Chapter 25 BROKEN HOPE
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