Chapter 23 THE KINGS TESTIMONY
"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.