CHAPTER 146
Grace sat at the head of the long table, her hands folded calmly, though the weight of the day pressed behind her eyes. Around her, the councillors filled their places, Honest to her right, Vera on her left, and the others arranged in their accustomed order. None spoke. The air carried the murmur of uncertainty, the faint scrape of boots on stone.
The guard was led inside, two soldiers holding him by the arms. His face was pale, worn by days of confinement, but his eyes darted quickly, alert, restless. He was not a man entirely broken.
"Bring him forward," Grace ordered. Her voice was steady, not loud, but it carried through the chamber without effort.
The soldiers obeyed, guiding the guard until he stood just a few paces from the King's table.
Councillor Honest cleared his throat, his face tense. "You understand where you stand," he said. "This is no mere inquiry. Your words will be weighed by the King and by this council. Speak carefully."
