Chapter 12

The grand doors of the High Court groaned open, and Theodric Aldercrest stepped through them as if he were strolling into a theatre.

Marble pillars rose like pale giants on either side of the hall, their bases wreathed in carved laurels and lion sigils. Gold-leaf banners hung from the arched ceilings, some faded, some freshly stitched—a patchwork of dead glory and desperate vanity. At the far end, upon a dais of silver oak and obsidian, sat the aging lion himself—King Albrecht III, crowned and cloaked in purple dusk.

Theo's boots echoed across the polished floor as he walked. His inner circle followed, dressed sharply but plainly—every bit the modern nobles who had earned power, not inherited it.

He wore no jewelry. No chains. No house sword.

Just a quiet, confident smirk on his lips.

Lira leaned in as they approached the central aisle. Her voice low, wary.

"You're smiling. Are you happy to be here?"

Theo chuckled softly, eyes flicking across the gathering nobility like a hawk watching its prey.

"Why wouldn't I be? This is free advertisement."

He tilted his chin subtly toward the left side of the gallery.

"There. Lord Cassain of Venstra—he owns the textile guilds in the Eastern Federation. Look at him squinting. He's interested."

To the right, seated under the red-and-bronze banner of the desert kingdom of Kavir, sat a noblewoman with half her face veiled in gold thread. Theo raised his eyebrows toward her.

"Lady Zariah of the Obsidian Dunes. Spymaster. Also sells medicinal sand. Very lucrative."

"And him," he added, nodding toward a young, blonde man who looked far too smug for someone this far from home. "That's Count Mikhael of Eissenmark. Rich. Arrogant. Obsessed with metallurgy and marrying above his station."

Lira blinked. "You're cataloguing foreign buyers? In the middle of your trial?"

Theo smirked wider.

"Lira, darling… everything is a negotiation. Even this farce."

They reached the throne. King Albrecht III sat above them, his crown dull with age, his eyes sharper than they should've been for a man so withered. His fingers were heavy with rings, his posture defiant—not a king retiring, but a king desperate to still be one.

He didn't rise.

He didn't need to.

"Theodric Aldercrest," the king rasped, voice cracked but cold. "You stand accused of overreach. Of destabilizing the realm's balance. Of founding unauthorized economic structures without royal charter. Of encouraging unsanctioned innovation—"

"—and of inciting dissent through illicit finance."

There was a pause. The court hushed like a breath before lightning.

Theo bowed slightly, hands behind his back. "Your Majesty," he said smoothly, "my apologies. I wasn't aware economic competence was illegal now."

Gasps echoed. The king's lips thinned.

From the side of the chamber, a man in crimson robes stepped forward. The king's Prosecutor. Grand Justicar Roldan Vayne, head of the royal inquisition, and rumored to have once burned a noble alive for harboring forbidden alchemy.

"The defendant mocks the Crown," Roldan sneered. "Let the record show his lack of respect and contempt for royal authority."

He turned sharply toward Theo.

"You launched a wristwatch without approval. You trained peasants in forbidden agricultural methods. You rewrote tax laws within your duchy—without consulting the royal treasury. You've created a shadow guild that siphons money from noble coffers. How do you plead?"

Theo took a beat. Tilted his head.

"Guilty," he said.

The courtroom erupted.

"Guilty of innovation," he clarified, raising his voice above the roar. "Guilty of making your kingdom money while your appointed tax lords bled it dry."

Gasps again.

The king raised a hand, and the court slowly quieted.

But now a different man stepped forward.

His robes were black, trimmed in blue. Sharp eyes. Sharper tongue. Baron Ryvek, acting in Theo's defense, long-time critic of the royal bureaucracy, and former auditor exiled for exposing a royal cousin's embezzlement.

He bowed briefly before the court.

"If the prosecution is finished reciting Theo's achievements as crimes, then I shall begin my defense."

"Let us discuss crime."

He raised a ledger, stamped with the royal seal.

"A list of donations by temple authorities to mercenary groups in the south—unaudited for five years."

Another ledger.

"The annual revenue from timber exports in the north—forty percent of which mysteriously disappears every cycle into royal 'exceptional fund' accounts."

And a third.

"The entire Church of the Flame's collected tithe money for the last decade. Not a single copper spent on public aid. But plenty spent on gold chalices and holy brothels in Vale's Hollow."

Shouting began.

"Lies—!"

"He forges numbers!"

"Objection!"

But Ryvek's voice cut through like a blade.

"Oh? Then let us ask the common people," he said, turning dramatically to the side door.

And the guards opened it.

In marched a line of citizens. Farmers. Blacksmiths. Bakers. All from Aldercrest. Clean. Well-fed. Healthy.

"These people were poor. They were forgotten. Under Theo's reforms, they now earn, save, invest. Do you want to punish him for lifting them above despair?"

Theo stood quiet through it all, hands still behind his back, watching the nobles squirm, the clergy hiss, the king's face grow darker.

And finally—a shriek.

It came from the Church's envoy—Archpriest Calvus—red-faced and trembling.

"This is heresy! You are poisoning the realm with modern sins! Clocks, ledgers, interest loans—these are the tools of devils! You dare corrupt the people's faith—!"

"No," Theo finally spoke, stepping forward.

"I'm not replacing faith. I'm replacing failure."

"The people didn't stop praying because of me. They stopped praying because you never answered."

A hush fell.

Even the king didn't speak for a long time.

His face was unreadable. His crown, crooked. His fingers drummed the armrest of his blackwood throne.

"You're clever, boy," Albrecht finally said. "But clever men often forget that dragons fly low near the sun."

Theo bowed again, but only slightly.

"And kings forget that thrones burn too, if left too close to the fire."

The court buzzed.

And somewhere deep within Theo's mind, behind the cold mask and rehearsed calm… he felt it again.

A warmth.

Like something ancient, watching.

Beneath Aldercrest, the egg stirred.