When they returned, the capital had changed. What had once been a city of whispers was now a place of open gossip, where slanderous headlines and false narratives about Conor and Kerrigan spread like wildfire.The Benedicts' smear campaign was relentless, twisting the truth, framing Kerrigan as power-hungry and Conor as a man unworthy of his station. Every news report painted them as the villains, their bond a source of scandal and suspicion.onor could feel the weight of the trial pressing down on all of them. Gregor Benedict and his son Kelan were not only fighting in the courtroom, but they had taken their battle to the streets, using their wealth and influence to sway public opinion.The lies they spun were doing damage, and Conor knew something needed to change before it spiraled out of control.Their short time away had been much needed but now, returning to the cesspit that the trial had become was frustrating to say the least.Kerrigan was doing her best but her nerves were fra
The tension in the courtroom was a living thing, crackling in the air as the trial dragged into its final stretch. Kerrigan sat at the front, her gaze steady, but inside, she could feel the relentless pressure of the past few months building.Every delay, every twisted statement, every loophole that Gregor and Kelan Benedict exploited had worn her patience thin. The media storm outside was ruthless, the Benedicts weaving lies and fabrications about her and Conor, turning the public’s perception of them into a battlefield.But today, the Benedicts were running out of time, and both sides could sense it.Kelan stood, his movements deliberate as he approached the front of the courtroom. His usually smug face was now set with the determination of a cornered animal.Conor could feel Kerrigan tense beside him, sensing the change in the air. Kelan had something planned. but the more he looked at the man, the more Conor wondered if Kelan had been feeling the stress of the last few weeks as mu
Gregor Benedict’s revelation of the King’s letter had cast a long shadow over the trial. Whispers of the royal sanction filled the halls, the uncertainty now clouding what had once seemed like a clear path to justice. But today, Conor had come prepared. Today, the tides would turn.As he stood before the court, Conor felt the steady hum of Celia’s power pulsing through him. It grounded him, kept him calm, even as the eyes of the court watched him closely, waiting for his next move. He could feel Kerrigan’s presence beside him, their bond giving him strength. This was the moment they had been waiting for.“Your Honor,” Conor began, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority, “I request that the court scribe be placed at my disposal.”The presiding judge, who had grown increasingly weary of the trial’s twists, narrowed his eyes at Conor. "What purpose does this serve, Deinmaar Conor? Have we not seen enough?"Conor held his gaze. "There are ancient laws, buried within the kingdo
The courtroom was tense, the air heavy with the anticipation of what was to come. The walls of the grand hall seemed to close in, the once-vibrant banners of the kingdom’s crest hanging like a judgmental audience over the proceedings.Conor’s presentation of the ancient scrolls had left the nobles and the High Council in a stunned silence. The echoes of the scribe’s voice reading aloud the punishments—the loss of titles, lands, even the death sentence—hung in the room like a noose.Kerrigan could feel the shift, the palpable unease among the gathered nobles. The trial had taken an unexpected turn, and for the time, the Benedicts were truly on the defensive.Conor stood beside her, his calm presence a steady anchor in the storm of tension. Yet, across the courtroom, she saw the panic etched on Gregor’s face, his eyes darting toward the King’s throne, seeking a lifeline.Gregor Benedict, once the proud and unshakabl
The heavy oak doors of the courtroom swung open with a thunderous crash, causing every head to snap toward the entrance.A hush fell over the hall as the King entered, flanked by his personal guards, their gleaming armor reflecting the flickering torchlight. His presence was unmistakable—a living embodiment of power draped in royal blue and gold, his crown a sharp, unyielding reminder of the authority he wielded.The air itself seemed to stiffen in response, and a ripple of uncertainty passed through the assembled nobles.Kerrigan’s eyes narrowed as she watched the King approach, his gait purposeful and imperious. She felt Conor’s hand subtly brush against hers, a silent exchange of solidarity. They both knew what this meant: the King’s sudden arrival was not a mere show of concern but a calculated move to reclaim control over a trial that had veered dangerously off course.“Your Majesty,” the presiding judge said, rising from his seat and bowing deeply. The rest of the courtroom follo
The murmur of unrest had started as a faint whisper in the marketplaces and taverns of Jinstain, but now it had grown into a roar that echoed across the kingdom. News of the trial’s latest developments had spread like wildfire—Conor’s revelation of the ancient scrolls, Gregor’s desperate attempts to sway the court, and the King’s thunderous intervention. The entire kingdom was watching, and the people were no longer content to remain silent.Kerrigan stood at the window of her temporary chambers in the capital, looking out over the city below. What she saw was a kingdom divided. The streets were filled with people—merchants, farmers, laborers, and nobles alike—gathered in clusters, engaged in heated debates. Some bore banners that called for justice against the Benedicts, emblazoned with slogans like “No One Is Above the Law” and “Protect the Dragons’ Covenant.” Others, however, held signs in support of the King, proclaiming, “Loyalty to the Crown” and “Order Before Chaos.”The trial
Late in the evening, the grand doors to the King’s private chamber swung open with a low creak, and Kerrigan and Conor stepped inside, their every movement weighed down by the tension that had been building for weeks.The room was dimly lit, a far cry from the usual splendor of the palace, as if even the light itself had recoiled from the gravity of what was about to unfold. The King sat at the head of a long, polished table, his face shadowed, his posture rigid with barely concealed frustration.He looked every bit the ruler who had been backed into a corner, and Kerrigan could see the cracks in his carefully maintained composure.To the world, the King was still a figure of unassailable authority, but here, in this private confrontation, he was a man fighting desperately to maintain control over a kingdom that was slipping through his fingers.“Come in,” the King said curtly, gesturing to the seats across from him. “We have matters to discuss that cannot wait.”Kerrigan and Conor ex
That night, as they sat in their quarters, Kerrigan spoke first. “The King will never truly hold Kelan accountable. He’s too valuable to him and his limited control over Gregor. The moment the trial ends, Kelan will find a way back to power or at least live in comfort, and nothing will change.”Conor stared out into the night, the city below still restless with the echoes of protest and dissent. The King’s ultimatum hung over them like a storm cloud, and every instinct told him that they were at a crossroads.Yet the path forward felt obscured, and the weight of the decision before them was crushing. The King had offered them a way out—a false peace that would preserve his power but betray everything they had fought for. And Conor knew, deep down, that they were running out of options.Kerrigan sat beside him, her face set in grim determination, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “We can’t accept his terms. This isn’t just about the Benedicts anymore. It’s about the so