Chapter 27 THE EXILE
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.
Maeron 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.