CHAPTER 57
ALEXANDER
By the time Alexander finished reporting to the king, the throne room hummed with the promise of a summary justice.
Bertrand knelt before the dais, hands bound. His spine was straight, his face unreadable, but he no longer wore the mask of the man who had once moved through Blackwood-Veyrde like he owned it. No smugness. No bravado, only the watchful stillness of a man who understood, at last, that he would no longer be the one asking questions.
Alexander watched from the sideline. The sight of Bertrand on his knees should’ve brought satisfaction. Instead, it pulled taut a wire of old, familiar anger. Here was the man who’d eaten at his father’s table, praised his generosity, and plotted his ruin in the same breath.
His gaze shifted to the dais. He supposed the king felt rather foolish now, seated on the high throne beneath the crystalline vaults of Niewberg’s court, surrounded by his assembled peers. Ferdinand’s father had once prided himself on seeing through men, yet he had trusted Bertrand with coin, counsel, and control. And this weasel, ever affable, ever obliging, had smiled as he skimmed from the tribute crystal.
It was a gross double error in judgement. And Alexander could not decide whether the shame stung more as a son, or as a king.
The Great Hall’s doors opened with a groan. A page’s voice rang out, steady and clear: “Princess Adelise. Princess JingYi of Xuên-Sarai.”
Footsteps shuffled. Heads swivelled. Murmurs swelled. Alexander, too, turned. Framed in the arched entryway, Adelise stood regal in her bearing despite the cut on her temple. JingYi stood beside her—pale, even more bruised, but unshaken. This was his wife’s first Tremorian court appearance, but she stood with her chin lifted, as if daring the court to measure her by her blemish. And gods, how radiant she looked, like someone forged in fire and brimstone.
She began the walk, her limp more pronounced than usual. The great hall fell silent as she crossed the marble aisle, candlelight catching the silver threads of her gown. And Alexander, watching her now, was struck by the memory of another walk. On their wedding day in Parandor, her veiled form had moved toward him, hiding so much behind her silence.
He hadn’t understood her that day. Now, he saw her clearly. Not as a bride forced to the altar, but as a woman who had survived a betrayal, a dungeon, a war waged in the dark, and still chose to walk forward under the eyes of men who’d overlooked her.
Their gazes met, and he suddenly understood. This feeling wasn’t new; his awareness of it was. It was a truth he’d been carrying, circling and circling, finally recognized.
Her.
It had always been her.
And Gods help him, he wanted her—not just for her strength or resilience, but for the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes,the fact she kept walking when so many would’ve fallen and never risen again.
King Ferdinand nodded to welcome the princesses. But before he turned to Bertrand, his gaze settled on JingYi—a long, assessing look that carried the weight of an entire kingdom.
“Princess JingYi.” The king’s voice held a rare warmer beneath its formal edge. “Lord Wulfbane told me what happened during your captivity. You have protected my sister at the risk of your own safety and kept her alive.” He inclined his head. “The crown will not forget such service.”
JingYi curtsied. “Your Majesty honours me.”
Approval flickered in the king’s eyes. Pride so sharp it felt like pain spread through Alexander’s own chest.Now it is time,he thought,for the entire court to see her.
Then Ferdinand turned, and the warmth vanished like the sun behind clouds.
“Bertrand of House Fortier.” The name dropped like a stone into a deep well. “You are accused of embezzlement, obstruction of royal justice, conspiracy against crown and kin, and endangering the lives of not one but two royal-born Omegas.” His voice hardened to iron. “How do you answer?”
Bertrand scrambled forward, and reached out for the king’s feet, only to be pushed back by the royal guards. “I am loyal to Tremore, Your Majesty. I acted only to protect its interests.”
Alexander’s jaw tensed. Even now, the thieving rat thought he could spin it. How regal he looked, even bound, perfect image of a loyal nobleman unjustly accused. A pang tore at his chest. This same man had once watched him scrape his knees in the training yard, taught him how to use the abacus.
“It has been revealed,” the king said, “that you—Bertrand Fortier—arranged the illegal mining and sale of purple limyerite. That you’ve done so for decades, using a forged seal, siphoningcoins for yourself. That when your Alpha lord, Teodor Wulfbane, discovered it, you framed him for your crimes.”
The court shifted. Alexander stood frozen.
He had suspected. For years, he had suspected. But Parandor needed new roofs. Yrenna needed a future. And the truth . . . He had been terrified of the truth. Would anyone believe it? Would it change anything? Or would the accusation leave him with less than he started?
So, he had folded any suspicions away and locked it behind his teeth. Survival first. Justice could wait.
Now, the time had finally come.
Bertrand lifted his chin. “I deny all of it. The matter has been investigated and closed for over twenty years. That Alpha was a criminal, and he’s dead. You would take the word of a traitor over mine?”
“Not just his word,” Alexander said, stepping forward. “Mine too.”
