Sabine stepped back.
“I will not surrender,” she said. “I will answer. The difference is everything.”
The fourth station was endurance.
Each bride was required to hold a ceremonial chain attached to the founding relic while answering final questions.
The chain was iron, cold, and grew heavier when the bride’s answer conflicted with prescribed sacred structure.
Yselle held the chain elegantly while reciting devotional phrases about continuity, sacrifice, and the bride’s sacred duty to become crown property gracefully.
The chain remained light.
She released it and stepped back without visible strain.
Tavi gripped the chain like a weapon and answered bluntly about survival, competence, and the lies courts told themselves about women’s willingness.
The chain grew heavier.
Tavi’s arms shook, but she held until the questions ended.
When she released it, her hands were red and cramped.
Lady Celith could not hold the chain long enough to finish.
The iron dragged her arms down. Her answers turned wet and breathless. Halfway through the final question, she dropped to one knee and let go.
The chain struck the stone with a sound that made the galleries flinch.
Attendants carried her from the platform while she covered her face with both hands.
Sabine watched her go.
Not weak.
Spent.
There was a difference, and the palace had built whole ceremonies to pretend there wasn’t.
Then Sabine stepped forward.
She gripped the chain.
Cold iron bit into her palms.
Serast began the questions.
“Do you accept the crown’s authority over your body?”
“I accept shared governance. Not ownership.”
The chain grew heavier.
Sabine’s arms began to ache.
“Do you accept the temple’s spiritual guidance?”
“I accept truth. Not manipulation dressed as holiness.”
