Let truth decide."
The Empress Answers
Lysandra rose slowly.
She did not rush. She did not glare. She did not speak immediately.
When she did, her voice carried evenly across the hall.
"I accused King Mavren of orchestrating an attempt on my life," she said. "Not because I suspected him."
She paused.
"But because the attempt bore his signature."
Murmurs intensified.
Mavren's smile thinned almost imperceptibly.
"At the time," Lysandra continued, "I lacked proof sufficient to satisfy this council. That was my failure—not of judgment, but of preparation."
She looked directly at the councilors.
"I did not bring this accusation again lightly. I did not pursue it through rumor or outrage. I waited."
She turned slightly.
"And now, I am ready."
A ripple of unease passed through the chamber.
Mavren laughed softly.
"Your Majesty," he said, "waiting does not create evidence."
"No," Lysandra agreed. "But it allows evidence to surface."
She gestured.
Zelda stepped forward.
With her came two attendants carrying sealed cases.
Heavy ones.
The sound they made when set upon the council floor echoed like a verdict yet to be spoken.
Proof Begins to Speak
Zelda opened the first case.
Inside lay ledgers.
Not copies. Originals.
"These documents," Zelda announced, "detail the disbandment and subsequent reconstitution of the mercenary company known as Black Requital."
A murmur rose.
Mavren's eyes narrowed.
"This company," Zelda continued, "officially dissolved eighteen months ago. Yet payments to its members resumed three weeks before the attempt on Her Majesty's life."
She turned a page.
"Funds originated from shell accounts linked to Asterfell merchant banks."
Mavren scoffed. "Circumstantial. Merchants act independently."
"Indeed," Zelda replied calmly. "Which is why we followed the route further."
She gestured to the second case.
Inside lay correspondence.
Sealed letters. Courier logs. Route maps.
Serene stepped forward now.
"These messages were carried along a pilgrimage route exempt from Union inspection," she said. "A route personally advocated for by Asterfell's crown during trade negotiations two years ago."
Councilors stirred uncomfortably.
Lysandra spoke again.
"The courier was intercepted," she said. "Alive. Cooperative."
Her gaze locked on Mavren.
"He identified his employer."
Silence fell hard.
Mavren stood abruptly.
"This is absurd," he snapped. "Any courier will say anything under pressure."
Lysandra nodded once.
"Which is why we did not rely on his words alone."
She lifted a hand.
Daren stepped forward for the first time.
And placed a final document upon the table.
A letter.
Bearing Mavren's personal seal.
The chamber erupted.
A Seal Cannot Speak—But It Accuses
"That seal can be forged," Mavren said sharply, though a flicker of something dark crossed his face.
Lysandra anticipated this.
"The Union maintains a registry of royal seal imprints," she said. "This letter matches yours precisely—including micro-etchings unique to the mold commissioned after your coronation."
Lord Halveth stiffened.
"That registry is not public."
"No," Lysandra replied. "But truth does not require permission."
She gestured.
"And the language within the letter," she continued, "uses phrasing exclusive to Asterfell military directives. Not mercantile. Not diplomatic."
She let the silence stretch.
"It orders discretion. Speed. And deniability."
Mavren's voice cut in.
"And yet I am not named."
"No," Lysandra agreed. "You never name yourself."
She met his eyes.
"You never have."
A councilor rose suddenly. "If this is true—"
"Then it proves intent," another countered. "But not command."
The room fractured into argument.
Lysandra did not interrupt.
She allowed them to argue.
Because this was only the beginning.
The First Crack
When the chamber finally settled, Lord Halveth spoke again.
"The council acknowledges the gravity of this evidence," he said slowly. "However, this hearing will proceed methodically."
He looked at both rulers.
"This session will adjourn briefly before cross-examination."
Mavren exhaled, relief flickering across his face.
Lysandra inclined her head politely.
As the bells rang for recess, Daren leaned close.
"They're shaken," he murmured.
"Yes," she replied softly.
"But not broken."
She turned her gaze back toward Mavren.
"That comes next."