The throne room was unusually silent.

  It was the kind of silence that crept in before a storm—unsettling, anticipatory. Saezu stood near the center, alone, his boots echoing softly against the marble floor. Above him, light bled through the stained-glass dome, casting fractured colors across his shoulders. The guards stood rigid along the walls. The nobles sat poised, murmuring behind gloved hands.

  Then the King entered.

  King Alric walked like a man weighed down by more than armor. His steps were deliberate, slow. He did not meet Saezu’s eyes as he ascended the dais.

  “Bring them forward,” King Alric said.

  His voice rang out across the chamber.

  Two knights entered from the far archway, flanking a young steward in chains. Saezu frowned. He recognized the boy—Jeren, one of the record keepers from the east wing. Always nervous. Always helpful.

  The boy’s eyes darted to Saezu with fear.

  “Saezu Goldhearth,” Alric said, his voice colder now, “you are hereby accused of conspiracy against the crown.”

  Saezu’s heart stilled. The room blurred at the edges. He spoke calmly, though the room felt like it tilted.

  “By whom?” Saezu asked.

  “Testimony was given,” said Hadric, stepping forward from the King’s right side.

  “By a frightened servant,” Saezu said.

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  “By a loyal subject,” Hadric replied.

  “This is a lie,” Saezu said, turning back to the King. “I’ve done nothing but serve. I’ve trained in your guard, bled for your house, followed every command.”

  “And yet,” said Leontes, now stepping into view, “there is evidence. Documents taken from the vault. Maps. Correspondence with unnamed allies.”

  “Forged,” Saezu said. “You planted them.”

  Varric spoke next, arms crossed. “Careful, boy. Accusing three royal princes of treason could be your last mistake.”

  “I didn’t accuse,” Saezu said. “I stated the obvious.”

  King Alric finally looked at him.

  “Do you deny it?” King Alric asked.

  “I deny every word,” Saezu said. “You raised me better than this. Or did you only call me back so they could destroy me publicly?”

  “You were brought back to be tested,” said Alric. “But now I must protect the realm.”

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  Then the King gestured.

  “Take him to the Black Wing. Until we decide what to do with him.”

  Saezu did not resist as the guards moved. But as they gripped his arms, he locked eyes with each of his brothers.

  “You’ve made your move,” Saezu said. “I hope you know what comes next.”

  The Black Wing was not a dungeon. It was worse.

  Buried deep beneath the palace, it was a relic from centuries past, when kings silenced threats not with steel, but isolation. Saezu sat in a narrow cell of black stone, the walls damp with the breath of ghosts. Days passed—or nights. Time lost meaning.

  He thought of Elayna. Of Mirelle. Of the sword he had left behind.

  And he waited.

  On the seventh day, the door opened.

  Fenric stepped inside.

  “They made their move sooner than expected,” Fenric said.

  “They’re afraid,” Saezu replied.

  Fenric crouched beside him. “You have two choices. Sit here and rot. Or fight this from within.”

  “Do I have support?” Saezu asked.

  Fenric nodded. “Some guards. A few council members. Elayna’s been asking questions too loudly.”

  “Then they’ll come for her next,” Saezu said.

  “She won’t run.”

  “I wouldn’t ask her to.”

  Fenric handed him a parchment. “Your trial is in three days. They’re calling it public. Be ready.”

  Saezu read the parchment. It wasn’t a defense.

  It was a list of names.

  Allies. Enemies.

  Targets.

  He smiled without warmth.

  “They want a villain,” Saezu said.

  Fenric stood. “Then give them a story they’ll choke on.”

  And Saezu began to plan.