The Art of Being Innocent
The royal carriage did not rattle.
It glided.
Well-crafted. Maintained.
Like the kingdom.
Cassian watched Velmoraine pass through the narrow slit in the curtain.
Vendors setting up stalls. Priests crossing streets. Guards changing shifts.
Routine.
Routine was fragile.
He wondered how many of them had cheered during his execution.
He remembered the sound.
He folded his hands calmly in his lap.
Not yet.
---
The Interrogation Chamber
The chamber was smaller than he expected.
In the novel, it had been described as cavernous and oppressive.
Now he saw the truth.
It was intimate.
Stone walls. One narrow window. A single wooden table.
Designed not for intimidation—
—but for pressure.
Lady Merrow stood beside the table.
Spymaster of the Obsidian Hand.
In the book, she had been a secondary antagonist.
Sharp. Unreadable. Efficient.
She studied him now with pale, unblinking eyes.
"My lord Valehart," she said evenly.
"Lady Merrow."
He bowed precisely enough to show respect.
Not submission.
"You are aware of the documents found within your carriage."
"I am aware documents were found," Cassian replied calmly.
She did not smile.
"Forged correspondence between yourself and known rebel cells."
"Forged," he repeated softly.
A pause.
"You admit they are forged?"
"I state that if they were genuine, I would not have sent my carriage empty."
Silence.
A flicker in her gaze.
Not surprise.
Interest.
Good.
---
The First Pivot
In the original timeline, Cassian had defended himself emotionally.
He had insisted on innocence.
Had asked for the king's audience.
Had demanded fairness.
That desperation had sealed him.
This time—
He leaned back slightly in the chair.
"May I see them?"
Merrow slid the parchment across the table.
He did not touch it immediately.
He examined it as if evaluating craftsmanship.
The seal impressed into the wax bore his house crest.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
"Remarkable work," Cassian said lightly.
"You admire your own treason?"
"I admire competence."
Her gaze sharpened.
"There are few in this city capable of replicating my seal so precisely. Fewer still who would risk it."
"You imply internal involvement."
"I imply," Cassian said gently, "that whoever orchestrated this wished me visible."
He met her eyes fully.
"I did not attend."
Another beat of silence.
Merrow did not blink.
"And yet the evidence was prepared regardless," she said.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Cassian allowed a fractional pause.
Because if he answered too quickly, it would feel rehearsed.
Because control is in tempo.
"Because the arrest mattered more than the proof."
That landed.
Subtle shift in her posture.
"Explain."
"Someone required my execution," Cassian said evenly. "Not my guilt."
The room felt colder.
Merrow tapped a finger against the parchment.
"You speak as if you understand the conspiracy."
"I understand desperation," Cassian replied. "Rebellions are not born from hunger alone. They are born from spectacle."
He leaned forward now.
Measured.
"If a noble loyal to the crown were publicly executed for treason… how many houses would feel suddenly unsafe?"
Merrow did not answer.
She didn't need to.
Seeds.
Plant them slowly.
Let them root themselves.
---
The Calculated Risk
This was the moment.
In the novel, he had begged to see the king.
This time—
He reached for the dagger at his belt.
Merrow's hand twitched toward her own weapon.
Cassian calmly unsheathed his blade.
Turned it.
Placed it flat on the table.
Hilt toward her.
"If I intended treason," he said quietly, "I would not have come armed with something so trivial."
Merrow studied him.
"You came armed."
"I came uncertain of the narrative."
Her brow lifted almost imperceptibly.
"Narrative?"
Cassian corrected smoothly.
"Circumstance."
Careful.
He could not reveal too much.
Not yet.
He let silence stretch.
Silence made people fill gaps.
Finally, Merrow spoke.
"You are remarkably composed for a man facing potential execution."
Cassian held her gaze.
"I am remarkably alive for one who was meant to be arrested before dawn."
There.
Just enough.
Her eyes narrowed.
Not anger.
Calculation.
She was beginning to consider it.
The possibility that this was larger.
Sloppier.
More dangerous.
---
The King Observes
Unbeknownst to Cassian—
Behind the stone wall, hidden by lattice and shadow—
King Aldric listened.
He had ordered the chamber modified years ago.
He trusted few people.
Merrow was one.
But trust required verification.
He heard Cassian's calm tone.
No panic.
No outrage.
No denial.
Only assessment.
He will calculate.
The prophecy whispered in his mind.
The king's jaw tightened.
---
Final Move
Merrow rose slowly.
"You claim this was engineered to create spectacle."
"I claim," Cassian corrected gently, "that someone benefits from escalation."
"And you do not?"
Cassian allowed the faintest ghost of a smile.
"If I sought escalation, I would have attended the banquet."
She watched him carefully.
Yes.
Think about that.
He had removed himself.
The script had faltered.
Someone had rushed.
And rushed conspiracies were dangerous.
Merrow gathered the documents.
"This investigation is not concluded."
"Nor should it be," Cassian replied.
She stepped toward the door.
Paused.
"Lord Valehart."
"Yes?"
"If you are innocent… you are either fortunate."
A beat.
"Or very intelligent."
Cassian's expression did not change.
"Let us hope for the former."
But they both knew.
It was not fortune.
---
Aftermath
Cassian exited the palace under guard—
but not in chains.
Publicly visible.
Unharmed.
The crowd watched.
Whispers began.
Arrest avoided.
Execution delayed.
Uncertainty spreads faster than outrage.
Inside the throne chamber, Aldric stared at the remnants of the burned prophecy.
"Accelerate surveillance," the king ordered quietly.
"And prepare the scaffold."
Not because Cassian was proven guilty.
But because if the prophecy was correct—
The longer Valehart lived—
The more dangerous he became.
---
And for the first time since waking—
Cassian felt it.
Not fear.
Not relief.
But the faint thrill of adjustment.
Fate had tried to close its hand.
He had slipped between its fingers.
And somewhere deep within—
He realized something unsettling.
He had enjoyed it.