The silence in the courtroom was so brittle it felt as though a single breath might shatter it. Draven stepped forward, his eyes darting between the unharmed child and the "bloody" evidence. His voice was thick with a mixture of relief and brewing suspicion.
"If the blood is fake and the boy was unharmed," Draven asked, his gaze landing on the empty space where the shadows had retreated, "then who would dare push a Lord of the Empire into a restricted vault? Who is responsible for this theater?"
Regina's expression remained unreadable. "I tracked the man who pushed Lord Julian immediately," she said calmly. "My shadows do not forget a face or a scent."
Eliosa's hand flew to her throat, her breath hitching. Keibrant and Cornelius, however, remained unnervingly still. They had anticipated this. They had already ensured that the mercenary hired for the "shove" would never speak again.
"And?" the King demanded. "Where is this man?"
"Dead," Regina replied. "Silenced by his employers to erase any thread that might lead to the true culprit."
Keibrant exchanged a subtle, knowing look with Cornelius. They felt the tension in the room begin to dissipate; without a witness, the accusation was just smoke. But Regina caught the look, and a ghost of a smile touched her lips.
"Those who are fast to erase the bigger evidences," Regina continued, her voice dropping to a dangerous, melodic chill, "are often forgetful about the smaller ones. And it is the smallest thread that usually leads to exposure."
Keibrant's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine unease crossing his face for the first time.
"Azryth," Regina commanded. "Bring him."
The shadows at the back of the hall swirled, and a man was thrust into the light. He was not a warrior or a spy; he was a middle-aged man clutching a measuring tape, his face ashen with terror.
"This is Master Aris," Regina announced. "The most skilled tailor in the capital's upper district." She held up the blood-stained scrap of sapphire silk that Keibrant had presented as evidence. "Tell me, Master Aris. Did you sew the tunic Lord Julian is wearing today?"
The tailor looked at the boy, then at the scrap. "No, My Lady. The Duke's household uses a different silk-house."
"Then tell the court," Regina leaned in, her violet eyes burning, "who commissioned you yesterday to create an exact replica of Lord Julian's sapphire tunic—only to have you cut a jagged piece from it before you were even finished?"
The tailor trembled, his eyes darting toward the royal dais. He looked at the King, then at the Second Prince, whose face was now a mask of frozen stone.
"I... I didn't know it was for a crime!" the tailor stammered, his voice cracking. "He came to me in the night! He paid in gold and demanded the exact match of the sapphire weave!"
"Who?" the King roared, rising from his throne.
"Who gave the order?"
The tailor collapsed to his knees, pointing a shaking finger toward the man standing beside the grieving Duke. "It was him! The Second Prince! Prince Keibrant ordered the cloth!"