Chapter 23-24

Chapter 23: The Crown Unveiled

The echoes of power still rang in the marble hall as the Baron stumbled backward, bowing and scraping like a puppet with its strings torn loose.

"Of course… the files… I'll fetch the full records at once," he muttered, breathless.

He turned and hurried through a carved wooden archway at the side of the chamber, cloak fluttering behind him.

What he didn't see was the silent shadow that peeled away from the group and followed.

Aina moved without a word—no nod, no instruction. Just a glance from Kaelen was enough.

Her boots made no sound on the stone floor. Like a hawk trailing prey.

---

In the private study beyond the hall, the Baron fumbled with a wall panel, pressing hidden latches until it gave way with a quiet click. A disguised safe slid out.

His hands hovered above the stack of ledgers—real ones, inked in secret, never meant for eyes beyond his own. His fingers twitched toward the decoy version sitting in a cabinet nearby.

Then—

A soft thud behind him.

He turned—and froze.

Aina leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression flat as tempered steel.

"No switches," she said coolly. "I'd hate to see your fingers broken over paperwork."

The Baron paled. "I—I wasn't—"

"Originals," she said. "Now."

Under her gaze, the lies shriveled in his throat. He swallowed hard, gathered the true ledgers with trembling hands, and offered them forward like a man holding his own confession.

---

Back in the hall, the air had changed.

The fire of the reveal had passed, but something colder had taken its place.

Alaric sat at the head of the long table now, gloves off, sleeves rolled, fingers ready to flip pages like slicing through veils. Beside him, Kaelen stood with arms folded, eyes narrowed.

Tia took her seat silently, her jaw set. Celestine opened the inkpots. Lucien laid out clean scrolls for notes. They didn't speak—they didn't need to.

Aina entered, dropped the ledgers onto the table with a heavy thud, and stepped back without a word.

The Baron stood nearby, sweating.

Velric had pressed himself into a corner, as if praying to disappear into the walls.

One by one, the royals opened the files.

The pages whispered.

Time passed—but it felt like it hung in the air, thick and unbreathable.

Tia's fingers paused on one page. "This… this village burned down three years ago. Why are they still receiving grain deliveries on record?"

Kaelen's lips curled. "Because the grain never existed. Or worse—was sold off to smugglers."

Celestine frowned as she matched the official seals. "These signatures… they've been forged."

Alaric said nothing, but the muscle in his jaw ticked.

Lucien's pen scratched quietly against parchment.

The Baron shifted. The silence was unbearable now, filled only by the flick of pages, the drag of ink, and the invisible weight of judgment.

Velric wiped his forehead, gulping for air. The hall felt like a courtroom—and they were being tried by gods.

And the gods weren't smiling.

---

The pages turned. The lies unraveled.

The air grew heavier with every tick of the clock.

Baron Farley dabbed at his forehead with a silk handkerchief, though it did little to stop the sweat trickling down his temple. Velric's hands had long since started to shake. He stood still as a statue—if statues could tremble.

At the table, the others worked in silence. The quiet was suffocating, not because of what was said, but because of what wasn't.

Then Kaelen moved.

Barely a shift at first—just the roll of his shoulder as he pushed back from the table. His golden-brown eyes flicked once toward Aina, who caught the signal instantly.

No words.

Kaelen walked out, calm and unhurried.

Aina followed, her steps melting into the silence like breath into fog.

---

They returned to the room Baron Farley had fled to earlier—his private study. The safe was shut once more, the illusion of order restored.

Kaelen's eyes scanned the chamber once and landed on a slight irregularity—a carved section of the wall, a hair thinner than the others. "This panel," he murmured.

Aina stepped forward and pressed her palm to the corner, then tapped gently—three times. There was a faint click.

A soft portion of the wall popped loose.

Empty.

Kaelen narrowed his eyes. "He took it."

"He didn't take everything," Aina replied quietly. "He didn't have time to think clearly."

They searched.

Kaelen moved methodically, pulling open drawers, sliding books from shelves, testing corners. Aina drifted from wall to wall, tapping, listening.

Her hand brushed over a small marble statue—a boar mid-charge.

She paused. Tilted it.

Nothing.

Then she pressed down on its base.

Click.

A panel behind a low bookshelf slid open with a whisper of stone on stone.

Kaelen was already beside her.

Inside the narrow compartment, carefully hidden beneath a false floor, was a bundle of weathered letters, sealed in wax—not the Baron's seal, but something older. Beside it, wrapped in dark velvet, rested a golden signet ring with a crest neither of them recognized at first glance.

Kaelen's expression didn't change, but Aina saw the fire light in his eyes.

"These weren't meant to be found," he said.

Aina glanced at the door. "Should we show the others?"

Kaelen paused for a beat.

Then, without a word, he took the bundle and tucked it into his cloak. The compartment was closed. The statue rotated back into place.

By the time they re-entered the grand hall, the silence was still thick and oppressive—but no one had noticed their absence.

Kaelen returned to his seat beside Alaric. Aina took her post near the rear once again.

And the hidden truth, now folded and warm against Kaelen's chest, waited to be unveiled.

---

The final page turned.

Evening light slanted through the tall windows, casting long, golden shadows across the table strewn with ledgers, notes, and stolen truth.

No one spoke.

Not a word had been uttered in nearly an hour.

The only sound was the steady ticking of the ancient clock on the wall.

Baron Farley stood stiffly near the door, back damp with sweat, hands clasped so tightly the veins bulged. His gaze flitted between the royal siblings, watching the quiet power coil tighter and tighter in the room like a storm building in silence.

Velric had sunk to his knees long ago, unmoving. Silent. Drenched in fear.

The sun slipped lower.

The last glimmer of warmth faded from the marble floor.

Then—

Alaric raised his head.

His gray eyes, colder than steel, locked onto the Baron.

"You work under Duke Grentis, don't you?"

The question landed like a dagger.

The Baron's breath hitched. His lips parted, but no sound came. His face, already pale, turned white.

His knees buckled.

He sank down slowly, palms pressed to the polished floor.

"Y-Your Highness… please… the Duke doesn't know anything about this. I swear it!" His voice cracked. "Everything—I did it all on my own! He never ordered it. I never told him. Please!"

No one moved.

No one believed him.

The weight of that silence was more suffocating than a scream.

"I-I swear it!" the Baron babbled, desperation leaking into every word. "I falsified the reports. I forged the seals. I sold the grain. I paid off the stewards. The bribes, the land thefts—it was all me! Not the Duke! He didn't know!"

He bowed until his forehead touched the cold marble. "Please… please…"

Alaric didn't blink.

He didn't raise his voice.

He just stared down at the man groveling before him with the detached stillness of a glacier—like he was already looking at a corpse.

After a long moment, he spoke.

"You will be arrested for theft, forgery, and betrayal of the realm."

The Baron let out a strangled gasp.

Alaric continued, voice sharp as ice.

"Velric will be arrested alongside you."

Velric whimpered but didn't move.

Kaelen's expression didn't change. Celestine reached for the wax seal with steady fingers. Aina was already at the door, ready to call the guards. Lucien stood like a statue, one hand near his sword.

Tia didn't speak. But the look she gave the Baron was something worse than hatred—it was disappointment.

Alaric's eyes never left the man on the floor.

"All records will be confiscated. All funds and stolen goods traced and returned to the people."

He stood, his voice quiet but final.

"You were trusted to serve the crown. Instead, you fed on the starving."

The Baron clutched at Alaric's boots, but the crown prince stepped back, untouched.

"Your greed ends here."

He turned toward the door.

Kaelen followed.

The Baron didn't scream. He couldn't.

Because the true terror wasn't punishment.

It was knowing… that Duke Grentis might one day learn of this.

And then no dungeon would be deep enough.

---

Chapter 24: Embers Beneath the Crown

The orders were given.

No trials behind closed doors.

No whispered rumors.

The Crown would not hide the truth.

By command of Crown Prince Alaric, Baron Farley and Steward Velric were to be paraded through the heart of the town the following morning. Their crimes would be announced to the people they had robbed, silenced, and starved.

"They deserve to see justice," Tia had said.

"They deserve to know they're free," Kaelen had added.

And so, the guards dragged the two disgraced men through the manor's halls—no longer dignitaries, just criminals.

They were locked inside a small stone room near the gates, nothing more than a cold storage room now turned prison. Aina personally inspected the lock. Lucien stood watch until reinforcements arrived.

They would not escape.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

---

The six of them returned to the inn before dusk had fully settled.

The innkeeper, now aware of their true identities, stumbled over his words and offered food, drink, comfort—anything.

But they all declined.

Because none of them could eat.

The room they shared was silent.

Too silent.

Tia sat near the window, arms around her knees, staring out at the flickering lanterns of the town.

Children had died here.

So many children.

Little ones who never got enough to eat. Who never got a chance to live long enough to learn their names.

Behind her, Celestine slowly unwound her hair, fingers moving mechanically. She didn't look up.

Kaelen sat near the hearth, back to the wall, staring at the cold ashes like he was somewhere far away.

Aina cleaned her blade without a word.

Lucien stood by the door, arms crossed, eyes watching—but unseeing.

Alaric hadn't removed his cloak. He sat straight in a wooden chair by the far corner, hands folded, eyes half-closed—but not asleep.

None of them spoke.

None of them could.

The silence wasn't tension.

It was mourning.

Not for the Baron and Velric.

But for the nameless.

The lost.

The women who had been harassed into silence. The families that couldn't fight back. The elders who begged for grain. The children who had starved to death beneath sunny skies.

The royals had expected corruption.

They hadn't expected this.

Outside, the stars blinked over Aetheria.

But in that room, the night felt endless.

---

The sun rose quietly over the fields of eastern Aetheria.

As it always did.

The villagers rose with it—tired, quiet, and resigned.

Mothers tied scarves over their heads, men slung worn tools over their shoulders, and children too young for school followed silently, clutching half-filled water skins.

Because that's what they did.

Every morning.

If they didn't work, they didn't eat.

If they didn't show up, they were beaten—or worse.

But something was wrong today.

The roads were too quiet.

The soldiers that usually stalked the outskirts, barked orders, or glared from atop horses—were nowhere in sight.

The southern outpost was empty.

The flags still hung limp on their poles, untouched.

A few farmers glanced at one another, wary.

"Where are the guards?"

"I don't see Captain Velric…"

"Something's not right—"

BOOM.

A deep drum sounded through the valley.

Followed by another.

And another.

Then a gong struck, loud enough to rattle the earth.

Heads snapped toward the town square.

The sound came again—drums pounding, steady and grim.

The crowd moved cautiously, confused and half-afraid.

And then they saw it.

A procession.

Marching straight down the center of the road.

At the front were armored guards—not the usual crooked thugs, but elite Crown forces, their silver insignias gleaming in the morning light.

And between them—

Two broken men in chains.

Velric stumbled, mud splattered across his once-polished boots, hair matted to his face, clothes torn. His eyes darted in panic, lips trembling.

Beside him, Baron Farley walked like a man who had already died. His fine robes were ripped, cloak gone, neck ringed in iron.

Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd.

"That's—Isn't that… the Baron?"

"Velric? He's—he's a prisoner?"

"They're being paraded…?"

From balconies and alleyways, more people gathered.

Workers dropped tools.

Shopkeepers left stalls.

Children peeked from behind mothers' skirts.

It was the first time many of them had ever seen the Baron with their own eyes. And now, he was being dragged through the town like the criminal he was.

A voice called out from the front:

"By decree of the Crown—these men stand accused of theft, exploitation, and treason against the realm!"

Gasps turned into roars.

The drums continued.

A woman in the front row covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

Another clenched her fists and whispered, "It's real. It's really happening."

For once, no one was punished for speaking.

No one was hit for standing still.

No one was dragged away for asking questions.

The soldiers marched slowly—deliberately—making sure every soul in the town saw what justice looked like.

And somewhere behind the crowd, unseen by most, six figures watched from the inn balcony.

Not in crowns.

Not in gowns.

But cloaked in quiet presence.

Tia stood between her brothers, her hands clenched on the railing, watching the people's expressions shift from disbelief… to awe… to something dangerously close to hope.

Kaelen's jaw was set.

Alaric said nothing, but his hand tightened on the railing once, then released.

Beside them, Celestine's gaze was steady. Aina stood still as a blade. Lucien watched with the calm intensity of a soldier on guard.

They didn't speak.

They didn't need to.

Justice was marching.

And the kingdom… was watching.

---

The center of the town square had never seen a crowd like this.

People lined the streets, the balconies, the rooftops—some standing in stunned silence, others gripping the hands of those beside them.

In the middle of it all, Baron Farley and Velric were tied back-to-back against a wooden post.

No hoods to hide their faces.

No titles to shield them now.

The royal guards stood firm, unmoved, as one stepped forward to begin reading.

His voice rang out, clear and sharp.

"Baron Farley of Eastmoor. Steward Velric of Eastmoor. You are charged with the following crimes…"

The list began.

"Theft of public funds. Embezzlement of food and medical aid. Falsification of government records…"

The crowd listened, unmoving at first.

But then the words began to hit.

"Unlawful seizure of farmland. Harassment and coercion of women in vulnerable households. Threats of violence against protestors. Withholding grain shipments during famine."

Gasps. Cries.

A wail rang out from the front. An old woman clutched her shawl and fell to her knees, sobbing.

A young man covered his mouth, eyes wide in shock.

A child looked up at her mother and whispered, "That's why papa never came back?"

And still, the list continued.

"Neglect of orphaned children. Forged burial records. Forced relocations. Bribery. Treason."

The crowd trembled.

And then—

Thud.

A single stone flew through the air and struck Velric in the shoulder.

He flinched.

The guards didn't stop it.

They merely stepped aside.

More came.

Rotten fruit. Stones. Empty jars. Clumps of dirt. A broken sandal.

Someone threw a bucket of livestock waste.

The crowd roared—not in cruelty, but in release. In grief. In anger. In the sound of a wound finally screaming out loud.

Mothers cried in each other's arms.

Sons clutched shaking fists and sobbed into their sleeves.

Siblings held each other.

Neighbors wept openly.

And through it all, Velric and Farley were pelted again and again—until they collapsed at the base of the post, silent, humiliated, and drenched in the very filth they once forced others to grovel in.

When it was done—when there was nothing left to throw, nothing left to scream—the silence returned.

But this silence was new.

Peaceful. Hollowed. Cleansed.

The guards stepped forward, untied the men, and dragged them away without ceremony.

Then the crowd parted.

A hush fell.

And the Crown Prince stepped forward.

Alaric stood tall in the middle of the square, his ash-blond hair shining in the sunlight, his gray eyes solemn as he looked at the people—his people.

And then he did something no one expected.

He bowed.

Deeply.

"I offer the Crown's apology," he said, voice firm and clear. "Not just for their crimes—but for our delay in seeing them."

The crowd blinked.

Alaric continued.

"We failed to protect you. We failed to listen. And for that, we ask your forgiveness."

A ripple ran through the square.

"But starting today—we make it right. Everything taken from you will be returned. Starting now."

With a nod, the guards stepped forward, carrying sacks and crates marked with the royal seal.

A scribe called out names.

One by one, villagers stepped forward. Coins. Deeds. Reimbursements. A missing farm title. A long-withheld soldier's widow pension. Crate after crate.

Gasps turned to tears.

Hands covered mouths.

It wasn't symbolic.

It was real.

And then—someone in the crowd stepped forward.

A wiry man with sunburnt skin and cracked hands raised his fist and shouted—

"Long live the Crown Prince!"

For a breathless second, the world stilled.

Then the roar began.

"LONG LIVE THE CROWN PRINCE!"

"LONG LIVE THE PRINCESS!"

"LONG LIVE AETHERIA!"

Cheers shook the streets, echoing across rooftops.

Alaric raised a hand, and the square quieted once more.

He smiled, just barely.

"In honor of justice returned," he said, "a royal feast will be held this evening. Food. Music. No coin needed. You've paid enough."

The cheer that followed shattered the sky.

Tia gripped the edge of the railing above, tears gathering in her lashes.

And for the first time that day—

They all smiled.

Because the people were rising.

And the Crown… was finally standing where it belonged.

---