Adrain closed the door gently behind him.
"To speak with you."
Eric let out a short, humorless breath. "To repeat what they all say? To tell me Father has spoken? To tell me I can't avoid what's coming?"
"No." Adrain moved closer. "I need to understand."
Eric's eyes hardened. "Understand what? How I supposedly attacked our father? How did I do something I have no memory of? How am I expected to defend myself against something no one even saw?"
Adrain didn't sit. He remained standing, hands behind his back, the way he always did when he needed control over his emotions.
Adrain's jaw tightened. "Do not say that. I have never once thought you capable of such an act."
"Then why didn't you speak up!" Eric's voice cracked, raw and breaking.
Adrain's breath caught, but Eric wasn't done.
"Why didn't you stand in front of me?" Eric whispered. "Why didn't you say something, anything to make them stop?"
Adrain felt the words like a blade sliding into the space between his ribs.
"I could not contradict Father," he said softly. "He believed what he saw."
"Adrain… I would never harm him. Never."
Adrain swallowed, shoulders loosening slightly.
Athalia's reaction in the king's chamber had been too calm. Too steady. Too accepting of the accusation against Eric.
But he could not speak it aloud.
Adrain looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw the fear beneath the frustration, the confusion beneath the anger.
Adrain hesitated, then answered honestly.
"He believes what he remembers. And until we prove otherwise, his word stands."
"I believe you didn't intend to harm him," he said. "The fragrance used to hypnotize you pushed you. I will have to plead for you."
"Thank you," Eric said.
Adrain managed a faint, sad smile.
"You're my brother," he replied. "And I will not abandon you."
The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
The bells of the Arrandelle rang from dawn until late afternoon, their steady, hollow sound washing over the palace and the city below.
Citizens paused in their routines to listen as soldiers slowed their steps and servants glanced nervously toward the towering spires where decisions greater than themselves were being made.
The bells were neither celebratory nor mournful. They were signals calling the kingdom's leaders, ministers, judges, priests, and nobles to assemble in the Great Hall for the last trial.
The king had awakened, spoken, and fallen back into a weakened rest. And now the court would determine the fate of the two most closely entangled with the incident.
Prince Eric and Princess Emelia.
Servants carried documents, scribes hurried from chamber to chamber, and ministers whispered heatedly behind pillars, arguing over the meaning of the king's fragile words and the strange developments that were before it and followed afterward.
By midmorning, the palace was a labyrinth of tension.
Prince Adrain stood at one of the tall windows overlooking the training grounds. He watched soldiers line up, their armor glinting in the sunlight. His fingers tapped restlessly against the stone sill.
He did not like how quickly the council had moved into judgment, or the way they whispered. He did not like the way they looked at him when they thought he wasn't watching with pity mixed with suspicion and concern layered with expectation.
Most of all, he did not like the way the ministers spoke of Eric as if he were already condemned, as if the king's weakened accusation were already the unquestionable truth and as if the investigation no longer mattered.
He turned sharply when footsteps approached.
"Your Highness," said Lord Maeron, the Chief Advisor. "It is time. The council is assembling."
Adrain studied the older man's expression.
Maeron looked tired, heavy-eyed and shoulders slightly stooped but there was a firmness to his posture. Duty had sharpened him, as it always did in moments of crisis.
"Has anyone spoken to my mother?" Adrain asked.
"The queen is already in the hall," Maeron replied. "She asks that you join her."
Adrain nodded once, masking the discomfort in his chest.
He followed Maeron through the corridor, their footsteps echoing as they approached double doors guarded by soldiers. When the doors opened, the sound of low murmurs washed over them.
Inside, the Great Hall was crowded.
Nobles in elaborate robes stood in rows. Military officers in polished breastplates formed a barrier along the sides. Ministers whispered among themselves, flipping through parchment notes filled with accusations, witness statements, and speculations.
At the far end, the king lay half-reclined on a cushioned platform, propped up by healers. His face was pale, eyes half-closed, but he was awake enough to give at least minimal assent to the proceedings.
The queen sat beside him, composed and impenetrable.
When Adrain entered, she turned toward him and gave a small, subtle nod. A gesture that felt more like warning than comfort.
The atmosphere shifted suddenly when the side doors opened again.
Two guards entered first, followed by Prince Eric.
His hands were not bound, though he walked with two soldiers flanking him closely, not as a prisoner, but as someone the kingdom refused to trust.
His face was drawn and his posture straight despite the bleakness surrounding him. He scanned the hall briefly, but his eyes lingered only on his father before dropping to the floor.
A second pair of guards entered with Princess Emelia.
Her long dark hair had been tied back, her posture controlled and regal despite the heavy accusation cast upon her. She looked neither angry nor afraid, only profoundly wounded. Her gown was simple, stripped of jewels or symbols of rank.
Her gaze swept the room once, meeting curious and judging faces alike with quiet dignity.
She paused when she saw Eric.
He gave her a small nod which was the only comfort he could offer.
They were placed at the center of the hall, between two lit braziers whose flames crackled softly.
Adrain's hand tightened at his side. He wanted to step forward, he wanted to stand beside them but he had been forbidden to intervene until the council finished its judgment
Lord Maeron stepped forward, unrolling a parchment.
His voice carried through the hall with solemn authority.
"By the decree of the Royal Council and the authority of His Majesty King Aldric, we gather today to determine responsibility for the grievous act committed against the king on the night of the royal wedding."
The air grew heavier.
"Prince Eric of Arrandelle," Maeron continued, "you stand accused of attempted regicide by lifting a blade against your father, our king, with intent to cause his death."
A wave of murmurs spread. Eric swallowed, but did not speak.
"Princess Emelia of Seatopia," Maeron said, turning his gaze toward her, "you stand accused of the use of sorcery, specifically through the employment of a hypnotic fragrance discovered in your private chamber. This same fragrance was found on the king's cloak, on a guard's robe, and in the vicinity of the palace where a rope was discovered."
Emelia lifted her chin slightly but remained silent.
"And together," Maeron concluded, "you stand accused of conspiring to weaken the king, remove Prince Adrain as successor, and seize the throne by unlawful means."
The hall buzzed again with whispers that were fearful, scandalized, gleeful and horrified. Adrain felt a cold pressure building inside his chest, but he kept his face composed.
Maeron raised a hand, calling for silence.
"These accusations are grave. And so, before judgment is cast, both accused shall be given the chance to speak."
Eric took a slow breath. Every eye in the room was fixed on him.
He stepped forward a single pace.
"My father," he began quietly, addressing the king directly, "I have no memory of raising a blade against you. I only recall feeling weakened, dizzy and unnatural while we spoke. Something affected my senses and my thoughts. I do not deny that I held a knife. But I swear on everything I am… it was not of my will."
His voice was steady, but the pain beneath it was unmistakable.
"I have served this kingdom faithfully all my life," he continued. "I have never desired conflict, never sought power through harm. If something occurred that night, I was not in my right mind. And I beg you to believe me."
The king blinked slowly, his breathing shallow. He did not speak.
Eric bowed his head.
Lord Maeron nodded for him to step back.
When Emelia stepped forward, the hall seemed to hold its breath.
She placed her hands calmly before her as her fingers intertwined.
"I will speak plainly," she said. Her voice was soft yet clear. "The fragrance found in my chamber was not mine. I have never used such a substance, nor have I ever possessed knowledge of hypnotic mixtures. I am not trained in magic. I have no touch for sorcery."
Her eyes swept across the rows of nobles.
"I came to this kingdom to marry the man I love, not to steal a throne. I have no ambition for power beyond the life that was promised to me, which was one of partnership and peace."
Her gaze shifted to Adrain briefly, but with just a flicker before returning to the council.
"I ask only that truth be sought before judgment is cast."
Lord Maeron nodded once. "Your statements have been heard."
Emelia stepped back.
Her hands trembled slightly now, and Eric moved a fraction closer, though they did not touch.
Lysander, the royal Investigator stepped forward next, carrying a small wooden box. When opened, it revealed a cloth pouch containing dried fragments of the fragrance they had taken in a bottle.
"These were discovered beneath the princess's sleeping chamber," the investigator announced. "And the same fragrance was detected faintly on the king's cloak, Talen's robe and the rope found on the palace walls.."
Emelia's eyes widened. "The box is mine, but the fragrance was planted. I never saw that pouch or fragrance before…"
The investigator continued as if she hadn't spoken.
"This fragrance is capable of disorienting the mind when inhaled in concentrated form. The guard known as Talen was manipulated shortly exhaling this similar fragrance. Prince Eric likewise experienced disorientation from this fragrance shortly before the attack."
A rumble of unease spread through the hall.
"And in addition," the investigator said, holding up another object, "this vial was found hidden behind a loose stone in the princess's chamber wall."
Inside the vial was a pale liquid, the bottle we had taken.
Eric frowned. "That box and pouch was not in her room before…."
"Enough," Maeron said gently. "Let the presentation finish."
The investigator bowed.
"Given the evidence and the king's own declaration, the council must decide the appropriate course of action."
He stepped back.
The hall shifted into a heavy silence.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then ministers began whispering, military officers exchanged dark glances and priests murmured prayers.
Nobles leaned toward one another, eyes gleaming with morbid interest.
Some argued quietly that execution was the only penalty for such crimes while others insisted the king's mercy should be honored.
Adrain watched all of it in a storm of helplessness.
Finally, Maeron raised his staff.
"Silence."
The hall obeyed.
He turned to the king.
"Your Majesty. Though you are still recovering, do you hold to your claim that Prince Eric lifted a blade against you?"
The king's eyelids fluttered. He opened them slowly, his gaze distant and tired.
"I… saw him," he whispered. "Eric… held the knife."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the listeners.
Adrain clenched his fists.
Maeron continued, "Do you believe Princess Emelia played a role in guiding his actions?"
The king hesitated.
When he finally spoke, his voice was fragile.
"I do not know. But… the scent… was there when he moved close to me."
The queen touched his hand softly, her face unreadable.
The healers urged him to rest, and he closed his eyes again.
That was all the council needed.
Maeron turned toward the hall.
"It is clear that the king believes what he witnessed. And though there is doubt in certain details, the evidence found in the chambers of Princess Emelia cannot be disregarded."
Emelia inhaled sharply.
Eric looked down, jaw tightening with anguish.
The queen stood suddenly.
"My Lord is alive," she said. "And though wounded, he desires mercy. Let the kingdom not fall into further bloodshed. The people plead for compassion."
A priest stepped forward next.
"Exile," he suggested. "Spare their lives, but remove them far from the kingdom. Let them live, but never return."
Nobles exchanged glances. Some nodded reluctantly.
But what will become of the Beloved two.