A heavy heart lay beneath Lord Galen's breastplate. The city stirred memories best left buried, a stark reminder of a turning point in the history of men. He would have preferred a more joyous reason for his return. The Silent Steels, they were called, these knights sworn only to the queen's word. None else held their loyalty, none filled their purses. They served in the shadows, purging the city's underbelly of scum and villainy. In this most perilous hour, their skills were precisely what was needed. Queen Zorvaia had commanded them to gather all who might threaten her brother, Korin. Now those accused stood huddled beneath the weeping sky, shivering and wretched.
Galen studied the prisoners. Their eyes held fear, not the cold calculation of a killer. These people could not have been responsible for such a heinous act, especially against someone as respected as Prince Korin.
"Lord Galen," one of the guards said, a man named Dorneth with fiery red hair, "we have a suspect. Found her hiding in a whore house. Likely a cutpurse or worse." Galen recognized both guards. Dorneth and his companion, Zarvik, who bore a missing eye as a mark of past battles. They had served in the King's Guard under the previous ruler, King Voras, but left in disgrace. Now they claimed to serve the new Queen with honor.
Galen eyed the woman carefully. She averted her gaze, her clothes ragged and travel-worn. This was no assassin's garb. "Why do you suspect her?" he asked.
"Fled when approached," one of the guards replied. "Most likely got tired of pleasin men." The woman spat at the guard's feet. He reacted with a surge of fury, but Galen's sharp voice cut him off.
"Enough," he barked. "We lack evidence to hold her. Besides, the Prince was struck down by a blade, not by..."
“Not by poison.”A voice, oily and smooth, interrupted Galen from behind. It belonged to Mavron, the Keeper of the Coin. His beard and hair were slicked back, unnaturally shiny, like a groomed animal. Galen found the man's appearance off-putting. He gave a curt nod to the guards, dismissing them.The guards hesitated, then bowed their heads in acceptance. The Queen's command was clear. They were under his. As they moved to take the woman away, she shrugged them off with a defiant look at Galen before turning and walking away again. Galen dismissed them with a curt nod. Mavron sidled up to Galen, his face unreadable. He watched the guards grumble as they left, then shifted his gaze to the woman disappearing into the throngs of people. "Doubt lingers in the air," Mavron finally said. Galen's hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of his sword Bringer.
Galen sighed, the sound heavy in the damp air. "Indeed," he said, his voice low. "Doubt lingers like a shroud." He watched the woman disappear into the crowd, a flicker of unease sparking in his gut. Those eyes of his were like a snake. Constantly twisting and turning. Watching for a weakness waiting for a failure. Those judging eyes of his.
Mavron's lips curved into a thin smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The human heart, Lord Galen," he said, his voice a sibilant whisper, "is a labyrinth of secrets. Even the most honest face can hide a viper's nest of intentions." Galen narrowed his eyes. He didn't like riddles or word games. He preferred the straightforward approach, the clash of steel a more honest truth than veiled pronouncements.
"Then perhaps we should delve deeper into this labyrinth," he countered. "See if we can unearth the truth that hides within." Mavron chuckled, a dry rasping sound.
"Truth, Lord Galen, is a fickle mistress. She can be a balm to the wounded soul, or a barb that pierces the heart. Are you certain you wish to court her favors in this matter?" Galen met Mavron's gaze head-on.
"Justice demands it," he said, his voice firm. "The Queen may have issued her command, but blind obedience is a recipe for disaster. We need proof, not accusations fueled by fear." A flicker of something akin to respect flickered in Mavron's eyes.
"A commendable stance, Lord Galen. Though perhaps a touch naive." He steepled his fingers, his long, manicured nails glinting in the firelight. "The city is a festering wound, Lord Galen. Fear is a powerful tool, and sometimes necessary to maintain order. But used too harshly, it can curdle into resentment, a breeding ground for dissent."
“Fear may control the masses,” Galen began, his voice steady but low, “but it breeds loyalty to whoever promises to remove it. Today, it’s the Queen. Tomorrow, it could be anyone.” Mavron’s smile grew, revealing perfectly straight teeth that seemed out of place in his otherwise oily appearance.
“Ah, but fear also ensures loyalty. The Silent Steels are proof of that. Their fear of falling from grace keeps them obedient, their loyalty to the Queen unwavering.” Galen frowned.
“Loyalty born of fear is fragile. It can shatter the moment a stronger force emerges.” Mavron’s eyes glinted with something akin to amusement.
“And what stronger force do you propose, Lord Galen? Justice? Honor? These are noble ideals, but in this city, they are but whispers against the roar of survival.” Galen was growing tired of this crossing of words with Mavron. He was a tricky man and Galen feared for his tongue to trip over itself revealing something to the man that he must not know.
“The realm asks us to serve it.” Galen stated as his final words. “And the realm shall be served.” Mavron dipped his head towards Galen seemingly with the utmost respect for the Hand of the Kingdom.
“Nothing less to expect from our Lord Hand, Galen Pierce.” Galen didn’t wait another moment around the man only nodding his head towards him. Without another word Galen left the man behind his cloak and approached his own horse that led the men.
"Lord Hand, all potential suspects have been loaded into the horse wagon. Are we to leave now?" one of the knights asked. Galen gave a curt nod, barely acknowledging him. He spurred his horse forward, his mind elsewhere. Mavron’s words had disturbed him more than he cared to admit. For now, Mavron would have to wait. First, they had to scale this mountain and survey the aftermath. Galen swore to himself that he would deal with Mavron and any others who threatened the order.
Yet, the thought of going to such lengths to safeguard the crown made him uneasy. Galen prided himself on his sense of justice. He had always claimed he would not prosecute without solid proof. But there was no evidence against Mavron, nothing concrete to say he had done wrong or ever would. Still, it seemed almost inevitable. Men like Mavron, with their cunning and ambition, rarely walked a straight path. Galen felt the weight of past mistakes, a history of overlooking the dangerous until it was too late. Mavron was perilous, that much was certain, but it was his potential for power that made him truly dangerous. And Galen knew that others might see him in the same light. Everything depended on perspective. It seemed unjust to judge Mavron so harshly, but Galen saw no other way.
Galen neared the Giant’s Ascent gate, the entryway that led them up Sky Pierce Mountain to the castle where judgment awaited the accused. He knew in his heart that these people were innocent, and soon it would be proven. Yet the question of who the true killer was loomed large. A man capable of infiltrating the prince’s quarters, committing murder, and vanishing without a trace haunted his thoughts. It was as though he were failing in his duty to serve the kingdom, and many eyes watched him with hope, waiting for answers he could not provide.
When he had arrived with the knights to round up suspects, the city had seemed to vanish. Shops were shuttered, and only beggars and stragglers with no home remained. Reluctantly, Galen had ordered his men to enter every house, questioning anyone whose alibi faltered or whose story contradicted itself. He remembered the tearful eyes of the little girl’s father as he was taken away, her mother holding her back with eyes darkened by fear. A horse rode up beside Galen, ridden by a man of wealth and stature, someone vaguely familiar.
Then he recognized the banner trailing behind the man, bearing the sigil of House Laydon, a roaring panda bear, one of the noble houses of Cragoria. What their envoy was doing here and how they had been allowed past the gates was a mystery. Galen’s thoughts churned as he stared at the imposing figure. The presence of House Laydon complicated matters further.
"Greetings, Lord Hand. I have arrived at the order of my Lord Thalric Laydon." Galen inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"Who let you beyond these gates, Ser..." Galen began, only to realize the man hadn’t offered his name.
"Apologies, Lord Galen. My name is Varedis," the man supplied. Galen mulled over the name, sensing a familiarity he couldn't quite place. "I carry my lord's banner, granting me passage through the gates, my Lord. I assumed you would know that," Varedis remarked with a hint of reproach. Galen's brow furrowed.
"I have been preoccupied. My apologies for the oversight. You are indeed welcome to our kingdom," he replied, his gaze scrutinizing the newcomer.
"Pray tell, what business brings you here?"
"I have heard troubling news, my Lord Hand. Our beloved Prince Korvin has been slain in his quarters. Naturally, I couldn't..." Varedis's words trailed off into a rant, but Galen's horror gripped him. How could this man know of the prince's demise? No public announcement had been made, and Lord Thalric's family seat, Laydon Manor, lay at Warden’s Pass, a journey deemed impossible.
"Why is Lord Thalric not present himself?" Galen interjected, halting the man's rambling. Varedis appeared momentarily taken aback by the mention of his lord but quickly regained his composure, responding in a tone that bordered on cheerfulness.
"Lord Thalric is preoccupied with matters at his manor," Varedis remarked, glancing around cautiously before continuing. "Between you and me, he is in search of a suitable match for his daughter, although she herself is not keen on marriage," he confided, a hint of sadness tingeing his tone. "Such a shame. She is a lovely young lady," he lamented, shaking his head as though lamenting a great tragedy.
I see," Galen replied, readjusting his grip on the reins as the path ahead grew rougher. He grunted as his horse jolted suddenly, nearly biting his tongue. A proper road would need to be constructed here soon. His attention flickered to the wagon of chests trailing behind them. "And what might those be, Sir Varedis?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on the treacherous terrain ahead.
"Oh, nothing of consequence, my Lord. Merely a token of Lord Thalric's condolences for the grieving queen," Varedis answered with a chuckle. "Assuming she is grieving, of course?" he added, attempting a jest. When Galen's expression remained stoic, Varedis shrugged. "Worth a try," he muttered. Galen regarded the man with a sense of unease. His odd demeanor, combined with their improbable journey, set Galen on edge. In times as precarious as these, caution was warranted without fault. He signaled for one of his soldiers to join him at the front.
"What is it you need, my Lord Hand?" the knight inquired. Galen leaned in subtly, avoiding the attention of Varedis.
"Ride ahead and instruct Avirik to dispatch a message to Lord Thalric of Laydon. Inquire if he has dispatched his men for any particular reason. Understood?" Galen directed, his voice low but firm. The knight nodded, saluting Galen before riding ahead.
"Good news, I hope?" Varedis interjected, his smile unyielding, seemingly oblivious to the tension. Galen offered a nod.
"We can only hope," he replied cryptically. The remainder of their journey passed mostly in silence, punctuated only by Varedis's feeble attempts at humor and conversation, which Galen largely brushed aside. It wasn't until the man fell silent that Galen felt a semblance of relief. As they approached the castle gates, Galen observed the heightened security measures put in place by the queen. The number of guards had doubled, with sentries stationed at every conceivable corner, possibly augmented by clandestine knights unknown to him.
"Welcome, Lord Hand," called the lead knight as the gates began to swing open. However, the caravan beside them was halted, denied entry.
"State your business here," demanded the knight, his tone gruff and authoritative. Galen halted his horse, turning to observe the unfolding exchange.
"I have been dispatched by Lord Thalric of Laydon to convey his condolences to the Queen," Varedis replied, bowing his head with a feigned air of solemnity. "A burden weighing heavily upon all our hearts," he added, his expression one of contrived grief. The knight remained unimpressed, his countenance stoic.
"Any documentation to substantiate your claim?" the knight inquired, holding out his hand expectantly. Varedis's eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"Yes, indeed. Right here, Ser," Varedis responded, reaching into his garments and producing a parchment sealed with melted wax. However, the heraldry remained obscured from Galen's view. The knight scrutinized the document for a moment before breaking the seal and pursuing its contents. His gaze flicked between Varedis and the parchment several times before he finally relented.
"You may proceed," he declared, signaling for his soldiers to allow passage. Galen hesitated, considering requesting to inspect the document himself, but Varedis swiftly retrieved it and concealed it within his robes.
"What is your name?" Galen called out to the knight who had inspected Varedis's credentials. The guard appeared surprised by the acknowledgment but responded calmly.
"Bryndar, my Lord," he replied. Galen nodded, committing the name to memory, before directing his men toward the stables. He beckoned two soldiers, issuing them with instructions.
"Settle the horses and ensure the prisoners are secured in their cells," Galen commanded, his gaze drifting upward to the sky as he contemplated the dwindling daylight. Dusk would soon descend upon them, and time was of the essence. "Summon them to the Queen’s throne room after nightfall. Do not delay," he added firmly. The two knights nodded in acknowledgment, swiftly relaying Galen's orders to their comrades. Meanwhile, Varedis approached Galen, his countenance tinged with disappointment.
"It appears our paths diverge here, my Lord. I must attend to my belongings," he lamented, extending his hand for a handshake in an unorthodox gesture. "I trust we shall reconvene in the Throne Room. It has been a pleasure accompanying you," Varedis remarked with a forced geniality. Galen, weary of Varedis's persistent presence, reciprocated the handshake, offering polite wishes before dismounting his horse. Two servants promptly attended to his steed as Galen nodded at the guards stationed at the entrance, signaling his intention to enter the grand hall of the castle. The grandeur of the hall enveloped him as he stepped inside, his eyes drawn to the opulent chandeliers suspended from the lofty ceiling and the ancient paintings adorning the walls. Sculptures of exquisite craftsmanship adorned the periphery, but it was the central statue that commanded attention—a majestic likeness of Queen Cragoria, her regal presence casting a formidable aura that seemed to surpass even the most esteemed visitors. Only the presence of King Aerakos himself could rival the magnificence of such a statue.
Galen contemplated his remaining tasks for the day, but none surfaced in his thoughts. Perhaps a leisurely stroll through the castle's backyard would provide a welcome respite. Passing by the imposing statue and ascending a grand staircase, he approached the massive doors leading outside, noting the absence of guards—a glaring oversight that would require immediate rectification.
Pushing open the heavy doors unaided, Galen stepped into the cool evening air, only to be confronted by a scene of horror. A fierce blaze raged through the once tranquil backyard, consuming everything in its path. For a fleeting moment, Galen stood transfixed, watching as the flames danced before him. It was as if he were drawn to the inferno, its allure tantalizing and irresistible—a stark contrast to the ordinary, unwelcoming fires he knew. The warmth enveloped him, and for a brief moment, he felt the temptation to surrender to its embrace.
"LORD GALEN!" The shout echoed through the courtyard, drawing Galen's gaze upward to find Ser Theron, his expression etched with shock and horror, leaning over the railing.
"Who is responsible for this inferno?" Galen bellowed back, his voice strained with urgency.
"I know not, my Lord, but fear not—the Queen is safe. The fire is contained to the garden, and the maesters believe it will not spread further due to the surrounding stone," Ser Theron reassured him, his words offering a glimmer of solace amidst the chaos. Galen staggered back, a sudden headache gripping him. He groaned, rubbing his temples as visions flashed before his eyes—visions he had only witnessed in his darkest moments. Why now?
"Daddy!" A cry pierced through the crackling flames, jolting Galen from his reverie. It couldn't be... But there she was, his little girl, untouched by the fire's wrath. "Come here, please," another voice pleaded from within the inferno. Galen's heart pounded in his chest as he approached, ignoring warnings to stay back. The flames danced before him, but he saw only his beloved daughter and another figure beckoning him closer.
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"I'm coming, just hold on," he called out, his voice choked with emotion. The little girl sobbed, her outstretched arm a desperate plea for salvation.
"Hurry, daddy. It burns," she whimpered. Galen took a faltering step forward, each movement an agonizing effort. His muscles screamed in protest, his strength waning with every passing moment. Another step, and then another, until finally, his legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees, overcome by weakness and despair. Then he realized next to her was an older girl. Another one whose face made his heart scream.
"Galen, I can't breathe!" Her shriek pierced through the roar of the flames, echoing painfully in his ears. Despite his desperate desire to save them, to reach out and offer solace, he found himself sinking deeper into the unforgiving ground. It was a welcome embrace, too enticing to resist. With aching limbs, he extended a trembling hand towards the two figures, but it was futile. The elder girl staggered forward, her movements unsteady. Had she managed to escape the inferno?
His heart clenched with hope, only to shatter as she collapsed before him, her body limp and charred beyond recognition. Galen's groan of despair mingled with the crackle of flames, and he shut his eyes tightly, seeking refuge from the nightmarish reality unfolding around him. This was not the tale of an honorable knight, nor the song of a man who had devoted his life to the realm. It was a symphony of tragedy, an elegy for lost innocence and shattered dreams. With a heavy heart, he closed off his senses, yearning to drown out the screams and the raging inferno that threatened to consume him. Alone with his thoughts, Galen found himself in the vast expanse of his own mind, each word echoing like a haunting refrain in the empty chamber of his soul. Why, he pondered, had he never felt this profound solitude before?
"Lord Galen, wake up," a voice pierced through the haze of slumber, pulling Galen from the depths of his dreams. He blinked groggily, taking in the familiar surroundings of his chambers, the soft fabric of his sheets beneath him. He rose unsteadily, his gaze settling on the maid before him.
"Why... why am I here?" he mumbled, his voice heavy with confusion. The maid regarded him with a bemused expression, her smile too saccharine, too reminiscent of a haunting vision from his dreams.
"You're in your chambers, Lord Galen. Where else would you be?" she replied sweetly, her words like a discordant melody in his ears. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the spectral image of the girl from his nightmares, her likeness eerily similar to this maid before him.
"Why have you awakened me?" Galen inquired, rising to his feet with unsteady legs that threatened to betray him at any moment. He couldn't trust his own body to support him now.
"Queen Zorvaia has summoned you to her Throne Room. The trial for the Prince's murderer is set to begin," the maid explained. As her words penetrated his foggy mind, the dreamlike remnants of his slumber faded away like sand slipping through his fingers. Had everything else been a mere illusion? His encounter with Mavron, his journey with Varedis... Were they all figments of his imagination? Galen nodded, the weight of responsibility settling upon his shoulders once more.
"You may leave. I will join her shortly," he dismissed the maid, who bowed and retreated. But before she could depart, a shadow of hesitation crossed her features, and she hesitated. "What troubles you, girl?" Galen probed, his grip tightening on her shoulders as he searched her eyes for answers. She flinched, pressing herself against the door with discomfort.
"I may be mistaken, my Lord, but when I entered, I thought I saw a man standing beside your bed," she confessed timidly. In two strides he was by her side gripping her tightly.
“What wsa the demeanor of this man?” He demanded urgently.
"I-I do not know, my Lord," the maid stammered, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "The man was hooded and cloaked entirely in black. I could not discern his features." Galen released his grip on her shoulders, allowing her to step away. He turned away, his gaze falling upon the bed where he had rested moments ago. Fear coiled in the pit of his stomach at the maid's revelation. How had an unknown assailant infiltrated his chamber? In that vulnerable moment, he had been utterly defenseless. The realization struck him with chilling clarity. If the assassin had breached his chambers, then no one within the castle was safe. He recalled the recent assassination of the prince, who was guarded at all times. The intruder must have circumvented the guards, perhaps through the large window in the highest tower—a feat that required stealth and skill beyond imagination. Galen's thoughts returned to the maid, who still stood before him, clutching herself with a mixture of fear and discomfort.
"I apologize," he murmured, his voice heavy with remorse. "It was dishonorable of me to handle you roughly. Please forgive me." The maid nodded, her expression softening.
"It's alright, my Lord. And I swear, I shall not speak a word of what transpired in this room," she assured him, bowing her head once more.
"Thank you," Galen replied gratefully as she departed, leaving him alone with his troubled thoughts. The remnants of the dream had faded, replaced by a sobering reality that demanded his utmost vigilance. Quickly, he dressed in his most formal attire, his hand lingering on the hilt of his sword resting on the bed. Surprised to find himself sleeping with it, he hesitated before securing it around his waist. He must not underestimate any threat now.
In a morbid twist of fate, Galen found a grim solace in the absence of knights stationed outside his door, ensuring that no witnesses bore witness to the unsettling encounter that had transpired within the confines of his chamber. He acknowledged the two servants nearby with a curt nod, their obsequious bows underscoring the gravity of the situation. With a heavy heart and a mind besieged by foreboding thoughts, he began his ascent towards the Throne Room, his path fraught with treacherous stairs that seemed to taunt him with their steep incline. The Throne Room, nestled at the pinnacle of the castle, awaited him like a specter looming in the darkness.
Galen felt a surge of apprehension gnawing at his resolve, the prospect of ascending those daunting stairs threatening to unravel his composure. With each labored step, he fought to quell the rising tide of unease that threatened to overwhelm him. As he ascended, he spared a moment to glance through one of the stained glass windows, the fractured moonlight casting ethereal patterns upon the stone floor below.
A sense of disquiet settled over him as he realized that dusk had long since given way to the enveloping darkness of night. Why had the Queen elected to shift the timing of the trial, he wondered, the sudden alteration adding an additional layer of uncertainty to an already fraught situation. Finally, he reached the threshold of the Throne Room, where a tableau of chaos greeted him. Guards lay strewn across the expansive hall, their prone forms a stark testament to the heightened tensions that pervaded the castle.
"Lord Hand, Lord Galen Pierce," the call resonated from one of the knights stationed at the door, each bowing deeply in deference as Galen approached. With measured steps, he passed through the gauntlet of knights, their solemn reverence a testament to the gravity of the occasion. As the doors of the Throne Room swung open in unison, revealing the assembled company within, Galen's gaze swept across the scene before him, a mixture of surprise and apprehension flickering in his eyes. Seated upon the throne, Queen Zorvaia cut a formidable figure, her countenance etched with an air of grim determination. Before her stood the suspects, their faces a tapestry of anxiety and suspicion, while beside them, Varedis presided over a chest, flanked by his vigilant guards. Galen's brow furrowed in consternation at the unexpected presence of the enigmatic envoy, his instincts tingling with wary unease.
"My Lord Hand! Did I not predict our reunion in the Throne Room? Fate works in mysterious ways," Varedis exclaimed with joviality, his arms outstretched in a disarming gesture of welcome. A pointed cough from Ser Therone swiftly silenced the interloper, who offered a hasty bow of contrition to the Queen, his bravado tempered by deference. Zorvaia's gaze pierced through the superficial pleasantries, fixing upon Galen with a steely resolve.
"Lord Galen, please, take your seat. You belong here as much as anyone," she urged, her voice commanding obedience as she motioned towards the vacant chair reserved for the Hand of the Queen. Along the periphery of the room, potential witnesses and testimonies awaited, their watchful eyes bearing witness to the unfolding drama. As Galen navigated his way towards his designated seat, his senses were keenly attuned to every nuance of the proceedings, every movement fraught with significance. Juramor, the Keeper of Law, stood poised to initiate the trial, his solemn declaration ringing out with the weight of authority. Galen leaned in towards the Queen.
"My Queen, why have we delayed the trial?" Galen's voice was a gentle murmur, his concern etched upon his brow as he leaned in towards her. Zorvaia's smile, though strained, held a trace of warmth as she met his gaze.
"I sensed your weariness, Galen," she confided in a voice that faltered with unspoken grief. "You've been unwavering in your devotion since my brother..." Her voice trailed off into a painful silence, the memories of loss casting a shadow over her once bright countenance. Despite her valiant efforts to maintain a façade of composure, the strain of her sorrow was palpable. Resuming his attention to the trial, Galen listened as Juramor, the Keeper of Law, announced the presence of the seven suspects, each casting a wary glance towards the imposing figure of the Queen upon the throne. However, before the proceedings could progress further, Varedis interjected, his hand raised in a gesture of deference.
"May I have the honor of presenting Lord Tholric's regards to the Queen?" Varedis's request hung in the air, a thinly veiled attempt to divert attention from the imminent trial. Randor, his patience wearing thin, moved forward with a menacing intent, but Ser Therone's swift intervention forestalled any potential confrontation. A silent exchange ensued between Therone and the Queen, culminating in a subtle nod of acquiescence. "I am forever humbled by your boundless mercy, my Queen," Varedis murmured, his words dripping with saccharine adulation as he bowed before her.
Galen resisted the urge to scoff at the transparent display of flattery, his gaze shifting to the Queen, who regarded the scene with a mixture of weariness and resignation. Resting her chin upon her hands, Zorvaia regarded the offerings that Varedis presented with a detached air, her expression betraying little emotion. The envoy's attempt to convey the sorrow of his lord and the realm rang hollow, his words tinged with a veneer of manufactured grief. As the room fell into a solemn silence, broken only by the echo of Varedis's somber words, a murmured remark cut through the air like a dagger. "So were his enemies," the voice spoke from the crowd, shattering the fragile peace that had settled over the Throne Room. Instantly, the Queen rose from her seat, her gaze darting across the room with a sharp intensity, as if seeking out the source of the discordant whisper. The Queen's demand pierced the clamor that had engulfed the Throne Room, her voice resounding with a regal authority that brought all to attention. As tension crackled in the air, each occupant rose to their feet, a chorus of shouts and whispers echoing off the ornate walls.
"Silence!" Juramor's command cut through the tumult like a blade, his demeanor commanding respect as he surveyed the room with icy resolve. With measured steps, he approached one of the seven suspects, his gaze locked in a steely confrontation with the young man who met his stare with unwavering composure. "Was it you who uttered those words?" Juramor's inquiry hung in the air, each word laden with the weight of scrutiny. The suspect, Robert, stood firm, his hands clasped behind his back as he returned the Keeper of Law's gaze with unflinching resolve.
"It was not I who uttered those words, my Lord," Robert responded evenly, his voice devoid of hesitation. As Queen Zorvaia attempted to interject, Ser Therone intervened, a stalwart presence at her side, urging caution.
"Let us not concern ourselves with the likes of this man, Your Grace," Therone advised, his tone a stark contrast to the fervor that had swept through the room. "I witnessed the utterance myself." The assertion sent ripples of agreement coursing through the gathered assembly, a rare moment of unanimity in a sea of discord. Galen, however, remained steadfast in his conviction, his voice a calming counterpoint to the rising tide of accusation.
"There is scant evidence to support such a claim, Your Grace," Galen countered, his tone measured yet resolute. Therone's incredulous gaze bore into him, but Zorvaia, ever the voice of reason, acknowledged his perspective with a subtle nod of affirmation.
"He could very well be a scapegoat," she mused, her gaze fixed upon the suspect with a penetrating intensity. Despite Therone's silent protestations, she descended from her throne, her regal bearing undiminished as she approached the accused. As Zorvaia drew near, the other suspect, a man torn from his family, recoiled slightly, his eyes betraying a flicker of fear. Galen, seizing upon a rare opportunity to intervene, stepped forward, his actions guided by a sense of duty and compassion that transcended the boundaries of his station.
"My Queen, may we dismiss the other suspects if we have decided that this man may be our key to this murder?" Galen inquired. The man's surprise was evident as he glanced at Galen, who blinked back at him, silently assuring him. She nodded, her attention seeming fleeting.
"Aye, of course. They may sit with the witnesses, but I want Ser Vorthane to keep a keen eye on them," she decreed, eliciting gasps of relief from the men as they were escorted back to their places.
"What game are you playing?" Juramor interjected, approaching Galen with a furrowed brow. Galen fixed him with a narrowed gaze. "Moments ago, you argued against accusing this man solely on chance, yet now you discard the rest? Explain this folly," he demanded, his anger palpable. Rising to his feet, Galen loomed over Juramor, maintaining unbroken eye contact as he slowly descended, then wordlessly strode past him to stand beside the Queen. The man, Robert, greeted Galen with a disconcerting smile.
"Never did I imagine I'd stand so near to the two most powerful figures in the realm," he remarked, his smile unsettling, revealing his yellow, crooked teeth.
"What is your aim?" Juramor pressed, hastening to join the trio. Robert's gaze swept over him and the surrounding crowd.
"I cannot be proven guilty," he declared boldly. "Nor can anyone else. I maintain the belief that the prince took his own life!" His proclamation reverberated through the room, eliciting shocked murmurs. The Queen responded by delivering a dignified slap across his face, to which he merely shook his head in disappointment.
"Your refusal to accept truth may be your undoing, my Queen," he warned solemnly. Queen Zorvaia sneered at him and moved past, surveying the room. Galen's heart sank as he grasped the man's intentions. Before the Queen could speak, he stepped up beside her, whispering into her ear.
"Your Grace, I fear he may be attempting to incite unrest at this very moment. I advise we do not entertain his provocations. Whether he is a scapegoat or the true perpetrator, justice must be served," he cautioned. She regarded him with frustration, yet composed herself and nodded.
"Once again, you speak wisdom," she replied softly. With all the dignity she could muster, she returned to her throne, with Galen at her side. Maintaining her regal composure, she addressed the man without breaking eye contact. "An accord has been reached. If Juramor, my Hand, and I concur, I shall deem this case closed. The sooner this matter concludes, the sooner I believe my brother may find peace in his resting place," she declared, closing her eyes briefly before reopening them. "I assert that this man, Robert, is culpable for the murder of Prince Korin." She glanced at Galen, who affirmed her decision with a nod.
"I stand in agreement and advocate for his execution," Galen declared. Despite his outward support, inwardly, Galen harbored doubts. The man's demeanor, every subtle movement, did not align with that of a condemned man. He lacked the bearing of one facing death or of a murderer. At most, he appeared to be a pawn or a hapless bystander caught in a web not of his own making.
"I, too, am in favor of this," Juramor asserted hotly. Galen raised his brows slightly, surprised by Juramor's unexpected alignment, yet not entirely. Despite his reservations about the man, Galen believed Juramor to be one of the few trustworthy souls within the castle. Unlike many others consumed by ambition or greed, Juramor's loyalty lay solely with his duty, a fact that some found incredulous, as if he had stumbled unwittingly into the council chambers one day and remained ever since.
Rumors swirled about Juramor's lineage, whispered speculations of his bastard origins, though none dared broach the subject openly. He possessed a keen mind and an unyielding commitment to justice, never swaying from what he deemed right. To Galen, he embodied true honor, unlike the ostentatious Grand Hand. Galen exhaled with relief as the trial concluded swiftly and decisively. Glancing around the room, he noted the general air of satisfaction among the attendees.
"Why were we not given the opportunity to speak?" a voice piped up from the sidelines. Queen Zorvaia raised her gaze to locate the source—a young girl rising from her seat. Beside her, presumably her mother, attempted to pull her back down, but she resisted, clutching at her dress defiantly.
"We have deemed the man guilty. His words are tantamount to a confession," Zorvaia declared smoothly. The young girl, scarcely two years younger than the Queen, appeared bewildered.
"Then why summon me here if the decision was already made? For I can attest that on the day of our Prince's demise, I witnessed this man purchasing bread from the bakery near my residence," she interjected. Robert, unfazed, observed their reactions with a steady gaze. Queen Zorvaia hesitated momentarily, realizing their hasty judgment. Perhaps their eagerness to assign blame stemmed from a desire to ease their troubled hearts, or perhaps it was fueled by the precarious state of the kingdom.
"I was not present in Aerakos's Landing on that day," Robert asserted suddenly, causing Galen's brows to shoot up and murmurs to ripple through the room.
"Then is the girl fabricating her tale?" Juramor demanded. Without turning to the girl, Robert responded,
"Yes," with icy composure. The girl's mother rose abruptly, her expression one of terror.
"I beg forgiveness on behalf of my daughter, Queen Zorvaia. She is young and still learning. Her words hold no weight. Please, I implore you to pardon her," she pleaded. Zorvaia regarded the woman with a gaze that hinted at a long-forgotten emotion, one Galen hadn't seen in quite some time.
"She is indeed young, my Queen. I advise leniency," Galen suggested. Zorvaia nodded in agreement.
"Yes, I had intended to do so," she affirmed, rising once more, duty eclipsing her momentary sorrow. "Your daughter is forgiven. May she learn from this error. However, perjury in court is a grave offense, punishable by death," Zorvaia reminded, a decree that Galen found somewhat severe, though he understood her reasoning.
"You're only two years older than me," the girl muttered bitterly. Her mother swiftly silenced her with a sharp slap across the mouth, casting a glare that went unnoticed by the rest.
"I declare this trial concluded!" Juramor proclaimed loudly and hastily, as if eager to be the first to utter the words. Queen Zorvaia descended the steps of her throne, visibly relieved. Ser Therone bowed respectfully as she passed by.
"Shall we dismiss everyone, Your Grace?" Ser Therone inquired. She nodded in assent.
"Yes, clear the room and wait outside for me. I wish to speak with Lord Galen privately," she instructed. Though Ser Therone's gaze flickered toward Galen, he remained silent, complying with her orders. With swift efficiency, the knights ushered everyone out, and Galen observed the mother dragging her protesting daughter by the ear. They bore a striking resemblance... As Ser Therone bowed deeply and exited, closing the doors behind him, Galen turned to the Queen. "What is it you wish to discuss with me, my Queen?" he inquired. Zorvaia fidgeted nervously with her fingers, seeming uncertain. She opened her mouth, then closed it, appearing unsure of how to proceed.
"Speak plainly, Your Grace," Galen urged gently. She nodded in acknowledgment.
"Lord Galen... I am aware of the duty incumbent upon every ruler, whether Queen or King, to secure a consort for the continuation of their bloodline. My brother's untimely demise has left me without a possible heir," she confessed, her tone tinged with awkwardness. Galen was taken aback. He never anticipated such words coming from her own lips.
"You are still young, my Queen. The gods grant you perhaps a century ahead of you," he reassured her, offering a warm smile. She chuckled lightly, yet the awkwardness persisted. Perhaps it wasn't solely about securing an heir. Perhaps there were personal desires at play.
"Lord Galen, please keep this between us, but my heart longs for a man from across the sea," she revealed. Galen maintained a neutral expression, ensuring she didn't feel uncomfortable. Her willingness to confide in him indicated a level of trust he hadn't realized she held.
"Who is this man?" he inquired gently. A faint blush colored her cheeks as she averted her gaze. Every detail was a poignant reminder for her...
"The Prince of Turukhan," she murmured softly. Galen leaned in slightly, his interest piqued. "And which of them might this man be?" he pressed. This time, she met his gaze with a touch of bravery. "Prince Dimer Altan," she disclosed.