“The tribunal has ...” she pauses, voice catching, “reviewed the evidence presented by Lady Lyanna Silverthorne.”
The room holds its breath.
“We find the evidence of undue influence ...” Another hesitation, weighted with the gravity of what comes next. I watch her internal struggle—duty to tradition battling the oath she swore to uphold justice. “... incontrovertible.”
A ripple moves through the assembly like a stone thrown into still water, gasps from the progressive faction spreading outward until even the most stubborn traditionalists shift uncomfortably.
“By authority of Section 142 of the Inter-Realm Accord, this tribunal declares all marriage enforcement actions void. The procedural violations alone would invalidate our decision.” Her voice strengthens as truth liberates her from political pressure. “Lady Lyanna Silverthorne is released from all marriage obligations, effective immediately.”
Both courts have spoken. Dragon and fae law, united in recognizing truth over politics.
Lyanna sways, and I pull her against my chest as decades of pressure finally lift. Her emotions crash through me—relief so profound it’s almost painful, triumph tinged with disbelief. Beneath it all the dizzying sensation of freedom.
“It’s over,” she whispers, voice cracking. “It’s really over.”
The progressive factions erupt in applause, celebration cascading through the throne room like a breaking wave. Choice defended through law, not violence.
The sound washes over me like a wave—relief and triumph and vindication all tangled together in the thunder of clapping hands. Lyanna sags against my chest, and I hold her steady, my arms wrapped around her like I’ll never let go.
Because I won’t. Not ever again.
Across the throne room, I watch the political landscape shift in real time. Conservative elders who spent years enforcing the old marriage laws now stand in uncomfortable silence, their worldview crumbling around them. Progressive members embrace each other with fierce joy, centuries of fighting for reform finally bearing fruit.
Lady Morvenna catches my eye across the crowd. She inclines her head—a gesture of respect I never expected to receive from fae nobility. I return it, acknowledging the alliance that made this moment possible.
The corrupted tribunal members have scattered. Lord Kaelith disappeared through a side door the moment the ruling was announced. Lady Morwyn remains seated, weeping openly, making no move to flee. Councilor Aldric stands frozen, his expression suggesting a man whose entire life has just collapsed around him.
They’ll face their own consequences eventually. Corruption of this magnitude doesn’t go unpunished, even in fae courts. But that’s a problem for another day.
Today, we won.
I step back slightly, giving Lyanna space as her father approaches.
Lord Theron crosses the invisible political boundary between courts, his hands trembling as he reaches toward Lyanna. The powerful fae lord who pressured his daughter into a forced marriage now looks like a man held together by nothing but grief and regret.
Around us, the throne room slowly empties. Nobles filter out in clusters, voices hushed with shock and speculation. The progressive faction lingers, exchanging embraces and quiet words of triumph. The strike team maintains position until Derek gives the all-clear signal, and only then do they begin to stand down.
Rhonan claps Evren on the shoulder, murmuring something that makes his brother grin despite the exhaustion lining both their faces. Rafe lowers himself onto a piece of fallen marble, looking every one of his centuries for the first time since I’ve known him.
I keep my arm around Lyanna as her father approaches, ready to step back when she needs space—ready to step in if she needs protection.
This is where the real healing begins.
Chapter 39
Lyanna
My father stops an arm’s length away, close enough to touch but waiting for permission. The court leans forward collectively, straining to hear this private moment playing out in public.
“Lyanna.” His voice breaks on my name. “You taught me that protecting choice matters more than duty.”
My throat tightens. Through the bond, Callum feels everything I’m feeling—the little girl who needed her father battling with the woman who had to stand against him.
“I was wrong,” Father continues, now addressing both courts with surprising strength. “My daughter’s happiness is worth more than any political advancement. House Silverthorne stands with Lyanna’s right to choose her own path.”
The progressive faction erupts in approving murmurs, several members openly weeping at the transformation happening before them. Even the conservative representatives look shaken—many having known Father for centuries as the model of traditional duty.
He steps forward and embraces me fully, his voice dropping to a whisper only Callum and I can hear. “Your mother would have fought courts too—I should have been brave enough sooner.”
