"Prince Eric," he said again, "after the knife fell, what happened next?"
Eric's voice softened. "Nothing"
"You mean you don't remember anything after that?" Lysander asked.
"No."
Lysander turned to the chief adviser. "We've reached the limit of what hypnosis can extract. His memories are fragmented… but consistent."
The adviser nodded solemnly. "Guard, release him and Talen from the trance."
A guard stepped forward with a small vial of counter-incense. Eric inhaled gently. His posture loosened and his eyes blinked back into awareness.
He looked around in confusion. "What… what happened?"
Adrian stepped toward him. "You told us what you remembered, Eric."
"What did I say?"
There was silence.
The Queen closed her eyes. "Enough for us to understand… you were not yourself."
Eric looked helplessly between them. "I didn't hurt Father, right?."
"No one is claiming you did, yet other evidences are against you, Eric." Adrian said quietly.
"Exactly," one minister whispered, loud enough for others to hear. "The prince's refusal to confess does not erase the evidence."
"Refusal is not innocence," another added.
A third murmured, "Nor is it guilt. You saw how confused he was and he had been controlled."
"Controlled," someone repeated skeptically. "Convenient."
Whispers spread like slow-burning fire. Every murmured assumption formed another link in the chain tightening around Prince Eric.
But the Queen remained still.
Her mind worked quietly beneath the surface of her serene expression. She had waited for years for her sons to grow into men capable of leading the realm.
She had always believed that Adrian was the gentler, more controlled and wiser in court matters and better suited to rule. But Eric, had gained love and loyalty among the people.
The King's hesitation to choose a successor threatened to divide the realm.
And so, she had acted.
She had sent a man who was a skilled, anonymous agent to temporarily restrain Eric, to ensure he would be too weak to influence the King's final decision. She had sent the man to intervene. Her intention was simple to protect her sons from each other and prevent civil war by guiding the realm into a stable future.
As the hall resumed its anxious murmuring, the Queen's thoughts moved through years of decisions, some made in calm reason and others in desperation.
She knew he had been present when Eric entered the King's chamber. She knew he had been the one who struggled with Eric before withdrawing.
But she did not know everything that followed nor did she know the source of the fragrance that overwhelmed Eric's mind.
She did not know who had placed the knife in Eric's hand and did not know who had ensured her own plan that was carefully designed to protect her sons will spiral into a disaster.
Bringing the man forward now would shatter the fragile veil she held over the truth. He could not defend Eric without exposing her. He could not deny involvement without creating more questions.
Even worse, he could implicate Eric indirectly if he really saw everything, but she could not allow that.
Not when suspicion already hovered dangerously close.
Only one thing was certain. There was a second manipulation and a hand that was moving pieces across the board. But she wasn't sure who it was.
The chief adviser finally raised a hand. His voice cut through the noise.
"Silence."
The word echoed sharply as conversations halted. Ministers straightened in their seats,. even as the guards paused.
"Prince Eric hasn't admitted harming the King," the adviser said, "but denial alone cannot serve as proof of innocence."
Eric looked up sharply. "I did not harm him."
"But you tried to. Yet you remember very little," the adviser replied sternly. "Of a masked man, a man at the tower which we believe is the eye witness that was killed. But we require more than fragments."
Eric pressed his lips together. "The truth perhaps, is what I have given."
"And yet," the adviser continued, "the court cannot depend entirely on memory clouded by hypnotism when an eye witness who was not hypnotized confessed you harming the king.The same man you mentioned on the tower."
Lysander faced Prince Eric and stepped forward. "Your highness, with respect, the account you mentioned matches what I observed in the investigation. The unknown second person had blood traces from the wound near the west corridor and the details are consistent. But we cannot dismiss them."
The adviser hesitated. Lysander's reputation for accuracy was renowned. But the political reality was not simple. The King was injured and the realm demanded clarity. And Eric's scattered memories offered admittance or denial for hurting the king.
Not only on him, Princess Emelia's name had surfaced as well. The witnesses and the guards' testimonies placed both of them in positions that could be twisted into implication. Even though neither had offered any admission of guilt, their silence and confusion had given the court room to shape its own conclusions.
"Consistency does not nullify suspicion and evidence," the adviser said at last.
Lysander stepped forward again, his deep voice cutting through the noise with measured precision.
"Your Grace," he addressed the chief adviser, "this case requires more than hurried debate. We need time to re-examine the evidence. I request the trial be adjourned so that I may review each detail thoroughly and make the right judgement."
The adviser considered him. "Lysander, the realm grows restless and the people demand answers soon."
"They deserve correct answers," Lysander replied. "Not rushed conclusions."
A few ministers nodded while others frowned. But Lysander's reputation carried weight as his accuracy and integrity had defined his service for decades.
Athalia stepped forward politely. "Perhaps we should allow him to rest. The prince has been through much today."
Finally, the adviser exhaled. "Very well, then.
He looked over the hall, measuring the pressure in the room. "We cannot give the people an answer today," he announced. "Nor can we condemn without full certainty. The investigator will review the case privately. His judgment will be delivered when he is ready."
Relief washed across the hall, though it was thin and brittle.
He turned to the Queen. "Your Majesty, do you wish to add anything?"
The Queen lifted her gaze. Her voice remained quiet, composed and impeccable.
"I wish only for the truth," she said.
"We reconvene when the investigation is complete," the adviser announced.
"Until then, Prince Eric shall be returned to confinement and Princess Emelia is to remain under supervision."
Eric stiffened. "You mean to imprison me again based on speculation?"
"Until a judgment is made," the adviser said firmly. "Guards."
Two guards stepped forward.
Eric stood unsteadily as Adrian supported him. The Queen watched them go, torn between love and guilt.
Eric turned to Lysander with a frustrated gaze. "Lysander, you know I would never…"
"I know you, your highness," Lysander said, his tone steady. "But the truth requires time, please allow me that time."
Eric swallowed hard. "I trust you."
The guards led him away.
But Athalia remained still and was silently gathering the shifting suspicions in the room.
The next morning, Athalia began her strategy to get Prince Eric out of the way.
Though the council believed they were moving closer to the truth, they were actually following trails Athalia had allowed to remain visible.
The Queen's man vanished from the palace the night the king was stabbed after visiting the queen.
The guard on the tower was killed by a network of shadow guards Athalia had built outside the palace walls.
The fragrance, the knife and the evidence all pointed in circles that led nowhere.
And Emelia, who was innocent, remained the perfect target for this final stage of the plan.
Guards stepped forward, guiding ministers, witnesses, and nobles out of the great hall. As the crowd thinned, the torchlight dimmed slightly, making shadows stretch further across the stone floor.
The chief adviser sighed. "We have a new mystery now: the masked man."
The ministers looked uneasy, while the Queen looked frightened.
The Queen remained seated until the room was nearly empty. When she finally rose, she moved with a grace that drew no attention like a quiet departure mastered over years of political experience.
She left without speaking a word, not because she had nothing to say but because saying anything at all would unravel everything she had built.
It had been a long day of investigation and everyone left with different thoughts of what could be the real truth.
"If he didn't hurt the king or was stopped by someone, who stabbed the king then? And who is the masked man?." Everyone thought.
And in the far corner of the hall, Athalia's faint smile returned in a quick and subtle way, vanishing before anyone could truly see it.
Princess Emelia remained under the watch of guards near in the secluded chamber near the side entrance. She had been brought to bear witness earlier, though she barely understood why suspicion had latched onto her especially from a guard she didn't know.
Her hands clenched the folds of her gown. She thought about Eric, then the council and then back to Eric with eyes filled with confusion and quiet fear.
She had not been raised within these walls. But she knew loyalty, respect, and duty. She had never imagined she would be named in the investigation of the King's attack.
But the whispers had already started:
"She was with Eric earlier that day."
"She had access to the royal quarters."
"The princess always walks the west wing."
"She might know more than she admits."
Whispers were dangerous and they grew into judgments long before evidence was found. Every whisper tightened the noose around her future.
Athalia had observed Emelia from across the hall with careful calculation. She said nothing, but her eyes revealed the satisfaction of someone watching a carefully seeded idea take root.
Eric, who was weakened and confused, saw Emelia's expression and felt a dull ache in his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but the guards at his sides tightened their hold.
Only athalia who was watching closely would have noticed.
Her hands remained neatly folded at her waist, her posture upright and her expression composed. She played the role expected of her: the dutiful princess, the supportive cousin and the calm presence amid chaos.
But behind her eyes, triumph glowed as everything she had anticipated was unfolding.
With Eric confined and Emelia implicated, the two brightest obstacles to Adrian's ascension were fading from the court's view.
The removal of Eric from court meant Adrian's path to the throne widened. Emelia's growing suspicion meant she would no longer stand near Adrian with the same influence or closeness.
The people's attention which was already shifting, would turn fully toward the calmer and steadier prince, the one Athalia intended to elevate.
Every piece was falling into place.
No one saw her smile except the Queen in one moment. And even then, the Queen did not react.
She merely observed not because she understood Athalia's plan fully, but because she recognized ambition when she saw it. And she felt an undeniable chill at how controlled and precise Athalia's movements appeared.
It was a reminder that she was not the only mother willing to secure a future for her bloodline.
Emelia remained near the side of the room where she was confined, her hands clenched tightly and her face pale. She remembered as she watched Eric while she was being taken away with a helplessness she could not hide.
She had not spoken more than a few sentences that day, but every glance she cast across the hall had exposed her fear.
"Emelia," Adrian whispered, stepping toward her as he took her off her thoughts.
"Adrain, What are you doing here?" She asked, wiping tears off her face. She didn't here the door open.
"Emelia," Adrain repeated. "I promise I'll do everything I can to help you."
She lifted her eyes. "They think I used sorcery to help Eric gain the throne," she said softly. "How could they think I played a part in it."
"If you didn't," Adrian replied. "The court will see that."
"Will they?" Her voice trembled, but she kept her posture straight. "Or do they simply see what they want to see?"
Adrian hesitated. He could not answer. Not honestly.
Because he knew the truth that the court, when frightened, often chose the simplest narrative and clung to it tightly.
"Stay close to me, I'll protect you," he said instead. "I won't allow them to condemn you unfairly."
She nodded, though the uncertainty in her eyes remained.
From a little distance behind the secluded chamber, Athalia watched them not with warmth, not with sympathy, but with quiet, calculating thought. She clenched her fists.
Emelia's distress threatened stability for her. But Adrian's protectiveness and closeness will threaten his neutrality and emotional ties which made rulers vulnerable. The hunger to make her dissapear from Adrian's sight and loose the last emblem of love he had for her came quickly.
Lysander who was with Prince Adrain turned to Adrain. "Until my investigation concludes, I advise restraint," he said.
"No statements should be made without full clarity."
Adrain nodded.
"How did the trial go?" Emelia asked.
"The trial is adjourned." He said.
"And Eric?."
"He will be fine, hopefully." Adrian said.
The wind that swept across the northern watchtower was always sharp, always restless, but on that night it carried more than cold air but suspicion.
Inside a small, dimly lit room in a house outside the palace walls, Rylan, a quiet but skilled old guard in his 50's, sat hunched over a folded letter. The wax seal was broken and shattered but he kept running his thumb over the fragment of the royal insignia as if hoping the message would change.
It didn't.
He read it again anyway, the queen's elegant script slicing through the silence.