Vaelen entered first.
Of course he did.
The herald announced him with all the solemnity one might reserve for a martyr returning from war, and the great doors of the court opened just wide enough for him to step through slowly, every movement carefully measured.
Sarisa's stomach twisted at once. They had not healed his face properly. No, they had made sure the bruising remained spectacular.
The purple-black shadowing along his jaw had deepened, the cut at his brow was still held together with fine silver stitches, and the slight stiffness in the way he carried one shoulder made him look every inch the injured innocent.
They had dressed him beautifully for it, too. Pale blue silk, silver embroidery, a dark cloak to make his skin look warmer and the bruises harsher. He looked like a painting commissioned to wring pity from anyone with functioning eyes.
Sarisa had to look away before her expression betrayed her.
A murmur spread through the court. Soft little sounds. Poor prince. How dreadful. Such violence.
Those bitches, Sarisa thought again, colder this time.
Vaelen bowed first to the queen, then to the judges, then turned and sat where he was directed, one hand resting lightly at his side as though even sitting caused him pain. The performance was almost admirable in its discipline. Almost.
Then the doors opened again.
Lara walked in between four guards.
Her chains had been removed before they brought her into the chamber, but the marks remained on her wrists, ugly and red against brown skin.
They had at least allowed her to wash, though not well enough to hide what the week underground had done. Her face was leaner.
One bruise lingered along the edge of her jaw, yellowing now, and there was a cut at the corner of her mouth that had only half-healed.
Her uniform was gone. Instead, they had dressed her in plain dark clothing, severe and simple, as though stripping rank from her body might make her easier to condemn.
It only made Sarisa's chest ache.
Because even like that, even bruised and starved and dragged into court to be judged, Lara walked like she was still dangerous.
Her shoulders were straight. Her expression was calm in that infuriating way she wore when she had decided she would rather bite off her own hand than give her enemies the satisfaction of seeing pain. She did not look at the queen first. She did not look at the judges.
She looked at Sarisa.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
Sarisa saw the exhaustion in her. The fury banked low and hot. The quick flicker of reassurance, as if Lara needed her to know I'm still here. I'm still standing.
Then Lara turned and took her place.
The herald began, voice echoing too neatly against marble.
"This audience concerns the violent assault committed by Lara of the demon realm against His Highness Vaelen, future king by betrothal, within the royal palace itself. The accused is charged with unlawful aggression against a royal, refusal to submit peacefully to detainment, and the injury of multiple guards acting under direct order of the crown."
Each word landed with the weight of rehearsal.
One of the judges, an elderly woman with silver brows and a mouth like a blade, inclined her head. "We will hear first a statement of the event as witnessed by His Highness Vaelen."
Vaelen rose slowly, beautifully, his face composed into measured sorrow.
"Your Majesty. Honored judges." He paused, a picture of restraint. "I regret that this matter must be aired so publicly. Had it been only my own pride injured, I would have preferred silence."
Liar.
"But the safety of the royal family must come before my comfort." He laid one hand lightly over his ribs and looked, very deliberately, in Sarisa's direction before turning away again.
"I encountered General Lara in the corridor outside the council wing. I greeted her. She appeared… agitated. Before I could understand the cause, she struck me with such force that I was thrown through the wall."
A rustle of horror moved through the chamber.
Vaelen lowered his head slightly, humble in victory. "I did not provoke her. I offered no threat. I can only conclude that her temper, or perhaps her nature, got the better of her."
Sarisa's nails bit into her palms beneath the table.
He was good at this. Better than she had wanted him to be. His voice trembled in all the right places.
His injuries did the rest. A man wronged. A prince attacked by a creature too volatile to trust among civilized people.
He continued, quietly now, "I hold no personal hatred toward Lara. Truly. I know she has long served Princess Sarisa and has been important in Aliyah's life. But no loyalty excuses such violence. No history makes it safe."
He sat.
The judges nodded gravely, as if he had spoken some eternal truth rather than a carefully washed version of filth.
The silver-browed judge turned to Lara. "You may answer the accusation."
Lara rose.
There was no limp in her. No visible weakness. Even hungry and bruised, she seemed bigger standing than anyone else seated in the room. She clasped her hands behind her back, a soldier before a tribunal, and spoke without bowing her head.
"Yes," she said. "I hit him."
The bluntness of it cut through the chamber more cleanly than any polished denial could have.
There were murmurs again. The queen's expression remained still.
Lara went on, voice level. "And I did it because he was disrespectful toward Princess Sarisa."
This time the murmurs sharpened.
One of the judges leaned forward. "In what way?"
Lara's gaze did not flicker. "In a way that made me decide he would not try it again."
Sarisa's pulse kicked hard.
It was not the whole truth. Not even close. But it was close enough to be dangerous.
The queen spoke then, smooth as silk over a knife. "Loyalty is one thing. Brutality is another."
Lara looked at her. "Maybe. But if a man speaks of the future queen without respect, I take that personally."
Several heads turned. Not to the queen. To Sarisa.
Gods.
The judge spoke again. "So you admit the act was intentional."
"Yes."
"And premeditated?"
"No."
Lara's mouth almost twitched. "If it had been premeditated, he'd be dead."
A stunned silence followed that.
Somewhere to Sarisa's left, Raveth made a sound suspiciously like a smothered laugh. Veylira did not move at all, which somehow conveyed even more approval.
The queen, however, had clearly decided the direct approach was no longer sufficient.
She rose.
"Since we are speaking plainly," she said, "let us do so fully. This is not the first time Lara has brought trouble into this palace."
Sarisa felt the trap open beneath them.
The queen descended one step from her dais, not enough to seem dramatic, only enough to command the room more completely.
"There are already complaints from women whose affections she has toyed with and discarded. Property damaged in fits of temper. Celestian artifacts broken, training grounds ruined, incidents hushed up for years because Princess Sarisa insisted she remain close."
Her tone sharpened by only a degree. "And for all we know, there may be hidden children as well, little demons she never bothered to acknowledge."
The court practically vibrated with interest now.
Lara went very still.
Sarisa felt her whole body fill with a cold so complete it was almost clarity. This had nothing to do with Vaelen anymore. Not truly.
The queen was not trying to punish one act. She was trying to destroy Lara's character so thoroughly that exile would look merciful.
No one in the room breathed when the queen turned back toward the great doors and said, with chilling calm, "Which is why, in the interest of fairness, we found someone for you."
The doors opened.
A woman entered with a little boy at her side.
She was young, perhaps no older than twenty-five, with dark brown skin and a posture too stiff to be natural.
Her dress was modest but expensive enough to suggest someone had prepared her carefully for this performance. One hand gripped the shoulder of the child beside her as if she feared he might bolt.
And the child—
Sarisa's heart lurched.
He was tiny. Three years old at most, solemn-faced in the overwhelming way only very small children can be when dragged into adult cruelty.
He had dark, unruly hair with a faint streak of deep red running through one side, as if someone had dipped their fingers in wine-dark fire and brushed it there.
His skin was warm brown, his eyes a vivid amber-red that caught the court light strangely, and at his temples, barely visible beneath the curls, were the smallest delicate black horn buds just beginning to show.
He looked just enough like Lara to make the whole room inhale at once.