The sky over the Union Capital was a sharp, unbroken gray—neither storming nor clear, but suspended in a chill tension that mirrored the atmosphere inside Daren's chest.
The convoy from Valenfirth rolled across the North Causeway in measured silence, escorted by banners bearing the silver crest of the Empress. Yet despite its grandeur, it felt less like an imperial procession and more like a march into enemy territory.
Daren rode beside the Empress's carriage, armored, alert, and fully aware of the stares that followed them. Riders from other kingdoms whispered as the procession passed—some curious, some hostile, some too calculating for comfort.
When the Capital gates opened, a herald shouted:
"Empress Lysandra of Valenfirth—summoned for emergency hearing before the Union Council!"
His tone held no welcome.
Only protocol.
Only neutrality.
Only the cold reminder that she was not among allies.
The Council Hall
The Hall of Accusations was vast—an intimidating amphitheater of stone, glass, and towering banners representing the seven kingdoms of the Union. Massive columns framed tiered seats, filled with representatives, ministers, and advisors whose eyes gleamed with interest at the arriving Empress.
Some in curiosity.
Some with recognition.
Many in expectation of blood.
Daren walked a step behind Lysandra as she crossed the marble floor, her icy blue gown trailing behind her like a banner of defiance. The chamber quieted upon her arrival.
Then—
A single voice echoed.
"Let the hearing commence."
High Chancellor Varyon—elderly, stern, and notorious for his absolute loyalty to the Union's image—stood atop the central dais.
Lysandra approached the speaking podium, chin raised, posture immaculate.
Not a tremor.
Not a falter.
Not a sign of fear.
Daren remained at her right—an unusual position that many noticed instantly.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"Her shield knight stands with her?"
"Is that allowed?"
"Since when does a knight share the floor with royalty?"
The High Chancellor struck his staff.
"Order."
The hall quieted.
Opening Charges
The scribes unfurled a long scroll.
"Empress Lysandra of Valenfirth," one read, "you stand summoned for review regarding the incident of aggression that endangered the interests and envoys of the Kingdom of Asterfell."
Daren's jaw clenched.
Lysandra's expression remained unreadable.
The scribe continued:
"The Council seeks clarification regarding the alleged hostility, the injuries claimed by Asterfell's attendants, and your use of force within diplomatic bounds."
The words were sharp.
Crafted to suggest guilt without stating it.
Lysandra's reply was calm.
"I seek clarification as well," she said. "Particularly regarding why the assailants who infiltrated my palace—many of whom wore Asterfell's insignia—are not mentioned in your charges."
A ripple tore through the chamber.
The Chancellor scowled. He had wanted her defensive.
Instead, she attacked.
"Asterfell's king," he said sharply, "claims no involvement."
"Then he lies," Lysandra answered without hesitation.
More murmurs.
The Chancellor struck his staff again. "You will not level accusations without proof."
Lysandra's tone stayed cold. "I brought proof."
She nodded to Rhedon, who stepped forward and placed sealed documents onto the central table.
"Recorded identifications of the infiltrators. Confiscated insignia. Intercepted orders. Witness statements."
She paused.
"And blood-stained weaponry marked with Asterfell's sigil."
The chamber erupted.
Some gasped.
Some shouted.
Some whispered urgently to their advisors.
The High Chancellor's eyes narrowed—not pleased, not impressed.
Threatened.
Asterfell's Defense
From the left seating rose King Mavren's Envoy—Lord Halstrin, a broad man with a polished smile that hid rot beneath.
He bowed shallowly.
"With respect, Council," he began smoothly, "Asterfell cannot be held responsible for the actions of criminals who may have impersonated our soldiers."
Lysandra didn't blink.
Daren felt heat rise under his collar.
Halstrin continued:
"Valenfirth is known for internal unrest, unstable noble factions, and…" he let the pause drag cruelly, "an under-trained palace guard."
Daren stepped forward before he could stop himself.
"The palace guard fought twelve trained assassins and suffered minimal casualties."
Halstrin smirked. "Ah, yes. Including yourself, Sir Vale. The Empress seems quite… dependent on your personal involvement."
The implication slithered across the hall.
Lysandra's eyes flashed.
Daren opened his mouth—but she lifted her hand, stopping him.
Her voice cut sharp as cold steel.
"My knight's loyalty is not under review, Lord Halstrin. Asterfell's behavior is."
Halstrin's smile tightened.
"As you say, Your Majesty," he replied lightly. "It is simply curious that the only one to survive among the assassins was a man whose injuries prevented interrogation."
A lie.
A brazen one.
Lysandra's hands curled into fists—hidden within her sleeves.
Daren saw.
The Council didn't.
The Crossfire
The High Chancellor turned his gaze to Lysandra.
"Your evidence is noted. But Asterfell denies involvement. Until solid confirmation is proven, this Council must consider all possibilities—including that the attack originated from within Valenfirth."
A low murmur spread.
Daren felt rage tighten in his chest.
But Lysandra—
She only smiled.
Not sweetly.
Not kindly.
Cold. Controlled. Deadly.
"The Council may consider whatever it wishes," she said softly. "But I will remind this chamber that the Crest Wing—the most protected area of my palace—can only be breached through specialized knowledge."
She looked directly at the Chancellor.
"Knowledge that Asterfell alone received during our last diplomatic exchange."
Another explosion of murmurs.
Halstrin stood again, face dark.
"This is baseless! Asterfell has no reason to—"
"King Mavren has every reason," Lysandra said coolly. "His duel challenge failed. His proposal failed. His standing diminished. And now he seeks the Council's sympathy through false victimhood."
Her voice did not shake.
It cut.
Precise.
Deadly.
Halstrin roared, "You dare—"
"I do," she interrupted.
The entire chamber fell silent.
The High Chancellor inhaled sharply. "Empress, you will refrain from—"
"I will refrain from nothing," she said, eyes burning with imperial fury. "I was summoned here to be judged for an attack committed against me. And instead, I find myself defending against manufactured accusations while the true aggressor hides behind your robes."
Gasps.
Some ministers leaned forward.
Others leaned back.
The Chancellor struck his staff again.
"You tread dangerous ground, Your Majesty."
"So does Asterfell," she replied without hesitation. "And I will not walk it blind."
The Turning Point
The Chancellor exhaled slowly.
"If you have nothing further, the Council will deliberate—"
"I do," she said, cutting him off.
She lifted a second sealed folder—previously hidden beneath her cloak.
"I subpoena a full investigation by the Neutral City of Rhydenfort."
A unified gasp.
Rhydenfort—the unbiased city-state whose investigations were feared even by kings.
The Chancellor paled. "You cannot—"
"I can," she said. "Article Forty-Two of the Union Charter grants any reigning monarch the right to demand third-party investigation when diplomatic conflict arises."
Daren felt the air shift.
This was her trap.
She had planned this.
Halstrin sputtered, "This is outrageous—!"
"It is legal," she corrected.
Silence.
All eyes turned to the High Chancellor.
Cornered.
Unable to deny the request without violating the Union's own laws.
The staff struck the marble floor.
"Very well," he said through clenched teeth. "The Council accepts the Empress's petition. Rhydenfort will investigate."
Lysandra bowed her head slightly.
"Thank you."
It was not gratitude.
It was victory.
Adjournment
The Chancellor's voice rang out:
"This session is suspended pending the investigation."
The hall erupted with noise—ministers rushing to discuss, advisors scribbling notes, envoys glaring daggers.
Lysandra turned and walked away.
Daren followed.
Only when they stepped into the marble corridor outside did she inhale sharply—as if the tension crushed her lungs the moment she was safe from eyes.
Daren moved closer, instinctive.
"Are you—"
She didn't let him finish.
"That went worse than expected," she whispered.
"And also better," he replied.
She gave him a tired smile.
"Yes… both."
She exhaled.
"They won't stop, Daren."
"I know."
"They'll try harder now."
"I know."
He waited.
Then softly:
"But so will we."
A long silence stretched.
Then, very quietly:
"I'm glad you were there."
She didn't look at him when she said it.
She didn't need to.
He felt the truth in every word.