Nikolai studied Aster slowly, his gaze sharp and unblinking. He crossed his arms, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips, as though he had uncovered a rare gem buried beneath blood and dust.
"Take him to the hall," Nikolai said at last, his voice smooth with certainty. "Let him be judged."
He turned his back without another glance and walked away.
Aster was seized at once, iron hands dragging him toward the palace gates.
Elodie watched him go, her expression smug, her eyes alight with cruel amusement.
"Good luck," she said lightly. "The worst punishment of all is falling into Nikolai's hands."
---
The carriage ride was suffocating.
Guards sat on either side of him, armored shoulders brushing his own. Every jolt of the road sent pain blooming through Aster's battered body. The fight earlier had left him aching down to the bone, as though one more strike might shatter him entirely.
Through the narrow window, he caught glimpses of Everanth. The city stood bound in chains of black iron, unyielding and cold, wrapped tight around towers and streets alike. A kingdom restrained.
He bowed his head, exhaustion weighing on him heavier than his wounds.
I hope Elodie and Rowan are safe, he thought.
A dry breath escaped him. "Guess I'll come home late," he muttered.
The carriage slowed.
The doors opened.
The Judicium awaited.
---
The Judicium lay deep within the palace, far from ballrooms and sunlit galleries, where laughter thinned and footsteps learned to whisper.
Its doors were not grand. They were tall and narrow, darkened by countless hands. The wood had been polished not by care, but by nerves. Above the frame, the word JUDICIUM was carved in an older script, the letters worn smooth, as if even stone had grown weary of bearing witness.
Inside, the hall stretched long and restrained.
At the far end stood the Bench of Weighing, a raised dais of black marble veined with pale stone, like fractures in frozen ice. No banners hung behind it. Only a single metal sigil remained, the crown stripped of jewels. Here, power did not adorn itself.
Light filtered through narrow slits high along the walls, pale and slanted, never fully touching the floor. Faces were illuminated. Feet were not. The Judicium demanded to see you, but never to steady you.
Stone alcoves lined the sides of the hall, holding the Witness Chairs, angled inward so that all eyes were drawn to the center. There, the accused stood alone upon a circle of darker stone known quietly as the Measure, where even the softest step sounded too loud.
The air carried the scent of old wax, iron, and dust. Not blood. Never blood.
The Judicium did not require spectacle. Its terror lay in certainty.
No chains adorned the walls. No instruments of pain were displayed. The cruelty here was refined. Clean.
---
The jury entered next.
They moved in silence, figures cloaked in white, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods. Only their eyes remained visible, watching, whispering, weighing. Their murmurs crawled through the hall as their gazes settled upon Aster standing at the Measure.
Then the whispers died.
All heads bowed.
The doors behind the Bench of Weighing opened.
The Veiled Judge entered.
He was draped in pure black, the fabric swallowing the light around him. His eyes shone darkly beneath the veil, fixed upon Aster with a gaze that felt less like sight and more like inspection. He raised the gavel and struck it twice.
The sound echoed.
Everyone sat.
"We are gathered here today," the Judge intoned, his voice measured and unyielding, "to pass sentence upon the Accused and Perpetrator."
His gaze did not waver.
"Aster Foster. Charged with offense and thievery against the Crown."
The Crown's Advocate stepped forward.
"Elodie Mariana Equinox," the Judge continued, "who brings the claim."
A second presence followed, deliberate and commanding.
"Accompanied by the witness," the Judge said, "Heir to the Throne, Nikolai Wolfgang Equinox."
All eyes turned.
The Judicium was no longer merely watching.
"You shall speak the truth and the truth only," the Veiled Judge said. "Should the sigils alter, you will be punished accordingly."
A faint glow stirred along the stone beneath Aster's feet.
"Did you steal the princess's jewel?"
"I have," Aster said.
A murmur rippled through the hall.
"Is it also true that you nearly harmed the princess?"
"It is," Aster answered again.
The jury shifted. White hoods tilted. Eyes sharpened.
Aster felt himself shrink beneath their stares, as though the Measure itself were swallowing him whole. His breath quickened. The weight of watching, judging eyes pressed down on his chest.
Then a voice cut through the tension.
"He has an accomplice."
Nikolai spoke from his seat, calm and precise.
"He was not alone," he continued. "It would be impossible for him to steal the Eye of the Forest by himself, especially when he was speaking with me at the very moment the theft occurred."
A ripple of surprise moved through the jury.
"I therefore relinquish my judgment," Nikolai said smoothly, "to the Crown's Advocate."
All eyes turned.
Princess Elodie stepped forward.
Her posture was flawless. Her expression unreadable.
"I therefore sentence you," she said, her voice stern and ringing through the Judicium,
"To be wedded to my brother."
Silence fell.
Aster's breath caught.
"What!"
Shock washed over his face, the word dying before it could leave his lips.
---
Earlier.
In the carriage.
"Elodie."
"What?" she replied, already recognizing that tone. Nikolai only used it when he wanted something. A favor. A price.
"Give me the lad," Nikolai said, his gaze fixed on her.
Elodie tilted her head, resting her chin upon her folded hands, amused. "And what's the cost?"
"You won't need to trouble yourself with finding me a partner," he replied coolly.
"Oh," Elodie said softly. "That's interesting. But no."
"I'm not finished," Nikolai said.
He reached into his coat and handed her a worn leather journal.
Elodie froze.
"Father's journal," she whispered. "I thought… I thought Uncle Leonard burned all of Father's belongings before he left for Iron Spike."
"I managed to save it," Nikolai said.
Elodie clutched the journal to her chest. Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
Her father's handwriting.
She traced the ink gently, memories flooding back.
"Simple strokes, love," Leonard had said, guiding her small hand.
Young Elodie frowned in concentration as she pressed the quill to parchment.
"Look, Papa. I wrote my name."
"Clever girl," Leonard said, patting her head.
Elodie closed the journal slowly.
Her decision had already been made.