The throne hall had lost its rhythm.
What had begun as a performance now felt like a trial without a script. Nobles shifted uneasily. Guards watched one another instead of the accused. The air trembled—not with magic, but with doubt.
Queen Seraphine's voice cut through it.
"Proceed," she said coolly. "Bring the next witness."
A man stepped forward.
Not a guard.
Not a servant.
A noble.
Lord Halden Crestwick—elder of the western houses, silver-haired, spine straight despite the weight of years and consequence. His family crest gleamed at his throat, polished as if for a funeral.
Gasps rippled.
He had not been listed.
Aelira's gaze sharpened.
So did the queen's.
"Lord Crestwick," Seraphine said slowly, "you were not summoned."
"I know," Halden replied. His voice was steady. Too steady. "I came anyway."
Murmurs swelled.
Viremont hissed, "This is highly irregular—"
"Irregular," Halden echoed, turning slightly, "is forging decrees in the queen's name."
Silence fell like a dropped blade.
The king rose halfway from his seat. "What did you say?"
Halden reached into his coat and withdrew a folded parchment—old, creased, sealed with wax that had been reheated too many times.
"This order," Halden said, holding it aloft, "authorized the seizure of grain from three western towns. It bears Her Majesty's seal."
The queen's smile thinned. "And?"
"I signed it," Halden continued. "At your request."
The hall erupted.
"You swore—" Viremont began.
"I swore to the crown," Halden snapped. "Not to corruption."
He turned—slowly—toward Aelira.
"My lady," he said, voice roughening, "I accused you in silence. I let fear choose for me."
Aelira did not move.
"Those towns starved," Halden went on. "Children. Elderly. I told myself it was order."
He swallowed. "I was wrong."
The queen stood.
"You dare," Seraphine said, her composure cracking for the first time, "to stand in my court and—"
"And tell the truth?" Halden finished. "Yes."
He dropped to one knee.
"I submit myself for judgment," he said. "But I will not let another innocent be condemned to hide my shame."
Every breath in the hall caught.
Aelira felt it—something breaking open.
Not the trap.
The people.
"Guards," the queen said sharply. "Remove him."
No one moved.
Kael's hand rested on his sword.
Not drawn.
Visible.
The king looked from the kneeling lord to the queen—then to Aelira.
"Is there more?" the king asked quietly.
Halden nodded. "The ledgers. The bribes. The names."
He gestured toward Viremont.
"Ask him," Halden said. "Ask why his estates tripled while the borders burned."
Viremont stepped back, face ashen.
"This is madness," he whispered.
Aelira finally spoke.
Her voice was not loud.
It didn't need to be.
"Madness," she said calmly, "is calling this justice."
She turned to the king. "You asked for truth."
She met Queen Seraphine's gaze—steady, unafraid.
"Now you have it."
For a heartbeat, the queen looked almost… afraid.
Then her mask snapped back into place.
"Enough," Seraphine said. "This council is adjourned. The Princess will be—"
"No," the king said.
The word rang.
Clear. Final.
The hall froze.
Queen Seraphine turned slowly. "What did you say?"
"I said no," the king repeated. "We will not adjourn."
He faced the court.
"We will investigate," he said. "Every order. Every seal. Every witness."
The queen's eyes burned.
Aelira felt Kael's presence like a shield at her back.
The first noble had fallen.
Not by force.
By conscience.
And conscience, once awakened—
Was impossible to silence.