The grand hall had been transformed into a courtroom. Banners of the realm hung high above, their colors heavy with symbolism, but the air inside was charged not with pride but with tension. Nobles filled the benches on either side, their silks whispering as they shifted. Commoners had been allowed in the gallery above, their murmurs like a tide threatening to crash at any moment.
At the center of it all stood Lady Veyra, shackled yet unbowed. Her crimson gown was torn from the scuffle of her capture, but she wore her chains as if they were jewelry. Her chin remained high, her eyes glinting with defiance.
Franck sat upon the dais, the weight of his crown heavier than ever. At his side, Emma stood, neither judge nor prisoner, but something in between—his anchor, his conscience, and the living embodiment of the second chance fate had granted her.
A herald struck the floor with his staff.
"By order of His Highness, Prince Franck, this trial commences. Lady Veyra of House Ardemont, you stand accused of treason, arson, and conspiracy against the realm."
A hush fell as Franck rose. His voice carried, sharp as steel.
"You sowed fire within my walls. You paid mercenaries to slaughter my people. You sought to shatter not only my crown but the fragile peace of this land. What say you?"
Lady Veyra laughed, the sound a dagger of mockery in the stillness.
"What say I? That you, my prince, are nothing but a boy playing king. That you think chaining me proves strength, when in truth it only reveals your fear. Yes, I struck at your stables. Yes, I bribed blades to test your defenses. And I would do it again."
The gallery erupted in outrage, shouts rising like flames. Guards banged their halberds against the floor to restore order, but the air trembled with fury.
Emma stepped forward, her voice calm, clear, cutting through the din.
"Lady Veyra admits her crimes, yet arrogance blinds her to consequence. But a serpent never slithers alone. Who whispered in your ear, Lady Veyra? Who placed the dagger in your hand?"
Veyra's gaze flickered, just for an instant. Emma saw it—the hesitation, the crack in the mask. But Veyra's smirk returned.
"You want me to name shadows? Very well. Look among your council, little dove. The ones who cheer the loudest for justice are often those with the darkest hands."
Gasps swept the chamber. Nobles glanced at one another, suspicion blooming like poison. Franck's fist clenched on the arm of his throne.
"Enough games," he thundered. "You will answer, or you will hang."
But Emma touched his arm gently. Her eyes met his, reminding him of the lesson her rebirth had etched into her soul: anger devours kings faster than poison. He exhaled, forcing himself back into composure.
"Let her speak," Emma whispered.
Franck nodded reluctantly.
Veyra turned her attention back to the hall, her voice rising, dripping with venom.
"Did you think me a mastermind? Foolish boy. I was but a fang in a greater maw. There are others who feed me gold, who whisper strategies sweeter than wine. A council of shadows who want you gone, Franck, and who will not stop until you fall."
The crowd murmured in panic. Names flew in whispers, alliances questioned in a heartbeat.
One noble, Lord Henrick, sprang to his feet. "This is madness! Lies to drag us all into suspicion. You must end this farce now, Your Highness!"
But Emma's sharp gaze pinned him. His outrage was too quick, too desperate. She filed the detail away in silence.
Franck rose again, his voice a command.
"You have confessed. You have named a council of shadows, though you dare not expose them. For treason, the punishment is death."
The gallery roared its approval. Many nobles nodded. But Emma felt a tightening in her chest. Death was swift. Too swift. And it would make Veyra a martyr in the eyes of whatever forces lurked behind her.
She stepped forward, her heart pounding, her reborn soul urging her to speak.
"My prince, if I may."
Franck glanced at her, surprise flickering. He had not planned to open this moment to her. But he trusted her now, more than he trusted his own instincts. He nodded.
Emma faced the hall, her voice carrying with quiet strength.
"Lady Veyra deserves punishment, yes. But death silences her forever. Chains, however, can speak. Keep her alive. Parade her as proof of the treachery she served. Let her words, her shame, become the fire that lights the shadows she seeks to protect."
The chamber buzzed with debate. Some scoffed, calling it weakness. Others nodded, seeing the wisdom in her words. Franck studied Emma, his eyes heavy with conflict.
Veyra laughed again, though unease flickered beneath it.
"Mercy? Or cruelty? I cannot decide which you offer me, little dove."
Emma met her gaze, her voice soft but firm.
"Not mercy. Justice. And justice is heavier than the noose."
---
The verdict was given. Lady Veyra would not hang—yet. She would remain in chains, confined in the deepest cells, paraded before the people as a living serpent stripped of her fangs. The crowd left divided, uncertain whether they had witnessed strength or folly.
That night, in the quiet of Franck's chambers, the prince paced restlessly. Emma sat by the hearth, her fingers tracing the grain of the armrest.
"You risked everything," Franck said at last. "By sparing her, you handed her allies hope. They will conspire harder than ever."
Emma looked up at him, her gaze unwavering.
"I risked nothing, Franck. Death would have made her a legend. Alive, she is a burden—one her allies will despise for failing, one they may even try to silence themselves. And when they do, we will follow the trail."
Franck stopped, studying her with something deeper than admiration. "You speak like someone who has lived this battle before."
Emma's throat tightened. Her past life flickered in her mind—betrayals, divorces, a world that had broken her trust in love and justice. She met his gaze, her voice low.
"In a way, I have."
He did not press her, though questions burned in his eyes. Instead, he stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Then walk this path with me. Shadows are thickening, Emma. If I must carve through them, I would not do it without you."
Her breath caught. For a heartbeat, the room felt suspended between past and present, between duty and desire. She nodded, the firelight painting resolve across her face.
"Then we carve together."
---
The following morning, rumors raced like wildfire through the kingdom. Some hailed Franck's decision as wise, others condemned it as weakness. Yet one truth had crystallized: the serpent was chained, but the nest remained hidden.
And somewhere in the silence of her cell, Lady Veyra whispered to unseen visitors, her smile as venomous as ever.
"The trial has ended. But the game has only begun."