A month had passed since the rumours first began to spread. What had started as suspicion had grown into a public crisis. Valkan was sealed entirely. The Royal Gates were shut, and beyond them stood thousands of witches from different bloodlines. They gathered in silence demanding answers. It was a mercy that none of them had chosen to use their magic.
Inside the Royal Court Room, the air felt colder than the winter outside.
King Thaddeus Ashbourne sat at the head of the long table, his hands clasped beneath his chin, one elbow resting against polished wood. Snow drifted beyond the tall windows, but his attention was fixed elsewhere.
"Why are you not answering, Sanctifier?" he demanded at last. His emerald eyes locked onto the man seated three chairs to his right. "What have you done?"
The High Sanctifier, an elderly man wrapped in a white cloak, looked every year of his eight decades. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his expression carefully blank.
"I do not know what you are referring to, Your Majesty," he replied, feigning innocence. "What has been happening?"
The king's palm struck the table with a sharp crack. Several strands of grey hair slipped loose across his forehead.
"How do you not know?" Thaddeus gritted his teeth, voice strained. "You are the highest official of the Temple. It is your duty to know."
The Sanctifier swallowed, eyes flickering between in fear. "Your Majesty, the Northern Temples are located in the mountain regions. They are difficult to inspect regularly. It was negligence on our part."
A soft scoff echoed from the far end of the table.
The king's gaze shifted.
There sat Crown Prince Kairan Alistair Ashbourne, turning twelve years old in three months. His hair was black like polished obsidian, falling neatly over his ivory face. His posture was straight. His eyes were the same emerald as his father's. Dark arched lashes and thick eyeborws framed his face.
"What is so amusing, young prince?" the king asked through clenched teeth.
"Your Majesty," Kairan replied calmly. His voice was light and youthful. "Negligence from such an experienced and highly placed official is difficult not to find laughable."
His gaze shifted toward the Sanctifier.
"How long have you held your position?" he asked.
The old man avoided meeting the prince's eyes. "It has been sixty five years, Your Highness."
"Hm."
King Thaddeus rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I entrusted you with complete authority over the Temples," he said coldly. "I placed my faith in you, and this is how you repay me, old man?"
"That was your mistake," the prince replied lightly, and he laughed under his breath.
Thaddeus shot him a sharp look. "You have grown insolent, Prince. From whom are you learning this behavior?"
"If the officials of my kingdom are this incompetent," Kairan answered smoothly, "insolence becomes a necessity."
Several nobles seated at the table failed to suppress their laughter. The tension between father and son had always been a spectacle.
On the prince's right, seated in the second chair, was Duke Oberon Valtoria of Solterra. His dark bronze skin contrasted with his deep blue eyes, and his brown hair was neatly tied back. He was the younger brother of Cyrion, and looked just like him did when he was young. He was younger than Cyrion by thirteen year.
Oberon wae known for his devotion to his family and his fairness toward his duchy, Oberon's loyalty lay not with power, but with principle.
He cleared his throat. "Your Highness, perhaps we should first determine how to resolve this matter. The markets are closed. The people are afraid."
"What resolution is there?" Thaddeus snapped. "We should imprison them all."
Davian, seated in the first chair beside the prince, leaned forward. "Your Majesty, that would be unwise. We can no longer dismiss the accusations." His gaze shifted deliberately toward the High Sanctifier. "The Temple's prolonged silence has already spoken for itself."
The king's eyes narrowed. "Then what do you propose?"
Davian rose calmly to his feet. "I suggest that we issue a formal address in the central square."
Murmurs broke out across the chamber.
The Duke of Irsulan scoffed openly. "For what purpose? Why must we stand before those wretched creatures?"
Davian's smile did not waver. He was almost humoured by Irsulan Duke's little wit. "Because those 'wretched creatures' possess enough power to end us here and now."
Prince Kairan leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly toward the Duke of Irsulan. "Are you, by any chance, involved in the northern situation, Duke Rhelan?"
The young duke stiffened. Irsulan bordered the northern mountains, and part of his territory stretched into those harsh regions. He swallowed visibly. "No, Your Highness. I am not. I would never involve myself with those—"
He fell silent under the prince's stare.
"I am merely a child," Kairan said softly, tone bubbly suddenly. "I claim no knowledge of your intentions. Yet your reaction suggests far more than you realize."
Duke Rhelan lowered his gaze and said nothing further.
Davian turned towards Thaddeus, his tone confident. "Transparency has always been expected of the Temples. The people trusted them with their safety. If that trust has been broken, it becomes our responsibility to provide answers and justice openly."
"Correct," Kairan said, pointing his quill toward Davian in approval.
Davian inclined his head with a faint, knowing smile.
The meeting dragged on for half a day without pause. Voices rose, tempers flared, and arguments circled the same points until exhaustion dulled even outrage. In the end, a decision was reached. The formal address would be held in the central square, before the eyes of the public.
King Thaddeus finally pushed back his chair and stood.
"This meeting is dismissed," his gaze followed everyone on the table. "One week from now, we reconvene in the central square with proper evidence. Until the investigation is complete, Valkan remains closed for the safety of the public."
It was the first time in history that the capital had been placed under such restriction.
The king strode out, though not before casting a hard glare at his son. The nobles began filing out soon after..
Prince Kairan rose from his seat calmly.
"You were impressive, Duke Davian," he ran hand through his clothes, glancing up at him.
Davian smiled faintly. "You honor me, Your Highness."
Footsteps approached from behind.
"May I have a word with the young prince?" Duke Oberon asked politely.
Kairan turned toward him, his tone suddenly very polite and respectful. "You may. What is it?"
Oberon hesitated, which in itself was unusual for him. He cleared his throat and looked faintly uncomfortable. "It is not related to court matters. I must apologize in advance. I am merely fulfilling a request."
Kairan and Davian exchanged a brief look.
Oberon inhaled slowly. "Princess Sia has asked that you spend your next recess in Solterra."
Silence followed for a moment. Birds ran on head of Prince and suddenly color crept instantly up his neck and into his cheeks. His posture stiffened as though someone had insulted his dignity.
"I am the Crown Prince," he said, throwing his hands on his sides tightly. "I have responsibilities."
Davian coughed lightly to hide his amusement. "Princess Artemisia seems rather fond of you, Your Highness."
Kairan shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. "That is irrelevant," he muttered, already turning away. "Tell her I am occupied."
He walked off with rigid steps, grumbling under his breath.
Oberon pressed a hand to his forehead, his tone embarrassed and defeated. "I am compelled to deliver such messages for my daughters. My sia is excessively indulged with Crown prince."
Davian shook his head with quiet laughter. "That much is clear. They are fond of each other"
Oberon's expression softened and he nodded. "Yes. But i feel very fortunate to be her father figure."
He suddenly went silent. Talking about his daughters reminded him of Cessalie who had seen last time, a long time ago. He smiled. "How has Cessalie been?"
Davian's smile faded slightly, seeing Oberon's somber smile. "I have not been able to see her for nearly a month because of this unrest."
"I see." Oberon nodded. "Please inform her that Duchess Elowen wishes to meet with her."
Davian inclined his head. "I will deliver the message."
Meanwhile, Cessalie sat curled up on her bed, wrapped in layers of soft wool. The room was warm from the hearth, but winter had a way of slipping into the bones anyway. A romance novel rested in her hands. It's corners worn from being opened and closed far too often lately.
There had been a time when she would have laughed at such books. Love stories had once seemed childish to her, meant for girls who had nothing better to do than sigh over ink and paper. But things were changed now.
Love had taken root inside her quietly and without permission. Now every confession written on those pages made her cheeks warm, and every stolen touch described in careful detail sent a flutter through her stomach.
She hid her smile behind the book. "What am I even doing?" she murmured.
Embarrassed by herself, she lightly tapped her forehead with the book. The warmth in her chest faded almost instantly when raised voices drifted in through the slightly open window.
Her expression tightened.
She slipped off the bed, crossed the room, and climbed onto her desk to reach the window more easily. Pushing the curtain aside, she looked down into the courtyard.
Snow was falling in soft flakes. The ground was already layered in white, and breath turned to mist in the cold air.
Isa stood in the middle of it.
Amara's youngest daughter looked almost picturesque against the snowfall. Her wheat-colored hair was braided neatly down her back, and her hazel eyes flashed with green and brown when she turned her head. She looked delicate, almost doll-like.
Cessalie knew better.
Isa never pretended to be gentle the way her mother and elder sister did. She never softened her words or hid her cruelty. Cessalie had long ago decided that Isa was a devil in pretty wrapping.
Right now, that devil was circling little Evan.
The six-year-old knelt in the snow, small hands red from the cold as he packed snow together carefully. A uneven half-formed snowman stood in front of him. His dark apricot-colored hair was damp from the falling flakes, and his deep blue eyes, almost black in certain light.
In one hand, he still held his doll, refusing to set it down even while working.
"You're a boy, Evan," Isa said mockingly. "Why are you building snowmen with a doll in your hand?"
One of her friends laughed. "Maybe he thinks it is his snow bride."
The other girl laughed. "Or maybe he wants to wear my dresses next."
Snow clung to the hem of Isa's cloak as she stepped closer. "My clothes are expensive," she smirked bitterly. "This low-born child does not deserve to even look at them."
Evan said nothing. He simply kept shaping the snow with one hand while holding the doll tightly under his arm.
Cessalie felt her jaw tighten.
She had always hated cruelty, but there was something especially vile about mocking a child in the snow. Her fingers curled into fists against the window frame.
"This girl," she muttered, "I wish I could throw her straight into streets."
She knew she would not. Trouble in this household came with consequences, and those consequences were never mild. Still, she could not look away.
One of Isa's friends suddenly lunged forward and snatched the doll from Evan's hand.
"My little sister will use this, not you."
Evan scrambled to his feet, reaching for it, but Isa shoved him back. His boots slipped on the packed snow, and he fell hard onto the frozen ground. Powder scattered around him.
Cessalie flinched.
"I should not interfere," she whispered to herself.
She stepped down from the desk and turned away from the window, forcing herself toward the bed.
Then she heard it.
"Ma!"
"Ma… ma…"
It was not loud, small and breaking.
Cessalie froze. Her throat tightened painfully. There was something unbearable about that sound, about a child calling for warmth while kneeling in snow.
"Enough," she said under her breath.
She left her room without another thought and hurried down into the courtyard.
Isa was still laughing. "You cry so easily. Are you sure you are not a girl?"
Evan's hands were buried in the snow as he tried to push himself up. His cheeks were wet, whether from tears or melting flakes, it was impossible to tell. "Ma… ma…"
Isa bent closer. her voice lowered. "Your mother will not come, Evan. She is too busy entertaining my father and ruining my moth—"
She did not get to finish.
Isa screamed as her head jerked back sharply. Cessalie had seized a fistful of her hair without hesitation.
Snowflakes continued to fall around them as the courtyard fell silent.
Isa clawed at Cessalie's wrist. "Let go!"
"Isa," Cessalie said evenly, her turquoise eyes cold, "before you speak about someone else's mother, learn the truth about your own."
She released her and shoved her backward. Isa slipped on the snow and fell beside Evan.
"How dare you insult my mother!" Isa shouted, her face flushed from cold and humiliation.
Cessalie stepped closer, snow crunching beneath her boots. "I only speak what everyone knows. Your mother broke another woman's home too, and she is not married to my father."
She did not particularly care about the old scandal. She simply wanted to strike where it hurt.
Isa's face drained of color before turning bright red. Tears filled her eyes.
"I will tell Father," her voice shook and lips quivered.
Before she could say more, Cessalie slapped her. The sound was sharp even through the hush of falling snow.
Isa's head turned with the force of it. A red mark bloomed against her pale skin.
"Go ahead," Cessalie said calmly, folding her arms. "Now you have something real to complain about. Would you like more?"
Isa's tears fell freely now, mixing with melting snow on her cheeks. Her earlier arrogance was gone.
Behind them, Evan crawled toward his fallen doll. He picked it up carefully and pressed it against his chest, then returned to his half built snowman as if nothing else mattered.
Cessalie did not look at him.
She kept her gaze fixed on Isa as the snow continued to fall around them.