"We need your Testimony "
The king blinked slowly. His hand trembled as he tried to recall the moment of betrayal.
The king shifted, uncomfortable. "My memory of that night… is incomplete. Faces blur and voices overlap. I see movement, but I…"
Maeron raised a hand gently.
"You remember more than you think, Your Majesty. And even if your memory falters, your instinct may still guide us."
Athalia, seated nearby, stiffened almost immediately.
"Is it necessary," she asked, her tone smooth, "to burden the king so soon? His strength is still fragile."
Maeron met her gaze steadily. "It is necessary for the security of the kingdom. Whoever stabbed the king must be confronted and punished."
Adrain nodded slowly. "We cannot live with uncertainty. Father, let us put this matter to rest and grant justice to you."
The king hesitated, then sighed. "Very well then. Bring them."
Maeron bowed. "I shall summon everyone present in the palace that night."
Athalia's fingers tightened around the arm of her chair but she said nothing.
The message spread quickly:
All key members of the royal household and guard were to assemble in the king's chamber.
One by one, they arrived.
Ministers with worried expressions, Captains of the guard trying to mask their unease and servants who had been near the great hall during the night of the attack.
Everyone took their place quietly, except for two.
Prince Eric, still under confinement, was escorted by two guards. He walked with uncertainty, his eyes red from lack of sleep and his thoughts spiraling with fear and confusion.
"Is my father alive?" he whispered to the guard beside him.
It was the first question he had dared to ask in days.
The guard answered quietly, "He is awake, Your Highness."
Eric felt his breath hitch. "I… I want to see him."
"You will," the guard replied. "Now."
Princess Emelia, though desperate to attend, remained locked in her chamber. Her repeated pleas to the guards had been denied. By whose order, she could guess but not prove.
The king rested against pillows, upright but visibly exhausted. Several healers remained nearby, prepared to intervene if necessary.
Athalia sat at his side while Adrain stood just behind her, his posture composed and his expression unreadable.
The chamber was full, every corner crowded with those summoned.
When Eric appeared at the doorway, escorted but not bound, a low murmur passed through the room.
He froze when he saw his father awake.
"Father…" he whispered, voice trembling.
The king looked up with eyes searching.
Eric tried to step forward instinctively, but one of the guards touched his arm gently, slowing him. It wasn't restraint that meant caution.
Maeron stepped between them to maintain order
"Your Majesty," the Chief Advisor announced, "those present tonight are all connected in some way to the events leading up to your injury. We ask only that you speak truthfully and without pressure."
The king nodded weakly.
Maeron gestured toward those closest to the bedside. "Among these people may stand the one who harmed you. We ask you, Your Majesty, do you know who stabbed you that night?"
The entire chamber fell silent.
Even the air seemed to pause.
The king's gaze drifted slowly across the room. He looked at the guards. At the ministers. At the healers. He frowned, trying to piece together the scattered fragments of memory.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"I… remember," he murmured. "There was shouting. A struggle. Someone close… someone I trusted…"
Eric swallowed hard, tears gathering in his eyes, but of joy.
The king swallowed hard. The king's hand lifted, trembling as it hovered in the air.
His fingers drifted, hesitating over those standing nearest as his hand trembled.
He turned his eyes toward the crowd and pointed hesitantly at first at a guard.
The guard stared back, wide-eyed and shaking his head in confusion.
The king shook his head slightly, shifting his hand not long and pointed at another guard.
Again, he hesitated. The room held its breath.
Then, almost painfully slowly, the king's gaze traveled toward the doorway and toward the young man standing there with two guards at his side.
His hand stopped trembling but stretched out directly and unwavering as tears fell from his eyes.
Toward Prince Eric.
Gasps erupted across the chamber. A minister dropped a scroll. One of the guards took a step back in shock.
Eric's entire body went still as if struck.
"No…" he breathed. "Father, no…listen to me. I didn't…"
The king's voice was faint, slurred with weakness, but certain enough to echo through the room.
He closed his eyes, as though the act of pointing had drained the last of his strength. "It was… him," he whispered in disappointment.
Those three words sealed the moment like iron nails.
Eric's breath hitched. His protests dissolved into tears as he took a desperate step forward, but the guards held him gently but firmly in place.
"Your Majesty," Maeron said carefully, "you are certain? Prince Eric was the man who struck you?"
The king opened his eyes again, tired but resolute. "Yes."
Athalia lowered her gaze, hiding the faintest glimmer of satisfaction.
Adrain remained still and silent.
The healers exchanged troubled looks.
Eric broke. Tears spilled down his face as the guards held him gently in place.
"Please," Eric choked, "you're mistaken father. I swear to you…Father, look at me! I didn't do this!"
But the king's head dropped back against the pillows. His strength had faded again, closing the window for explanations.
"I'm not mistaken." He said weakly.
Lord Maeron exhaled slowly, sorrow tightening his features.
"The king has spoken. The accusation stands."
Eric's breath came in sharp, broken bursts.
"But I'm innocent…" he whispered, barely audible. "I'm innocent."
The guards led him away slowly, with sorrow and disappointment in their eyes. Not harshly or as though he were a criminal but as though he were someone walking into a fate he had no power to fight.
Princess Emelia's distant cry echoed from the hallway when the news reached her.
Eric bowed his head as tears fell freely. He was trapped and crushed beneath the weight of a crime he had not committed.
And as Eric disappeared through the doorway, Queen Athalia folded her hands neatly in her lap.
Her schemes were complete and her path cleared.
And no amount of tears from the son she framed would alter the careful web she had woven.
Not for Prince Eric and not when the victim himself had named him.
Not a single person reached for him, not even Adrain.
The door closed behind him with a quiet, final sound.
And the palace returned to a silence shaped not by fear, but by the weight of a verdict that could not be undone.
Up in the castle, whispers spread like poison. Nobles spoke in quiet groups like trading rumours.
The King was attacked and Prince Eric was found guilty. Prince Eric who was the last to see him had denied it but now, the evidence was clear.
At the center of it all stood Athalia.
She glided through the halls in a crimson gown, her smile calm, her words careful and sharp.
Two young noblewomen bowed.
"Lady Athalia," one whispered, "is it true the physicians found floral fragrance on the King's collar?"
Athalia lowered her voice. "The results are still being reviewed… but yes, the findings were concerning."
The women gasped.
"And Prince Eric?"
Athalia sighed softly. "He always appeared dutiful, but I guess appearances can deceive."
The women exchanged worried looks.
"What the council needs," Athalia continued gently, "is stability, loyalty and Prince Adrian must be protected. If a brother could hurt his father for the throne, his brother will be next."
They bowed again as she walked away, her influence spreading through every corner of the court.
Around the next hallway, she found Adrian pacing anxiously.
"Adrian," she said softly.
He turned to her. "I just came from Eric."
"How was he?"
"Angry. He denies everything."
"Of course," she said calmly. "Guilty men often do."
Adrian hesitated. "Do you really think he did it?"
"I think all evidence is pointing to him," Athalia replied. "And the kingdom cannot risk hesitation over mere words of non-admission."
Adrian rubbed his forehead. "Father pointed at him… but part of me still…"
She touched his shoulder gently. "You are kind. But kindness cannot cloud judgment."
Adrian looked torn.
"There is something else," Athalia said quietly. "Some whispers involve Princess Emelia."
Adrian stiffened. "Emelia? What about her?"
"I cannot say for certain," Athalia murmured, "but some maiden claimed she saw her buy a strong floral substance from a sorcerer into the palace weeks ago."
"That's impossible."
"I hope so," she said. "But sincerity can be a mask."
"I need proof," Adrian said.
"You will have it," she whispered.
That evening, Emelia was taken to a private guest room. She sensed the tension from the stiff guards to the distant glances.
A maid entered carrying a wooden box where the guards had found the fragrance.
"Your Highness," she said, bowing. "It was me who followed her quietly."
"Under whose orders?" The Adviser asked.
"The Prince. You love going out without the guards and prince Eric had told us to be close enough to at least protect you. But I never thought she'll…." The maid said.
"Do not speak of what you did not witness, maid…" Princess Emelia cried.
"I saw you holding this. I saw this box again when the guards searched and realized you actually meant harm from it." She said recalling the memories.
"Why didn't you speak earlier." Lysander asked.
"I'm but a mere servant. How was I to know my Princess was trying to harm anyone." she said.
"It wasn't me. That is not mine," Emelia said immediately. "You all have to believe me."
But no one was ready to believe her. The fragrance found in her chambers was also detected on the King's robe when a maid tried washing it. The same was used on Talen who had killed Lena.
The palace had not been the same since the king awakened and named Prince Eric as his attacker. The declaration, though delivered with a weak hand and dimming voice, carried the full authority of a lifetime on the throne. No one had questioned him and, not in his presence.
But in the corners of the palace, doubt, disappointment and curiosity had already begun to stir.
Some whispered that grief and confusion had clouded the king's mind while others murmured that Eric had always seemed troubled. A few expressed fear, claiming that if a prince could lift a knife against the king, then no one was truly safe.
In every corridor, speculation grew.
And in the midst of it all, Prince Adrain moved as if he were carrying a weight too heavy for a single person to bear.
He had stood beside the king when the hand had pointed toward Eric. He had seen the fear in his brother's eyes, of disbelief, the horror and the silent plea for someone to intervene.
He had seen his mother's unreadable calm, Lord Maeron's firm acceptance and the guards' rigid posture as they escorted Eric away.
And afterward, long after the chamber had emptied, Adrain had remained, staring at the floor where his brother had stood minutes earlier.
The king would not lie, he had no reason to name the wrong man especially his beloved son. Yet something inside Adrain twisted violently at the idea that Eric who was gentle and steady could ever commit such an act.
Hours earlier, Adrain had found himself in the king's chambers again, pacing.
The chief healer approached with a folded cloak. It was the garments removed from the king on the night of the attack. It had been preserved carefully for examination, though no one had expected to find anything significant.
As the healer unfolded it, a faint fragrance drifted into the air. Lysander immediately knew the smell.
Lysander who walked in frowned, collecting the cloak from the healer.
"This is the same fragrance used on Talen. I didn't expect it was present on the cloak, Your Highness. You must be careful."
Adrain leaned closer, inhaling slowly.
"Does that mean he really did this?"
"It's not in my place to say much," the healer replied. "But princess Emelia and Prince Eric cannot escape this."
And with that, another crack appeared in the certainty that had condemned his brother.
It wasn't proof of innocence.
He needed to speak to his brother, not as a prince to a confined suspect, but as one brother to another.
Eric, who had spent his days behind the guarded doors of his chamber, replayed the night his father pointed him out over and over, trying to pull clarity from the fog in his mind.
Later, his brother came to tell him of the discovery of Emelia's fragrance on the king's robe.
All evidence were now against them and there was no need to investigations.
The corridor leading to Eric's temporary confinement was quiet, guarded by two soldiers who stood at attention as Adrain approached.
They saluted him but did not speak as their expressions remained neutral, though their eyes carried the tension that had gripped the palace since the accusation.
"Is he awake?" Adrain asked.
One guard nodded. "Yes, Your Highness. He hasn't slept since they brought him in."
A shadow crossed Adrain's features. "Open the door."
"Of course."
The guard unlocked the heavy wooden door and stepped aside. Adrain paused for a moment before entering, bracing himself for what he might find.
Inside, the room was dim.
Eric sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed and hands clasped tightly together as if holding himself steady.
He looked up slowly as Adrain entered.
His eyes were red-rimmed but dry, his face pale and his voice rough from hours of silence.
"Why are you here?"