Harmonia Calendar 715, Thal 25 - Capital Lionsgate, Elandor
Late Noon - Tribunal Hall
The wagon jolted to a stop.
Thud.
I woke and was thrown sideways, shoulder slamming into the wall.
Outside, boots struck stone, and muffled voices rang.
Then came the sound of the lock.
Click.
The door opened.
Light spilled in, harsh after hours of darkness.
A guard's hand seized my arm, dragging me out, my eyes stung as they adjusted. Shapes sharpened, and there it stood before me.
The Tribunal Hall.
Two massive doors towered before me, carved from black oak and decorated with imperial lions.
On either side of the door stood figures carved from white marble.
The goddess of Life with her praying hands, and the god of Death with his lowered, open hands.
The patron gods of Aldaria were watching all who entered.
My gaze lifted higher, tracing the height of the doors until it reached the roof above.
Behind me, rising in perfect symmetry, were white marble columns, massive and unyielding, holding the weight of the ceiling.
The guards shoved me forward.
Creak.
The doors groaned as they swung open, their weight echoing through the sound.
Thud.
The first thing I saw was the floor.
A wide circle of polished stone stretched at the center, empty except for a small podium of black wood.
My gaze lifted to the stained-glass ceiling high above.
Light poured through in streaks of crimson and gold, painting the floor in shifting patterns.
At the edges, high benches rose in rings.
Every seat was filled. Nobles with jeweled hands leaned forward, and merchants whispered among themselves.
Servants stood in corners.
Opposite the door hung the Empire's banner, crimson and gold shining in the light.
Beneath it, on a wooden platform, sat the magistrates, draped in black robes, their faces almost bored.
Their murmurs ceased as their eyes turned to me.
Most glanced once before looking away, but a few let faint smiles tug at their lips before their gazes shifted on.
Something in their reaction felt wrong.
I didn't have more time to think about it before the guards shoved me forward again, onto the podium.
Click.
The shackles clinked as they unlocked them.
I rubbed at my wrists.
The iron was gone, but the weight lingered.
They withdrew, and two soldiers took their place behind me, hands resting on their sword hilts.
I knew without looking that if I moved, I wouldn't go far.
I looked around, my gaze darting across the rows.
My hands fidgeted, rubbing at the raw skin of my wrists.
That was until I heard them.
"That's the Ashspire boy."
"So young…yet rotten."
"He looks like a beggar."
The words stung.
I glanced down at my blue tunic, now torn and disheveled, it was smeared with dirt and grime, and my hands were blackened from the cell floor.
I looked every bit what they named me.
"They say he isn't the Marquis's son."
"A bastard then."
"He took him in as a baby."
"And this is how he repays it."
My hands curled into fists.
'I'm not a bastard. I'm Adonis Ashspire…and I gave it my all to repay him for that.'
"He assaulted a maid, they said."
"Look at him. He looks guilty already."
The words made my blood burn, my jaw clenched shut.
'I could never do something like this… especially to Sarah. She was...my friend.'
"Bastards don't know loyalty. It's in their blood."
My jaw clenched until it hurt, eyes closing, a poor attempt to blend out their voices.
Pain stirred behind my closed eyes, slow at first, then sharper.
The headache came back, and with it, the visions—a girl's bright smile and soft laughter.
I clenched my fists, forcing them away.
'Not now. My head has to be clear today.'
***
Early Afternoon - Benches
Rowena sat stiff at the edge of her seat, hands clasped together, lips moving in the shape of a prayer.
Theodora looked worse.
She hadn't slept, shadows underlined her eyes.
Her gaze was locked on Adonis, as if the very act of looking kept him alive.
Lucien's eyes were on the judges.
He watched every movement, every whisper their lips spoke.
His jaw was clenched, and one finger tapped the railing in a slow, measured beat.
Anton sat like a statue, posture straight—no twitch, no shift, no breath wasted.
Favian leaned back as if he were watching a play.
His shoulders loose, his lips curved when he thought no one watched.
The Grand Duke sat tall, his green eyes held no warmth, only the weight of judgment that measured everything and spared nothing.
Selene, beside him, was a contrast.
Her hands folded delicately in her lap, her eyes studied Adonis.
The High Magistrate rose from his seat.
He smoothed the folds of his robe and stepped to the lectern.
The hall stilled at once.
His voice carried through that silence.
"Bring the witness."
Click.
A side door swung open.
***
Early Afternoon - Tribunal Hall
The door swung open.
The torn dress was gone.
I wore a plain black shirt, buttoned to my throat.
My lip was split, a crust of dried blood had formed around it. One arm stayed pressed against my ribs, each breath hurt.
Step.
I stepped forward, eyes lowered to the floor.
But for a moment, I looked up toward the podium.
He stood there.
My throat felt dry.
'Adonis...'
He looked worse.
The blue tunic hung torn, smeared with dirt. Grime covered his face, and his black hair fell in unruly strands over his eyes. The blue in them, once bright and clear, was now hidden beneath dark circles.
Step.
Tears began to flow.
Step.
It hurt with every step, each one clawed at my chest.
Step.
'I'm sorry...Adonis.'
Step.
'I don't want to do it. But I...have to.'
Step.
'I want to shout. To cry out. To tell them what really happened.'
Step.
'But I can't. My family. He will hurt them.'
Step.
I halted, lowering my gaze again, but it was too late.
His eyes already found mine.
My gaze lingered on them.
'I once loved how he looked at me.'
'How his bright blue eyes only looked at me when we were together.'
'But not now. Now I felt only guilt.'
The magistrate's voice broke the silence, his quill hovered.
"Speak."