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The scream Cecilia let out when Denham fell told Rochelle everything she needed to know about their relationship. However the pair had united, whatever their secrets, Cecilia had developed a genuine love for the Elder Prince. A strong enough love that the sight of her literal partner in crime falling to the ground brought her to her own knees. For a moment, Rochelle had wondered if Cecilia would explode into a rampage, but instead the fight seemed to drain from her. Just like that, it was over.
Except it wasn’t.
Aric drew Rochelle’s attention while the others secured Cecilia, and Denham’s body, for transportation. He settled his hands on her hips and rested his forehead against hers, speaking only for her to hear. “We will have to submit to the King’s Inquest. I wish I could save you from it somehow, but if we don’t all offer ourselves to the process, he could easily justify condemning us all.”
Her throat tightened as the weight of his point settled like lead in her gut. Denham may have been her enemy, the man who’d abducted and tortured her, but he had also been royalty, the biological cousin of the King. And Aric had slain him. She lifted her hands to Aric’s chest and curled her fingers in the soft material of his shirt. “I’ll do what I have to do,” she said. “But could you tell me … what is the King’s Inquest?”
“A formal interrogation, of sorts,” Aric said. “There is a small group of precision skilled sorcerers who were trained from childhood specifically to uphold the task of extracting the truth from the minds of a designated target. These individuals work exclusively for the monarchy, not unlike me. They’re socially aloof, so even I couldn’t tell you who all is among the current generation.”
She gaped up at him. “From theminds? I thought … I thought that sort of magic was only theoretical?” The edges of his lips twitched, and she knew immediately he’d held back on her. Of course he had. Of course hecould, whether or not he was supposed to.
“Aric,” Viveca called from several feet away. “We’re ready.”
His flicker of amusement vanished and he pressed a fleeting kiss to Rochelle’s forehead. “Just cooperate, as best you can. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Then he stepped back, took her hand, and guided her to the rest of the group.
Rochelle did her best to tell herself that Aric was right, that she’d done nothing wrong. But the visible anguish on everyone’s faces, the tears slowly trailing down Mitzi’s cheeks, made her heart clench with guilt. She had wanted so badly to spare them all this suffering. She’d wanted it so badly that she’d removed herself from their lives instead, hoping that would be enough. Yet still it had come to this.
She hadn’t remotely figured out how to deal with that by the time her hand was finally, unwittingly, removed from Aric’s comforting grip. She’d barely processed their transition to Castleton, not heard a word of any exchange between the others or with any guards, and was more than a little ashamed to realize she was technically in the presence of the King without even having noticed.
They were being separated.
After only just coming back to each other, they were being dragged apart.
The logical portion of her brain understood. It wouldn’t be smart to leave their group clustered together, for any reason, while whatever was to happen to them was yet to be determined, while information still needed to be gathered. But being escorted away from her might-be friends and the man she loved, by stern-looking armed guards with firm grips on both her arms, felt like a disaster. It felt like everything was going wrong when it had only barely had a moment to go right. She wanted to panic, to twist and turn and struggle in their bruising grips, to cry and scream and sob all at once. A tear or two probably did leak free, but otherwise she managed to hold her composure.
She was taken to a small, comparatively barren room with a magical seal over the window and shoved inside.
“You will remain here until it’s your turn to face the Inquest,” one of her escorts said. “If you attempt to use your magic, or flee, you will be deemed an enemy of Yafae and slain on the spot.” He didn’t wait for her response before jerking the door shut. She was a little surprised the frame didn’t rattle.
Rochelle stumbled to the double-wide mattress against the far wall and let herself drop. There was no telling how long she would be left to wait. No telling how long until, or even if, she would see Aric again. There was no point in not crying.
****
Aric had always wondered when the day would come that he’d face the King’s Inquest, but he’d never thought it would look like this. He’d never thought it would be because he’d personally, deliberately, executed the Elder Prince.
“Aric Vardanyan,” the silver-haired woman with the severe scowl and crinkles beside her eyes said as Aric was guided to take his position. She stood in the middle of a trio of individuals wearing identical robes, on a catwalk that placed them above and across from his designated position. Their robes were emblazoned with the royal family’s crest and layered in fabrics which comprised the colors of the kingdom’s flag. He recognized none of their faces.
The only person in the room he recognized at all, in fact, was King Jensen. But he doubted very much that he was supposed to acknowledge his King this time, so he kept his gaze forward.
The stern-looking woman gave him only a couple of seconds to take his position. “We will be performing your Inquest today,” she said. “You have confessed to killing Elder Prince Denham of Yafae, is that correct?”
“It is.” He had already been instructed to answer verbal questions with succinct answers whenever possible, so he refrained from elaborating on the complicated reasoning. That was why they had all gathered, after all.
Her face betrayed nothing of her personal opinion on the subject. “And you submit to this Inquest voluntarily, so that we may learn whether or not your actions were justified, is that correct?”
“It is.”
“Very well.” She lifted her hands to her forehead, fingers pressed together, creating a sharp pitch and obscuring the majority of her face. On either side of her, her companions did the same. “Close your eyes, Aric Vardanyan, and clear your mind. You are not to use any magic until we are done. If you are cooperative, the process will be painless.”
Aric released a breath and did as instructed. It was against his nature to allow himself to be the hapless recipient of an unfamiliar spell, but this time, it was necessary. Anything less than cooperation could be disastrous not just for him, but for all of them. So he willed his mind to relax, the way he’d learned long ago, and waited.
After a moment, he felt a vague tickling, like a feather brushing against skin. This sensation slowly transitioned into a sort of swirling in his mind, like leaves spiraling in the wind. Except the leaves were memories, and every few seconds one lingered in front of his mind’s eye. Aric watched a replay of nearly chronologically accurate flashes of every significant moment from discovering Denham waiting in his home to handing over Denham’s corpse.
He struggled to remain passive as certain memories were viewed, but he persevered.
Eventually, after a strange rush of expedited and edited emotions, the unsettled sensation faded away, and he realized he was alone again in his own mind.
“The Inquest is complete,” the same silver-haired woman said. “Bring forth the next uncertainty.”
