Chapter 5 - The Princess Stands
For twelve years, the court had only ever known Princess Evelyne as a fragile porcelain doll trapped in velvet cushions and wheeled carriages.
Now, with her fingers intertwined with Rowan’s, she stepped out from behind the carved screen.
Her legs shook violently. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. Every muscle in her lower body screamed against a decade of atrophy, but she forced her weight forward, taking one agonizing, beautiful step onto the marble floor.
Gasps erupted from the gathered lords and guards. Even Captain Darius stepped back in sheer disbelief.
King Alaric leaped from his throne, rushing down the steps to catch her, but Evelyne raised a trembling hand to ward him off. “No, Father… let me.”
She looked across the room, her eyes blazing with a fierce, royal fury that matched her father’s best days. She locked her gaze onto High Inquisitor Malakor, who had frozen mid-stride, his expression of arrogant certainty faltering for the first time.
“You call him an anomaly,” Evelyne said, her voice ringing clear and strong through the vaulted ceiling, though her knees trembled with the effort. “You call him a threat. But for twelve years, while you and your council sat in your sterile halls debating the purity of our bloodlines, I was buried alive inside my own body. No physician could help me. No prayer could reach me. Not a single man among you offered anything but pity and despair.”
She took a second step forward, leaning slightly on Rowan’s arm for balance, though the physical effort was entirely her own.
“And now, a man walks out of the mud—untrained, unlettered, and uncorrupted by your politics—and does what your entire order swore was impossible,” Evelyne continued, her chin held high. “He didn’t cast a spell. He didn’t bargain with dark powers. He simply gave me a hand when I was falling. And you dare walk into my father’s hall and demand his execution?”
Malakor recovered his composure, though his face had darkened into a dangerous scowl. “Your Highness does not understand the cosmic balance. Power without origin is a weapon of chaos. If he is allowed to walk free, others will seek him out, and the delicate peace of the provinces will shatter.”
“The only thing shattering is your control,” Rowan spoke up for the first time, his voice calm, steady, and entirely devoid of fear. He stepped forward beside the princess, his tall, lean frame shielding her slightly from the Inquisitor’s cold gaze. “You’re not afraid of chaos, Inquisitor. You’re afraid that people will realize they don’t need your temples, your laws, or your chains to heal.”
Malakor’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure venom. He raised his hand, signaling his temple guards. “Seize them both! Treason against the Council is punishable by immediate purging!”
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“Guard the doors!” King Alaric roared, descending the final step of the dais with his broadsword drawn.
Within a heartbeat, Captain Darius and twenty royal guards drew their blades, forming a wall of steel between the royal family and the Inquisitor’s men.
