Maeron lifted his hand again.
"The council has heard the final proposal of exile and not death."
Adrain felt the world tilt slightly but of relief and despair tangled together.
Eric and Emelia exchanged a look of stunned disbelief.
They took a deep breath.
"Let the judgment be read."
"By decree of His Majesty and the Royal Council," Maeron announced, voice solemn,
"Prince Eric of Arrandelle and Princess Emelia of Seatopia are hereby sentenced to exile beyond the borders of this kingdom."
The hall fell into absolute silence.
"You shall be escorted under guard," Maeron continued, "allowed to take only personal belongings approved by the council. You shall not return without the king's explicit pardon. Should you re-enter the kingdom unlawfully, the penalty will be death."
Emelia closed her eyes.
Eric whispered something inaudible under his breath.
Maeron lowered the parchment.
"So it is decided."
Adrain broke rank.
He stepped forward and stood directly before Eric.
The guards stiffened, but Maeron gestured for them to stand down.
Adrain's voice was low, trembling despite his effort to hold it steady.
"I will fight for the truth," he said. "I swear it. This is not the end."
Eric gave a faint, broken smile.
"And what if the truth never comes?" he whispered.
"Then I will find it," Adrain said. "Even if it hides behind every shadow in this palace."
He turned to Emelia.
She met his gaze with quiet resolve.
"Take care of him," Adrain said gently.
"I always have," she replied.
Those words made the court see Adrain in a new light and better.
The hall began to empty as nobles departed whispering, servants hurried away and soldiers returned to their posts.
Finally, only the royal family and the guards remained.
The queen approached Eric and Emelia.
Her expression softened but just barely.
"Mother". Eric said. "I really wouldn't hurt father."
"I know that, my son." Queen Elizabeth said.
"But perhaps this is for the better. I will found out who did this."
Eric felt her love and warmth once again after a long time.
"I pleaded for your lives," she said. "Live well. Do not make me regret this."
Eric looked at her, searching for sincerity. He found it, but she gave nothing else, turning away before he could speak more.
Adrain embraced his brother tightly.
"Live well," he whispered. "Both of you. Live long enough for me to clear your names."
Eric's voice caught.
"Adrain, thank you."
For the first time in days, Adrain allowed his composure to falter. He stepped back, blinking away emotion.
And then, under heavy guard, Eric and Emelia were escorted through the side doors.
They moved toward the outer gates, the unknown and toward a future built on accusation and uncertainty. But also toward hope.
It was a hope that one day, the truth would rise, and the kingdom would finally see what really happened.
The palace felt strangely hollow after Prince Eric and Princess Emelia were escorted beyond the kingdom's borders. Their absence created a void that was quiet, but heavy as stone.
Prince Adrain walked through the corridors after their departure with a stiffness that was entirely new to him. His thoughts were disordered, weaving between anger, sorrow, and a disorienting confusion he didn't dare voice aloud.
He paused at a window where he used to stand alongside Eric during their childhood. Together they would watch the training grounds, betting on which soldier would tire first during the drills, or trying to predict the weather based on cloud shapes.
That window now overlooked an emptiness so profound it unsettled him.
A shadow shifted along the stone floor behind him.
"Your Highness," came a soft voice.
Adrain turned.
It was Athalia.
Always graceful, always composed and never a strand of her dark hair out of place. She approached him with steps that measured sympathy and not haste.
"It seems you've been standing here a long time," she said gently.
"I needed air," he replied, voice flat.
She studied his face, reading him with perceptive eyes. "The council's decision weighs heavily on you, right?."
"It does." He straightened as though ashamed to admit it. "Eric made a terrible mistake and endangered our father. But yet, he's still my brother. Watching him walk away like that... is hard. I cannot pretend it meant nothing."
Athalia's expression softened.
"Even when someone disappoints us,.." she murmured, "..love does not vanish, it simply wounds us in new ways."
Adrain exhaled shakily and looked back through the window.
"I keep thinking of what he said, that he was not in his right mind and something was done to him. Regardless of the evidence…" He shook his head. "He still hurt father and it is impossible to ignore."
"And you shouldn't ignore it," Athalia said. She stepped closer, her voice low. "Your father nearly died. Whatever possessed Eric, whether madness or manipulation, the fact remains: he held the knife."
The words hit Adrain like a blow.
He turned away. "Don't remind me."
"I must," she said, laying a hand lightly on his arm. "Someone must help you face the truth. I care for you too much to let you drown in guilt that does not belong to you."
Adrain hesitated, then nodded, letting her touch steady him.
That was what he needed, someone to anchor him. Someone who understood the political weight now resting on his shoulders.
And Athalia… seemed to always know exactly what to say.
After the exile, Athalia returned to her chambers later that evening as her calm expression melted the moment the door shut behind her. She pressed her back to the door and exhaled slowly.
Then she smiled. It was a quiet and satisfied smile.
"Finally," she whispered into the dim light.
She moved toward her vanity, admiring her reflection with a serene pride.
The game was not over, but the hardest move had been played.
Eric, the unpredictable one and the one guided by his emotions instead of logic was gone.
Emelia, the beloved princess with gentle influence over the kingdom and Eric was gone.
The pieces on the board were now arranged exactly as she wanted.
She lifted the carved wooden hairpin from her vanity. The same one she had worn the night she slipped the hypnotic pouch and bottle beneath Emelia's chamber floor. The same night she planted the vial behind the stone in the wall.
She twirled the hairpin between her fingers.
"They never suspected," she whispered. "Not even Adrain."
Her smile widened, but she kept it controlled. It was never loud and never careless. Even now, her celebration remained quiet and precise but just enough for her satisfaction and never enough for a curious servant to overhear.
She moved to the table where several scrolls lay open filled with economic reports, diplomatic correspondences and drafts of royal statements.
Documents she had encouraged Adrain to review and documents that aligned her future with his step by assured step.
"Now," she murmured, brushing a finger along the seal of one scroll, "it begins."
She inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet quiet of triumph.
Over the next few days, the palace adapted slowly but noticeably to the absence of Prince Eric.
It began with the staff.
Footmen who once hurried respectfully to greet Eric on his visits to the stables no longer glanced toward the courtyard expecting him.
Guards who once saluted both princes now straightened more firmly when Adrain passed.
Servants who feared speaking too casually around Eric now grew bold in their chatter.
At first, Adrain tried to ignore it.
But then he overheard a group of nobles whispering in the granite courtyard.
"Prince Eric's departure settles the succession. The kingdom can breathe again."
"The council acted wisely." Another said.
"Prince Adrain has always been the sensible one."
Adrain stopped mid-step.
Sensible, reliable or stable. All things he strived to be.
But now these words felt like a shadow cast over the memory of his brother. A quiet rewriting of everything the kingdom once believed about the two princes.
He walked away without confronting them. Yet the whispers only grew.
The people in the city were no different.
Eric had always been seen as bold, adventurous and charming in an unruly sort of way. Crowds cheered the loudest for him during parades. Children adored him.
Merchants whispered that he would one day be the kind of king who led armies in person.
But after the news of his alleged crime spread and after the king confirmed that Eric held the blade, the tone changed.
Mothers pulled children closer when speaking his name. Artisans frowned as they adjusted their stalls. Bakers lowered their voices, speaking of betrayal.
One evening, Adrain slipped into the city disguised. He blended into the common crowd easily, cloak pulled over his head.
Outside a tavern, two men argued loudly.
"He tried to kill the king," one said. "He deserves worse than exile."
"You weren't there," the other argued. "None of us were."
"But I trust His Majesty's word," the first man shot back. "He loved Prince Eric, so If the king says Eric held the knife, that's enough. It must have been difficult for him too "
Adrain stepped back, troubled and not wanting to be seen.
Inside the tavern, the conversations were the same with suspicion, disapproval and resignation.
And then, in the corner, someone said:
"Prince Adrain will make a fine king."
Heads nodded.
"He's calm, clever and loyal."
"A good choice." Another said.
"A better choice. He will surely not raise a hand against anyone."
Adrain swallowed hard and left the tavern quickly. He felt sick.
When he got back to the palace, Athalia found him pacing his chamber.
"You went into the city, didn't you?," she said, closing the door behind her.
He didn't deny it.
She approached with slow, measured steps and reached for his hands.
"What did you hear?"
Adrain hesitated. "People believe the council made the right choice. They think I'll be a better king."
Athalia squeezed his hands gently. "They're recognizing your strength."
"No," he said quietly. "They're rewriting Eric's memory."
She tilted her head. "Time always reshapes truth and sometimes painfully."
He pulled his hands away, walking toward the fireplace.
"Athalia… was there truly no other explanation? Could someone have framed or influenced him? What if the scent had been placed deliberately? What if Emelia had been framed?"
Her pulse quickened. But her expression remained calm, almost sorrowful. She wondered why someone she was sacrificing much for couldn't see the light in everything that had happened.
"Adrain," she said softly, "you must not torture yourself with impossible theories."
He turned toward her, searching her eyes.
"Impossible?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "This will be the last time I'll repeat this. The council found the evidence in her room. Your father saw Eric with the knife. To doubt all of it is to doubt your family, your kingdom, and the entire court."
He fell silent, staring at the flames.
Athalia stepped closer again.
"You did nothing wrong," she whispered. "You are not responsible for their choices."
Her voice wrapped around him like warm silk.
"You're doing what a prince must do. Accepting the burden fate has given but you have to let go of a guilt not your's and focus on the kingdom. The Kingdom needs a leader and you will stand as one."
He closed his eyes.
"And Eric?" he murmured. "What is his fate?"
Athalia touched his shoulder.
"Whatever he makes of exile," she replied softly. "He chose his path but I hope they live well."
It was not the truth, but the truth she needed him to believe.
And slowly, with the exhaustion of grief weighing him down, he wasn't sure he believed her.
The next days formed a pattern:
Meetings.
Council sessions.
Political discussions.
Subtle changes in the palace's hierarchy.
The king, though recovering, remained confined to his chambers, leaving daily affairs increasingly in Adrain's hands.
Ministers began bringing matters to him first. Military captains requested his counsel. Nobles sought his favor at dinners.
One afternoon, a visiting duchess bowed before Adrain in the throne room.
"Your Highness," she said, "it is a comfort to see leadership steady in these troubled days."
Adrain faltered. "My father still reigns."
"Yes," she said, "but you guide us in his stead."
When she withdrew, Adrain felt Athalia step beside him.
"You see?" she said softly. "The kingdom is turning to you."
"I didn't ask for that."
"No leader ever does," she replied. "But the role chooses the one most fit."
He didn't respond.
She touched his arm lightly.
"And you are fit, Adrain."
He stared at her and saw the confidence in her eyes, the certainty in her voice and felt the weight pressing on his shoulders ease slightly.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he needed to accept his place. Maybe this was what the kingdom needed even if he didn't feel ready.
Another evening came.
Athalia returned to her chambers after a long council meeting where Adrain had spoken with unusual authority. She closed the door behind her again, exhaling slowly.
She walked to the window where the moon spilled in like a silver ribbon.
Softly, she whispered:
"Good."
The kingdom was shifting and power was slowly realigning itself toward Adrain, toward her influence and toward the future she had envisioned long before the chaos began.
She sat at her writing desk and dipped her quill into ink.
She began drafting a letter. It was one coded with subtle language only her hidden ally would understand.
The path is clearing. The obstacle is gone. Continue as planned.
She sealed it with careful precision.
Then she sat back, folding her hands in her lap.
"Soon," she whispered to the silent room. "All will be as it should."
A soft knock came at the door.
She straightened instantly.
"Who's there?"