The chamber absorbed the admission like a blade sinking into flesh.
Sabine felt the bond flare violently.
Not desire.
Grief. Rage. Self-blame so old and deep it had worn grooves into him.
She controlled her face, but her hands remained fists at her sides.
Serast leaned forward.
“Do you believe your current chosen bride is safe under the same rite.”
Lucien looked at him.
“She is not safe while truth remains buried under ceremony.”
The chamber erupted into whispers.
Serast’s expression sharpened.
“You question the sacred rite.”
“I question selective honesty,” Lucien said. His voice was calm, brutal, and controlled. “Isolde died. The record was sealed. Witness protocol was suspended. And now the same rite continues with the same flaws while the temple calls silence holiness.”
Serast rose.
“Prince Lucien. You are dangerously close to blasphemy.”
“I am dangerously close to honesty. The temple prefers one over the other.”
Queen Mother Ilyra stood from the royal dais.
“Enough.”
Her voice did not rise. It did not need to.
The chamber stilled around her.
“The witness is complete. This trial tests brides, not princes. High Hierophant, record what has been said and move forward.”
Serast inclined his head.
Lucien stepped back.
But the damage was done.
The court had heard guilt, rage, and accusation tangled together.
Sabine’s mark still burned.
Maelor was still watching her hand.
The trial ended with formal closure.
The remaining brides were dismissed to their chambers while the court dispersed into gossip, speculation, and political realignment.
Sabine found Yselle in the corridor outside the witness chamber.
