The courtroom was cold—both in temperature and mood. Lukewarm lamps cast a dim, pallid glow, their light failing to pierce the heavy shadows clinging to the edges of the room. I stood in the center, my posture deliberately composed, though my heartbeat thundered with a rhythm only I could hear. Rows of eyes pressed down on me, their silent accusations as sharp as daggers. At the far end sat the judge, a formidable figure poised to cut through my defenses with questions that threatened to shatter my resolve.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the judge’s voice was a measured cadence, commanding the room into silence, “today, we are gathered to decide the fate of Princess Arie—known to many as the Ice Princess. Is she innocent, or is she the hand behind the murder of General Dicester, her uncle?”
“I maintain my innocence,” I said, my voice steady though the words scraped like ice against my throat. “I have no reason to harm my uncle. Not only did I admire him, but I had just lost my father weeks before. Why would I add to my grief by taking another family member’s life?”
The judge’s expression did not waver. “Grief is no substitute for an alibi, Princess,” he said, his tone razor-sharp, each word striking like a lash.
From the front row, my cousin Dorsey glared at me. Her eyes, alight with fury, promised storms to come. “I believe the Ice Princess concealed her identity, donning the slippers of a peasant to cover her tracks,” she said, her voice laced with venom.
The accusation sent a ripple through the courtroom. My resolve faltered for a moment—a brief but perilous hesitation—but I forced my expression to remain calm. In the sea of faces, I found my brother. The Ice King sat still as a statue, his face a mask of cool detachment, though I could sense the turmoil simmering beneath. He, too, was bound by the law, unable to intervene on my behalf.
Turning to the detective present, I addressed him directly. “Detective Harold, would you share your findings regarding the footprints discovered at the scene?”
The detective rose, his measured movements exuding calm authority. “Indeed,” he began, his voice clear and deliberate. “We traced footprints from the Snowdoom Forest to the outer village of Glacia. The prints matched the size and type of slipper commonly worn by peasants—and the Ice Princess' foot size.”
Gasps rippled through the audience, but Harold raised a hand to forestall premature conclusions. “However, many villagers wear identical footwear. The prints alone are insufficient evidence to implicate anyone specifically.”
The judge turned to Dorsey. “Princess Dorsey, do you have any evidence to support your accusation?”
She tilted her head, her calm demeanor a deliberate mask. “No,” she admitted, “but my instincts never fail me, and I know she is guilty.”
The judge’s verdict was firm. “Without evidence, this becomes a trial of sincerity.”
A murmur swept the room, dividing loyalties as whispers of doubt and defense collided. The weight of their gazes pressed heavier on my shoulders, but I clenched my hands, grounding myself. The truth had to surface—it was my only hope.
***
The palace corridors stretched before me like veins of frost, dimly lit and eerily silent. Each step I took echoed faintly, mingling with the restless whirl of my thoughts. The trial loomed over me like a stormcloud, its shadow darkening every corner of my mind. If I couldn’t uncover the truth, everything—my title, my reputation, my life—would unravel.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Turning a corner, I spotted a familiar figure—the guard who had been on duty the night of my uncle’s death.
“Excuse me,” I called, quickening my pace. “Do you have a moment?”
The guard stiffened, then turned, his eyes widening at the sight of me. “Of course, Ice Princess.”
I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “That night… when General Dicester yelled ‘Ice Princess’—are you certain he was referring to me?”
The guard hesitated, his brow furrowing as he glanced around nervously. “At first, I thought so,” he admitted, “but now… now I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean?” My pulse quickened, hope flickering to life like a fragile flame.
“I recall seeing someone running away,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was all a blur, but… it looked like Princess Dorsey.”
The name struck me like a physical blow. “Are you certain?”
He nodded hesitantly. “I can’t be sure, but… yes, I think it was her.”
The implications were staggering. If Dorsey had been at the scene, it would explain her eagerness to accuse me—diverting suspicion from herself. My chest tightened with a mixture of betrayal and sorrow. Could my cousin truly be capable of such a crime?
If Dorsey was the killer, then she was hiding a far darker truth—she was an inner magic user. It all made sense now: her accusations, her attempts to frame me, her ambition to take my place.
The betrayal cut deep. She was my cousin, someone I had trusted, and now she was turning our family, our kingdom, into chaos. Anger and hurt swirled within me, but so did resolve. If she had orchestrated this, I couldn’t let her succeed. The truth had to come out, no matter the cost.
***
"I didn't kill my uncle. I looked up to him since I was a child. He was like a second father to me, especially after my own father’s death." My crystalline eyes caught the flicker of pity in the audience’s expressions, though it did little to ease the crushing weight on my chest.
"You stole my father," Dorsey spat, her voice brimming with unrestrained fury. "You lured him away with that facade of innocence."
I recoiled slightly but held her gaze, my hands trembling behind the desk.
"And because your parents discovered your magic, you silenced them—permanently—so no one would know. You did the same to my parents because you wanted someone to share in your misery, someone as broken as you."
"There's no way I would ever do that, Dorsey," I said, my voice steady, my expression sincere. "I have no evil motives. Maybe you should stop and think for a moment."
Her glare didn't waver, though a pause lingered between us. For a second, her rage dimmed, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. I wasn’t sure whether to confront her fully. I didn’t want to stain her name, but I couldn’t lose either. If I failed, everything would crumble—my title, my life, my very identity, all gone.
"What will happen now to the fate of the Ice Princess?" The judge's voice shattered the silence, reverberating through the courtroom. "Is she truly innocent, or a cold-blooded killer concealed?"
I drew in a shaky breath, the icy air tightening around my lungs. "Wait. I still have one more witness."
The guard rose hesitantly, his steps deliberate, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. All eyes turned to him. He was trembling—not from the cold but from fear.
"I... I’m the one who heard the general’s final words," he began, his voice uneven but loud enough to carry through the room.
"What did he say?" the judge prompted, leaning forward with an intensity that matched the growing tension in the room.
The guard hesitated, his gaze darting toward Dorsey before landing back on the judge. "He yelled: ‘Ice Princess,’ and told her to stop running away. At first, I thought he meant Princess Arie, but when I looked up... the person fleeing the scene, as I stood over the general’s lifeless body, was his own daughter—Princess Dorsey."
The courtroom erupted into gasps and murmurs, the revelation rippling through the crowd. Shock painted every face, from the nobles to the commoners. Even my brother’s stern expression cracked, disappointment shadowing his features.
"What did I just hear?!" Dorsey shouted, slamming her hand against the desk. Her voice carried a mix of anger and desperation. "He’s lying! He must have been paid to say this."
"We already pay our guards handsomely," my brother, the Ice King, interjected sharply. "There’s no need for bribes."
"And how can we trust your word?" Dorsey shot back, her tone dripping with distrust.
"Perhaps you should ask yourself that question," he retorted coldly, the weight of his authority silencing her briefly.
I turned to my brother, my brows furrowed in a silent plea for restraint. I didn’t want to see Dorsey humiliated. Deep down, I wished the guard had seen someone else. Yet, his fear was palpable—too genuine to dismiss.
"Can we terminate this trial?" I asked, cutting through the thickening tension.
"Yes," the judge agreed. "There is no concrete evidence to proceed further—"
"Actually," the guard interrupted, his voice shaking but resolute. "I... I have something to present."
He reached into his pocket and took out a scroll, his trembling hands offering it to the judge. The room fell deathly silent as the judge unfurled the parchment. His face blanched, the color draining from his cheeks.
"This... This is a contract," he stammered. "It bears Princess Dorsey’s signature, offering the guard twenty thousand ice bills in exchange for something."
Dorsey shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "That’s absurd!" she barked, her voice cracking. "Why in the name of the Frost would I leave a contract? If I wanted to pay him, I’d just do it outright!"