Crown Prince Thalion Dáranor stood near the tall windows of the Crown Hall's eastern wing, arms folded as he watched the court stir below. The morning light cut through the glass, casting angled shadows across the floor. It was quiet here, too quiet for a man waiting to confront treason.
Thalion had never needed to demand attention. He stood out by nature. Tall, clean-cut, broad-shouldered. His golden hair fell just past his shoulders in loose waves, and his uniform was always immaculate. But it wasn't the princely appearance that made people take him seriously. It was the way he moved, the way he held silence, and the way he looked at people like he saw through excuses.
Him, among Caelan and Alaric, are the most gorgeous men in the empire. Although Thalion's presence didn't compete with the others, it simply existed apart. Alaric stirred suspicion, Caelan inspired curiosity, but Thalion projected dependability. He looked like someone who wouldn't just lead a court, but carry it if needed. And people responded to that.
He had never been the most dazzling, strongest, wisest of the three. But he didn't need to be. He was the one others turned to when things fell apart. He was the most reliable one. And for him that is enough.
He wasn't arrogant. He treats everyone with the same respect no matter their rank or lineage . He didn't speak more than needed. But when he did, the room listened. He didn't posture, didn't threaten. He didn't have to. He walked like a man who made real decisions and stood by them. The empire's perfect prince.
Today, those decisions weighed heavier than usual.
The petition from Seraphina D'Lorien hadn't just stirred controversy, it had disrupted the foundation of the court. It wasn't just a noblewoman seeking divorce. It was a woman stepping forward with accusations that stretched far beyond her marriage. Unthinkable things. Coercion. Political conspiracy. Assassination.
He knew what this meant. Once the evidence was presented, there would be no way to quietly suppress the truth. Not if the court wanted to maintain any semblance of justice. Not if they wanted to keep public trust.
Thalion had read the sealed documents more than once. He had memorized the language, the timing, the financial trails, the implications. Seraphina hadn't made this decision lightly. Her petition had come with risk, not just to herself, but to anyone willing to stand beside her. Including him. The Northern Wolf, as they call him.
He remembered her standing in this hall years ago, formal and composed, but soft around the edges. She had worn the face expected of her, diplomatic, pleasant, agreeable, but her eyes had carried something else entirely. She had been in love. Naive, maybe—but genuine. And that made what everything that followed in her life all the more cruel.
Now she was returning, older, sharper, and clearly unwilling to play by the court's unspoken rules. And she wasn't alone.
Caelan Vorenthal's presence at her side said more than any written testimony could. The Warden was measured, cautious, and not easily influenced. He can never be bought. He has displayed integrity ever since. If he'd allied himself with Seraphina, then what she carried was more than just claims. It was truth. It was fire.
And Thalion wasn't going to let the court bury it. If proven true, he will do everything in his power to make all involved accountable.
He turned from the window, the echo of his boots tapping out each decision in his head. By the time he reached the inner chamber, he had made his choice.
He would hear her. He would believe her, unless given reason not to.
And if the evidence proved what he suspected? Then he would not hesitate to burn the Vessants' support structure to the ground. All his minions and allies. No one will be spared.
Empress Eleanor sat alone in the adjoining high chamber, a half-empty teacup growing cold in her hand.
She had been quiet for a long time.
Unlike Thalion's composed warmth, Eleanor projected something else, sharpness, control, a tempered steel honed by decades of survival. Her robes were modest but flawless. No crown. Only the imperial signet ring on her hand. She didn't need more than that.
Time had not broken her. But it had carved her. She had not had an easy and cushy life.
Eleanor had outlasted three noble uprisings, a siege, and the collapse of two foreign alliances. She had buried her husband in the third year of her reign, raised a son while ruling an empire, and reshaped the court into something that would obey without having to be told twice.
And still, she carried hope, quiet and rare.
That hope had once rested on the shoulders of Seraphina D'Lorien. Beauty, brains and grace. A noble-born ward, educated in the palace, matched to the Vessant heir. Eleanor had believed in the match. Believed something lasting could come from it. That maybe Seraphina would be the stabilizing bond between power and legacy.
But the truth had shattered that illusion.
Seraphina had returned with wounds and clarity. And the petition she brought would force Eleanor to make one of the hardest decisions of her reign.
She admired the young woman's strength. But admiration wasn't enough.
She needed evidence. She needed facts. Hard, solid, undeniable.
Because the accusations Seraphina had made were more than personal. They were systemic. If proven, they implicated an entire noble house in a conspiracy that reached into the Imperial Council.
And the Empire couldn't afford another fracture.
She stood, placed the teacup aside, and faced the mirror. Her reflection met her with its usual calm.
"Not justice," she murmured to herself. "Balance."
The doors behind her opened.
"They're ready for us," said her steward. She nodded once.
Her shoulders squared as she stepped into the hall.
Thalion was already waiting for her.
Two generations of rule. One choice to make.
And a woman standing just outside the doors, waiting to tell the truth.
Today, they would bear witness.