Chapter 121: The Verdict None of Them Own
Chapter 120: The Verdict None of Them Own
Thorncrest scoffed.
It was not a loud sound, nor an exaggerated one—but it carried enough weight to cut cleanly through the tension that had already settled thick within the chamber.
He turned his gaze fully toward Baron Redwick.
"Are you quite serious?" he asked, his tone measured, though edged faintly with disbelief.
Julian did not flinch.
He adjusted his spectacles with deliberate calm, meeting Thorncrest’s gaze without hesitation.
"I am," he said simply.
There was no wavering in it. No attempt to soften the stance he had taken.
"You should have considered the consequences," Julian continued, "before acting as you did."
Thorncrest’s expression hardened, though the faint curve of amusement did not entirely leave his lips.
"Again," he said, his voice cool, "you place blame where it does not belong."
Julian said nothing.
"It is not my failing," he continued, "that the King could not control his own narrative."
His tone sharpened slightly.
"Nor is it my doing that the truth chose to reveal itself in such a manner."
Lucian’s gaze remained fixed on him, unrelenting.
"And yet," Julian replied, "you ensured that it did not remain concealed."
Thorncrest let out a quiet breath—something between a laugh and a scoff.
"Concealed?" he repeated. "Is that what you believe was happening?"
He gestured faintly, as though toward the memory of the Grand Hall itself.
"There was already a man bold enough to speak," he said. "Bold enough to expose the King before an entire assembly."
His eyes flicked between them.
"That moment," he added, "was not mine."
Julian’s gaze did not soften.
"No," he agreed. "But what followed was."
The room stilled slightly.
"If you had not dragged Princess Lyria forward," Julian continued, his tone still composed, "matters might not have escalated as they did."
"We do not know what will come of this," Julian went on. "We do not know what consequences she will face."
A faint crease appeared between his brows.
"The royal family did not appear pleased," he added, "even if they made an effort to disguise it."
Lucian exhaled slowly.
"And that," he said, "is precisely my concern."
His gaze shifted briefly, as though recalling the hall.
"You saw them," he continued. "You saw their expressions."
Thorncrest did not respond.
"They were not pleased," Lucian repeated. "And if they cannot act openly..."
His voice lowered slightly.
"...then it is the unseen that one must worry about."
A brief silence followed that.
"The goddess alone knows," Julian added quietly, "whether their displeasure will fall upon her now."
Lucian nodded once.
"That is what I have been attempting to convey," he said.
Before Thorncrest could respond, another voice entered the conversation.
"But... might it not also be a good thing?"
All eyes turned.
Earl Hawthorne shifted under their attention, though he did not retreat from it.
"There is merit," he continued, more firmly now, "in what has occurred."
Lucian’s brow furrowed slightly.
"Merit?" he repeated.
Hawthorne nodded.
"Yes," he said. "Consider it."
He took a small step forward, his hands clasped behind his back in a manner that spoke of both restraint and growing confidence.
"The King can no longer deny her," he said. "Not now."
No one interrupted.
"She has been seen," he continued. "Acknowledged—if not by word, then by circumstance."
His gaze moved between them.
"She is no longer hidden."
That, at least, could not be disputed.
"And because of that," Hawthorne added, "her place—however precarious—has shifted."
Lucian remained silent.
Julian, too, did not interrupt.
Hawthorne drew a breath.
"It also changes our position," he said.
That drew attention.
"We may speak with her openly now," he continued, "without pretense, without secrecy."
A faint, almost reluctant smile touched his lips.
"I, for one," he admitted, "found her company agreeable when I encountered her at the stables."
There was a flicker of memory in his expression.
"And now," he added, "I need not pretend otherwise, nor must she remain there."
He glanced toward the others.
"She need not work in the shadows any longer."
The words settled differently from the others that had been spoken.
Thorncrest turned toward him.
And for the first time since the exchange had begun, something like approval appeared in his expression.
"At last," he said, "someone speaks with sense."
Lucian exhaled quietly, though whether in frustration or reluctant acknowledgment, it was difficult to tell.
Julian’s gaze shifted once more.
And then all of them turned toward the same man, Duke Evander Valenridge.
He paused mid-motion, glass in hand, brows lifting slightly.
"...Why," he asked, his tone light, "are you all looking at me?"
No one answered immediately.
Then Hawthorne spoke.
"Well?" he said. "You have heard everything."
Lucian’s gaze sharpened slightly.
"And you have been suspiciously silent," he added.
Julian said nothing—but his attention did not waver.
Evander sighed.
He lifted the glass to his lips and took a small, deliberate sip,
as though he were taking the time to consider not only what he would say—but how.
Then, at last, he lowered the glass.
"You are all," he said calmly, "both right... and wrong."
Lucian’s brows drew together.
Julian’s gaze sharpened.
Thorncrest merely watched.
Evander continued.
"To begin with," he said, "yes—Alistair and I ought to have considered the consequences more carefully."
He did not look at Thorncrest as he said it.
Nor did he soften the statement.
"That much," he added, "I will concede."
Julian inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging the admission.
"But," Evander continued, lifting a finger faintly, "that does not make the action entirely misguided."
His gaze shifted.
"To your point, Benedict," he said, "you are correct."
Hawthorne straightened slightly.
"The royal family can no longer deny her," Evander said. "That alone alters everything."
He began to pace slowly—not out of agitation, but thought.
"And more than that," he added, "it creates opportunity."
"You may now approach her without concealment," he said, "without games of chance and secrecy."
His gaze flicked briefly toward Thorncrest.
"And while our method may have been... inelegant," he added, "the result is not without value."
Julian exhaled slowly.
"And the risk?" he asked.
Evander nodded once.
"Yes," he said. "The risk remains."
His tone did not dismiss it.
Nor did it dramatize it.
"It is true," he continued, "that the royal family may not take kindly to what has occurred."
Lucian’s jaw tightened slightly.
"But," Evander added, "they are not fools."
That drew pause.
"They are watched now," he said, "by the court, by the whole kingdom, because they witnessed everything."
He shook his head.
"If I were part of the royal family, my first thought would have been to stop the broadcast."
"They will not act recklessly," Evander said, "not in any way that invites immediate scrutiny."
Julian considered that.
Lucian did not immediately respond.
"So you believe she is safe?" Lucian asked.
Evander tilted his head slightly.
"I believe," he said, "that she is... less vulnerable than she was before."
It was not the same thing.
And they all knew it.
He continued.
"If anything," he added, "you should both relax—just slightly."
Lucian did not look convinced.
Julian remained thoughtful.
"And if you are truly concerned," Evander went on, "then perhaps your focus is misplaced."
That drew attention again.
"If either one of you cares for her position," he said, "then perhaps you should not dwell solely on what has already occurred, but consider what comes next."
