You are the Kingdom's greatest shame

Seraphine knelt gracefully before the displayed evidence, her expression a perfect balance of sorrow and resolve.

She reached out, tracing her fingers over a tattered letter, its parchment aged and worn, the wax seal broken.

"This," she began, her voice laced with just the right amount of hesitation, "was found in Arienne's private study."

She lifted the letter with delicate care, letting the audience glimpse the elegant script scrawled across its surface. "It details the attack on the royal family—the timing, the placement of the assassins, even the countermeasures Arienne would take to 'save' them. It is written in her hand, sealed with her crest."

The whispers in the hall grew louder, a wave of disbelief and condemnation crashing over Arienne.

"That's impossible," Arienne's voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

Seraphine didn't look at her.

She simply gestured to the knights, who stepped forward and placed several more items at the Grand Magus's feet.

An enchanted pendant, dark with old magic.

A dagger engraved with runes of concealment.

A set of royal missives—falsified orders signed with her name, granting mercenaries access to the palace on the night of the attack.

Arienne's breath came short and fast.

This wasn't just a simple frame job—this was a meticulous, deliberate dismantling of her very existence.

Whoever had orchestrated this had prepared every detail, ensuring there would be no room for doubt, no space for her to fight back.

Seraphine picked up the pendant, cradling it in her palm. "This was discovered hidden beneath Arienne's chambers. It bears the markings of a spell used to manipulate elemental forces—a spell linked to the devastation that night."

She exhaled softly, as if bracing herself. "The magic in it is… identical to hers."

Arienne shook her head, her limbs trembling with something more than exhaustion. "That doesn't mean anything," she rasped. "Anyone could have placed it there."

Seraphine finally turned to face her, her lips trembling as if she, too, were barely holding herself together.

"Sister," she said, voice barely above a whisper, "I wanted to believe in you. I wanted to trust you."

She closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath. "But the evidence is overwhelming. You were the only one who could have done this."

Arienne had fought beasts, dueled powerful mages, survived the battlefield—yet nothing had ever hurt as much as the look Seraphine gave her now.

Not hatred. Not fury.

But sorrow.

As if she were the one who had been betrayed.

"Sera…" Arienne's voice broke. "You know I could never do this."

Seraphine's lips curved into a small, almost pitying smile. "But you did."

A sharp pain pulsed through Arienne's body, and she gasped as the binds around her flared, glowing with an intense heat.

Her fury spiked, and for the first time, a flicker of her Phoenix Core fought against its restraints.

Her golden eyes, lined with red, burned into Seraphine as she forced herself forward, her body trembling with exertion.

"Tell them the truth," she demanded. "Tell them you know I would never—"

Lucien's magic surged, forcing her back onto her knees.

Arienne gasped as agony shot through her limbs, but she refused to break, refused to bow to their twisted narrative.

Lucien continued, his aged features unreadable.

"With this evidence before us," he intoned, his voice heavy with reluctant authority, "there is little choice but to recognize the truth."

Arienne clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, blood trickling down her fingers.

"This is not the truth," she bit out, her voice raw with fury and disbelief.

But it didn't matter.

The court had already made its decision.

She was guilty in their eyes.

And there was no one left to save her.

A new voice entered the fray.

The king.

"We are… disappointed," King Aldric said, his voice heavy with feigned sorrow.

The queen stood beside him, silent but no less condemning. "You were supposed to be the hope of this kingdom. Instead, you have become its greatest shame."

Seraphine stepped back, returning to her place—beside Prince Vaelor.

And then she saw it.

Vaelor's fingers curled subtly around Seraphine's waist, a touch so casual yet so damning. It wasn't the hesitant, fleeting contact of someone bound by duty—it was possessive, familiar.

The way Seraphine leaned into him, just the slightest shift, sent a cold, brutal clarity slamming into Arienne's gut.

They had planned this together.

It wasn't just about power.

Seraphine didn't just want her title.

She wanted her life.

Arienne's pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the murmurs of the court.

She had always thought she knew Seraphine—her pain, her insecurities, the weight of being the powerless sister.

She had protected her, loved her, even when the world turned its back on her.

And yet, Seraphine had smiled as Arienne was condemned.

She had spoken with perfect poise, had orchestrated this betrayal with such meticulous cruelty—because she had always wanted this.

And Vaelor…

Arienne's lips parted, her breath shallow.

He hadn't hesitated. Not once.

No protests, no conflict, no trace of the man who had once whispered devotion to her under the stars.

His silence was not that of a prince bound by duty, but of a man who had already made his choice.

He had never been hers.

Maybe he never wanted to be.

Arienne exhaled slowly, steadying herself despite the tremors in her limbs.

The weight of realization crushed against her ribs, but beneath it burned something else—something dark and searing.

Rage.

Not the reckless, blind fury of someone betrayed, but something colder. Sharper.

She had spent her entire life following the path carved for her, sacrificing everything to become what they wanted.

She had given up her childhood, her freedom, her own desires—for them.

And in the end, they had tossed her aside the moment it suited them.

But if they thought they had broken her—if they thought she would kneel quietly and accept this fate—

They had no idea what they had just unleashed.