Chapter 21 — A Trial Without Mercy.
Inside the Queen’s private chamber—
Thick velvet curtains muted the outside world, sealing the room in a heavy, intimate silence. A single mana-lamp burned near the window, its light casting long shadows across shelves lined with ancient tomes and sealed royal documents. This was not a place meant for performance.
It was a place for truth.
Queen Calista stood near the table, one hand resting against polished wood, shoulders rigid.
The door opened without ceremony.
“Elowen Calista.”
The voice was sharp—not insolent, but familiar.
Elara stepped inside, cloak still draped over his shoulders, eyes dark with restrained fury.
“I heard you ordered the arrest of that child,” he said.
The Queen did not turn immediately.
“I had no choice,” Calista replied at last.
“Someone reported the matter directly to the High Priest.”
Elara froze.
“…What?”
Shock crossed his face openly now.
“To the High Priest?” he repeated. “Not the court. Not the council.”
His jaw tightened.
“So someone deliberately escalated it,” he said grimly.
“They wanted no delay. No internal review.”
Calista exhaled slowly.
“That child was enjoying a rare moment of peace,” Elara continued, anger slipping into his voice.
“And someone chose that moment to strike.”
Silence stretched.
Calista finally turned to face him.
“When did you become so concerned with Princess Rynvaris?” she asked calmly.
“When did you grow close to her?”
Elara met her gaze without hesitation.
“I didn’t,” he said firmly.
“And this has nothing to do with affection.”
He stepped forward, placing one hand against the table.
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“She passed the Trial of the First King.”
The room seemed to still.
Calista’s eyes narrowed—then softened, just slightly.
“…You’re certain?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t speak of it otherwise,” Elara replied.
“You know what that trial means. You know who is acknowledged by it.”
A faint, bitter smile curved Calista’s lips.
“Oh,” she murmured.
“So she passed.”
She looked away, gaze drifting toward the window.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she continued quietly.
“She carries that man’s blood, after all.”
Elara clenched his fist.
“And because of that,” he said, voice low,
“she’s being targeted.”
Calista did not deny it.
“This accusation is too clean,” Elara added.
“Too precise. Someone has prepared this for a long time.”
The Queen’s expression hardened again—ruler before friend.
“And yet,” she said,
“once the Court of Auriviel is invoked, even I cannot halt it.”
Elara closed his eyes briefly.
“…Then protect her,” he said.
“If you cannot stop the blade—at least make sure it cuts the right target.”
Calista said nothing.
But when Elara turned to leave, her voice followed him.
“I will not let the court condemn her without proof,” she said quietly.
“That much—I promise you as both Queen…”
She paused.
“…and friend.”
Elara stopped at the door.
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
After some time—
Rynvaris stood alone at the center of the grand courtroom.
Cold marble pressed through the thin soles of her shoes, and the echo of her own breathing sounded unnaturally loud beneath the vaulted ceiling. Towering pillars carved with divine scripture rose on either side, their surfaces glowing faintly with Auriviel’s holy sigils. Golden light filtered down from the high stained-glass dome above, not warm—judging.
Her heart hammered in her chest.
At the highest dais sat the Vice Priest of the Great God Auriviel, robes flowing like still water, his aged face devoid of mercy or kindness. His eyes were calm, distant—eyes that had condemned princes and absolved queens without ever changing expression.
Beside him sat Queen Elowen Calista.
She did not look at Rynvaris as a mother might.
She looked at her as a ruler.
Her posture was immaculate, fingers resting lightly against the arm of her throne, gaze sharp enough to cut through steel.
Behind Rynvaris stood Sir Orion Blackveil.
He did not touch her.
He did not restrain her.
Yet his presence was unmistakable—an immovable wall between her and escape.
To the sides gathered the witnesses.
Princess Sylvaris stood straight, face composed but eyes tight with concern.
The Eighth Prince Draven leaned back slightly, arms folded, studying the scene with an unreadable gaze.
Maid Moon stood behind the nobles, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone pale.
All around them, noblemen and ladies whispered behind fans and sleeves—then fell silent the moment a priest’s staff struck the floor.
Tap.
The sound echoed like a verdict.
Rynvaris swallowed.
She had not even been told why she was here.
The air itself felt heavy, as if the courtroom were holding its breath.
Finally, the Vice Priest raised his staff.
His voice echoed, deep and absolute.
“It has been brought before the Court of Auriviel,” he intoned,
“that Princess Rynvaris of the royal bloodline has abused her station.”
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Rynvaris’s fingers twitched.
“She is accused of engaging in unauthorized corporate dealings for personal gain,” the Vice Priest continued,
“and of selling the free rations allocated for the common people—thereby exploiting royal authority for profit.”
The words struck like a physical blow.
Gasps spread through the nobles.
Rynvaris’s eyes widened.
“…What?”
The sound left her lips before she could stop it.
Her vision swam.
"Free rations? Corporate dealings?"
"I don’t even know where the ration warehouses are."
Her thoughts spiraled.
I’ve barely begun my journey… and now I’m being accused of something I’ve never touched. How did this even happen? This has to be a frame.
Her jaw clenched.
And if it’s a frame—then there are flaws. There always are.
I’ll find them.
I’ll prove my innocence.
And then I’ll decide who truly deserves judgment.
Silence crashed back down over the courtroom.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
Even the nobles who had gasped moments earlier now stood frozen, afraid to draw divine attention.
The Vice Priest’s gaze settled fully upon her.
“Princess Rynvaris,” he asked, voice calm and merciless,
“do you plead guilty to these charges?”
The weight of the gods pressed down upon her shoulders.
