And somewhere in this palace, buried in archives or hidden in chambers older than the current rite, there were answers about what the Tenth Vow actually did and why it required women to drown, break, or disappear before the kingdom called them queens.
Sabine touched the mark and felt warmth pulse beneath her skin.
She was done being tested.
It was time to become the woman hunting the machinery itself.
Nineteen
The Trial of Names
Sabine woke with Lucien’s kiss still burning against her mouth.
She had dreamed of the archive stair. His hand at her waist. The way his control had strained when she pulled him closer. The mark flaring hot between them while the palace watched from every corner.
Then she woke to the colder facts.
Bruised ribs from the Blackwater. A throat still raw from river water. The mark on her palm pulsing warmer than the rest of her body. Cassian’s letter hidden in the false lining of her travel case beside Isolde’s music.
Two proofs.
Two leashes.
The palace owned both.
Lysa entered carrying a formal gown in dark gray wool. Severe cut. High collar. No softness anywhere.
“The Trial of Names,” Lysa said. “You need to dress for public witness.”
Sabine rose. “Tell me what that means.”
Lysa laid the gown across the bed and began unfastening Sabine’s night robe.
“Each bride stands before court, clergy, and crown while her house history is read into record. Debts. succession weaknesses. old accusations. failed alliances. petitions. scandals. Everything the palace has collected and polished for damage.”
“And the bride answers.”
“Or refuses. Or breaks.” Lysa helped her into the gown and drew the fabric up over her shoulders. “The temple calls it truth and transparency. Servants call it a humiliation ledger. Some brides are ruined more by what gets read than by failing the trial itself.”
Sabine looked toward the travel case.
Cassian’s letter was still hidden inside.
“Can the crown read the protective administration threat aloud?”
“If it exists in crown record, it can be used.”
Lysa fastened the collar. It sat close against Sabine’s throat, tight enough to remind her to keep her chin lifted.
“The rules?” Sabine asked.
“A bride who denies recorded truth will be marked false. A bride who refuses witness will be marked evasive. A bride who loses composure will be marked unstable.” Lysa stepped back and studied her. “In other words, the trial is arranged so every answer can injure you.”
Sabine looked at herself in the mirror.
The gown made her look like she had come to endure testimony, not beg mercy.
Good.
