The official inquiry was a formality, a theatrical closure for the court. Held in the Imperial Hall of Justice within the Academy's administrative wing, it was a scaled-down version of the earlier chaos, all bloodless procedure and somber ritual. The audience was smaller and more select: senior professors, heads of noble houses with students at the Academy, a panel of three stern-faced magistrates, and a representative from the Crown—Prince Lucian, sitting with detached authority.
I was called first. I wore the same twilight blue gown, now freshly cleaned and pressed, a symbol of continuity and resilience. As I walked to the witness stand, the hall was silent, every eye upon me. These were not the gossip-hungry partygoers of the pavilion; these were the power brokers, the ones who shaped futures. They assessed me now not as a scandalous girl, but as a political entity who had survived a firestorm.
