Embers to Flames (Fates Entwined #1)

Chapter Twelve

Entering the throne room, the atmosphere is tense. Everyone is talking in hushed voices, their eyes fixed on the throne where the King sits, looking stern and unyielding.

Mikyl is standing before him, his face pale and filled with fear. Theo and I take our seats on a bench in the front of the room, just left of the dais. The four High Lords of the realm enter solemnly. The only one I recognize is Lord Erhorn.

“I’ve never seen the other lords before. They all look so wise and majestic,” I whisper to Theo.

He chuckles softly as he points to the stoic looking Elf standing next to Erhorn. “Well, that one, is Erhorn’s brother—my father. Lord Ailwin Santrell of Paeris.” Ailwin’s face was apathetic, and he held a serious brow below a widow’s peak hairline.

Theo continues, “The heftier one next to him with the long silver hair; that is Lord Phirel Gorwin of Endia. They say he stays rotund to adhere to the cold winds of the north. I think he just enjoys indulging on yader meat.” He lets out a soft snicker at his own joke.

“Lastly, Lord Klaern Wynfir of Lansington.” Klaern is tall and lean. He stands serene and composed. His presence is more soothing than the others. “Lansington is known for being a woodsier city. The residents there enjoy spending their time gardening and being one with nature.”

King Varitan rises from his throne and stands before the court. “Lords of Quillyan, citizens of Eirina, we gather here today under the weighty mantle of justice. As your sovereign, it is my duty to preside over these proceedings with an unwavering commitment to truth and fairness.”

He pauses, his gaze sweeping across the assembled crowd. “Let it be known that the scales of justice shall measure the evidence without prejudice, and the law shall be our guiding star.”

The tension of the room is palpable as he turns his attention to Mikyl. “Standing before me is the accused. Mikyl Hepburn, Human and resident of Bahulya, you have been charged with the act of murder. A crime for which, if you are found guilty, will be punishable by death. ”

His voice grows stern, his eyes locking onto Mikyl’s, “Furthermore, damning evidence has surfaced that you were caught red-handed committing a violent assault on the very night of your apprehension. This egregious act will not go unpunished. You will face additional charges and stand trial for this savage attack.”

The crowd gasps, their horrified whispers sweeping through the room like an ominous storm brewing. King Varitan silences them with a single uplifted hand, his jeweled rings catching the soft glow of the court’s candle chandeliers. His eyes return to Mikyl, “Do you understand the charges brought against you?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mikyl’s voice reverberates through the deathly silence, clear and resonant.

“Do you have anything to say before your trial commences?”

Mikyl’s voice trembles as he speaks, “I am guilty of many things, Your Grace,” he says, his gaze shifting to me, “And if I could change my past… if I could undo what I’ve done… I would. But the one thing I did not do… is take another man’s life.”

The crowd murmurs, some looking skeptical while others seem to be in support of Mikyl. King Varitan nods, “Very well. Let the witnesses step forth.”

I watch closely as the first witness approaches, trying to piece together the events that led to Mikyl’s arrest. The testimonies are pejorative, with multiple witnesses claiming to have seen Mikyl arguing with the victim before the murder took place.

A middle-aged merchant with a grizzled beard recounts seeing Mikyl and the victim in an intense argument near the market square. His voice trembles slightly as he describes the anger in Mikyl’s eyes.

Lord Phirelcommands, his tone stern, “Merchant, describe the argument you witnessed between Mikyl and the victim.”

“Aye, m’lord,” the merchant replies, his voice wavering. “They were near the market square, shouting at each other. Mikyl’s face was red with fury. He yelled, ‘You’ll regret this!’ before storming off.”

Lord Phirel leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “Did you actually witness Mikyl kill the man?”

“N-no, m’lord,” the merchant stammers. “When Mikyl stormed off, the man was still alive. I didn’t see the actual moment of the murder.”

“So, when Mikyl left, the other man was still alive. Is that correct?” Lord Phirel presses.

“Aye, m’lord,” the merchant confirms.

Lord Phirel, with a thoughtful expression, asks, “Merchant, did you notice anyone else in the vicinity who might have had a motive to harm the victim?”

The merchant hesitates, then nods slowly. “Now that you mention it, m’lord, there were a few shady characters lurking about. But I can’t say for certain if they were involved. ”

Next, a young woman with a tear-streaked face takes the stand. She clutches a handkerchief and speaks of hearing raised voices from her window the night of the murder. Her account is filled with fear and uncertainty, but she insists she saw Mikyl leaving the scene shortly after.

Lord Erhornasks gently, trying to put her at ease, “Young lady, you mentioned hearing raised voices. What exactly did you hear?”

“I—I heard shouting, m’lord,” she replies, her voice trembling. “It was late, and I was scared. I couldn’t make out the words, but it was definitely Mikyl’s voice. Then, I saw him leaving the scene, looking… frantic.”

Lord Erhorn interjects, his voice calm but probing, “Did you recognize any other voices besides Mikyl’s?”

“N—no, m’lord. I only recognized Mikyl’s voice. The other voice was unfamiliar to me.”

Lord Erhorn leans in, his gaze intense. “Did you see anyone else leave the scene after Mikyl?”

“I—I didn’t, m’lord,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was dark, and I was too frightened to look closely.”

An elderly man, leaning heavily on his cane, follows. He claims to have seen Mikyl fleeing the area, his cloak billowing behind him. His testimony is slow and deliberate, each word weighed with the gravity of his years.

Lord Klaernasks, his voice respectful, “Elder, you claim to have seen Mikyl fleeing. Can you describe his demeanor? ”

“Indeed, m’lord,” the elderly man replies, his tone measured. “Mikyl was running, his cloak billowing behind him. He looked over his shoulder, as if fearing pursuit. His face was pale, and he moved with haste, like a man with something to hide.”

Lord Klaern, his expression skeptical, asks, “Did you see anyone else in the area at that time?”

“No, m’lord,” the elderly man responds. “Mikyl was the only one I saw running. But the shadows can hide many things.”

Lord Klaern, with a hint of curiosity, inquires, “Elder, in your experience, could someone else have committed the crime and fled without being seen?”

“It’s possible, m’lord,” the elderly man concedes. “The market square has many nooks and crannies. A skilled person could slip away unnoticed.”

As they speak, I can’t help but notice Theo growing increasingly uneasy, constantly shifting in his seat. After what seemed like hours, King Varitan’s voice bellows, “The crown would like to call one last witness. Rosanhi Hepburn, wife of the accused.”

Oh no. Why me?

My body trembles as I stand, torn between fear and fortitude. I turn to look at Theo, his hand clutches to mine and he smiles, mouthing, “It’s okay.” I find comfort in that and try to keep my composure as I make my way to the throne, but my heart is racing .

I take a deep breath and address the court. “My Lords, I am Rosanhi Hepburn, wife of Mikyl Hepburn.”

Lord Ailwin speaks to me directly, “Rosanhi Hepburn, this council has been informed that you visited your husband the morning after he was taken into custody. Is this true?”

I glance at Erhorn, and he looks back at me blankly.

“Yes, My Lord. This is true.”

“And what exactly did your husband admit to you?”

My mind races and I try to bring back the memory of that day. Everything that he had said. “He told me that he did not kill the man in Mara. Only that he had found him after he was murdered. He searched his pockets, but nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” Ailwin pushed for the truth. “Does your husband have a history of being a violent character?”

I can’t lie. They know about the fight that night.

I choose my words carefully, “There has only been one incident to my knowledge, My Lord.”

“And what incident would that be, Miss Hepburn?

My eyes brim with tears, and I muster all my strength to hold them back. “We had an argument the night the guards came for him. He was… not himself.”

Ailwin takes a step towards me, his stern face turns sympathetic. “Miss Hepburn, if you will, please explain how he was not himself.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I no longer have the strength to hold back the tears. Droplets begin to fall from my eyes. “I didn’t know it at the time… I wasn’t certain…” I stum ble on my words. “But my husband has been abusing Auraroot.”

Soft exclamations of surprise and muted murmurs sweep across the throne room. Lord Ailwin continues, “Was that the reason for the argument?”

Will this ever end?

“Not directly, My Lord. He was upset that I had gone to visit him at the market that day. I went to talk to him about…” I’m not sure I can continue this. I hang my head, softly sobbing. I look up at Mikyl, his eyes are red and swollen from crying.

He’s sitting there, vulnerable, laid bare by the truth of his actions, and in this moment, he is nothing but the raw, unfiltered essence of contrition.

“I went to talk to him about an item of clothing that I found… it… it had blood on it.”

More gasps of shock resound throughout the room.

Lord Ailwin nods, “I see. Well, Miss Hepburn, we thank you for your testimony. You are dismissed.”

I take a deep breath and wipe away my tears as I make my way back to my seat. The courtroom is deathly silent as I sit down next to Theo, who squeezes my hand reassuringly. I look up at him, and I can see the sadness and understanding in his eyes.

King Varitan clears his throat, “Lords of Quillyan, it seems that we have heard all the evidence that is necessary. The council will deliberate in private and return with a verdict shortly.”

It feels like an eternity has passed. Theo’s grip on my hand provides some comfort, but deep down, I know that everything is not going to be okay. My marriage to Mikyl may be over, but I can’t bear to see him face the death penalty for a crime he didn’t commit.

The doors of the throne room open and the King and High Lords return. King Varitan speaks to the court, “The council has come to a decision.”

The room falls into a tense silence, with only Mikyl’s sobs echoing through the space. He is at the mercy of someone else’s opinion of him. His fate depends on words that have yet to be spoken. In his heart, he holds onto hope for forgiveness while struggling against the fear of rejection. All he can do is wait, tears silently bearing witness to his agony.

King Varitan looks solemnly at Mikyl and declares, “The court has determined that you are… innocent of the murder charge brought against you.”

The courtroom erupts in a wave of whispered conversations. Mikyl’s cries turn into silent sobs, his body shaking with the force of his emotions.

The King raises his hand to silence the room. “This decision was not made lightly. Though many spoke against you, their words were but shadows without substance. None saw the fatal blow struck, and there were others who might have wielded the knife. The testimony of your wife, Rosanhi, revealed your troubled mind, clouded by the dark grip of Auraroot. This does not make you a murderer.”

He pauses, his gaze sweeping the room. “The blood-stained garment found by Rosanhi, though damning, does not bind you to the crime with certainty. The council has found that doubt lingers over your guilt, like a mist that cannot be pierced. Thus, we cannot condemn you.”

Relief floods through me, and I allow myself to finally let out a held breath. Mikyl looks at me, his eyes wide with shock. Tears stream down his face, but this time they are tears of reprieve.

The King continues, “However, in light of your wife’s testimony, and by your own admission, you are to be found guilty of onslaught. You are hereby sentenced to a term of three years at Malon Prison.”

The guards move towards Mikyl, but he doesn’t resist. He knows he has no choice but to accept the consequences of his actions.

As they lead him away, he turns to look at me one last time. I can see the regret and sadness in his eyes, but also a hint of gratitude. I watch as he disappears behind the throne room’s doors, a heavy feeling settling in my chest.

The room begins to empty, leaving Theo and I alone with our thoughts. I close my eyes, trying to push away the image of Mikyl’s broken figure being led away. Theo gently pulls me into a hug, and I let myself lean against him.

Despite the comfort I feel, a profound sense of shame engulfs me, making it difficult to breathe. I turn my face into Theo’s chest, letting out an earth-shattering sob. He wraps his arms around me tighter, “It’s alright, Rose,” he says gently. “You did what you had to do.”

But did I?

The question haunts me like an unending nightmare. As my husband was taken away, why did I feel this terrible sense of relief mixed with sorrow? Why did Mikyl’s departure feel like I was breaking free from invisible shackles?

Prince Ruvyn saunters towards us, shoulders squared, and chin held high in arrogant superiority. His voice drips with faux sympathy as he mockingly comments, “Ah, the comfort of shared sorrows... how truly touching.” The sneer on his lips and glint in his eyes betray the cruel intentions behind his condescending words.

Theo’s embrace tightens around me protectively as the prince’s words hang heavy in the air. I raise my head, meeting the prince’s gaze with a steady look, refusing to show any weakness in front of him. His arrogance is a bitter reminder of the toxicity that once tainted my marriage.

Before I can respond, King Varitan steps forward, his expression stern as he addresses his son, “Ruvyn, your insensitivity is unwelcome here. Show respect for the difficult circumstances that have unfolded in this courtroom.” The authority in the king’s voice brooks no argument, and the prince’s facade of superiority wavers for a moment before he inclines his head in a begrudging nod.

The Prince takes his leave with a parting sneer and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. King Varitan addresses me, his gaze kind and understanding. “Miss Hepburn, I know this has been a trying ordeal for you. Please know that justice has been served today, albeit in a bittersweet manner.”

I nod gratefully at the King, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me—relief that Mikyl wasn’t sentenced to death, sorrow at the brokenness of our relationship, and uncertainty about what the future holds for me now that this chapter of my life has ended.

Theo and I begin to make our way out of the throne room when Lords Erhorn and Ailwin stop us. Theo starts with the formalities, “Rosanhi, I would like you to officially meet my father, Lord Ailwin Santrell of Paeris.”

Lord Ailwin puts out a hand to hold mine. “Rosanhi, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am truly sorry for how things have transpired thus far. Your experiences have not been easy, and I hope that better days lie ahead for you. Is my son treating you well?”

My mind flutters to the image of Theo between my thighs last night. “Yes sir, you raised a perfect gentleman,” I respond, glancing up at Theo with a smirk.

Theo clears his throat dramatically. “I believe the term you’re looking for is ‘gentle-elf,’ thank you very much. ”

I can’t help but snort at his ridiculous pun, feeling my cheeks flush as I try to stifle my laughter. Lord Ailwin raises an eyebrow, clearly not impressed by his son’s attempt at humor.

Lord Erhorn places a hand on my shoulder, pulling me off to the side. “Rosanhi, I want to say how proud I am of you for the way you have handled today. You have shown both grace and candor. For that, I would like you to join us tomorrow night on Dragon’s Edge. I am still in need of a servant after all.” He says with a wink. “I do not feel as though Lenna or Ava will be up to the task.”

I hesitate, my mind racing. “I would love to sir. Thank you,” I finally reply, curiosity and confusion mingling in my voice.

“Wonderful, now go and rest. Tonight is not the night to be sleepy. Tonight is a night for… dancing!”

I let out a soft giggle, “Dancing?”

“Why yes! The Gala of Fire is a tradition. Food, dancing… it is a sight to behold.” The excitement twinkles in Lord Erhorn’s eyes, causing an infectious smile to spread across my face.

My heart jumps at his words. I look between him and Theo in disbelief. “An Elven Ball?” I stutter out. “But… but sir, I’m… I’m just a human.”

Lord Erhorn chuckles, patting my shoulder gently. “Why indeed,” he says cryptically. “I happen to enjoy keeping the other Elves on their toes.” Neither his words nor his evasive gaze gives anything away.

A servant at an Elven Ball? It’s unheard of, unimaginable even.

“Dancing…” I echo quietly, a faint blush dusting my cheeks as I think about the possibility of dancing with Theo. The thought is both terrifying and exhilarating, filling me with a sense of anticipation that I haven’t felt in years.

Lord Ailwin chuckles softly, and I turn to see him watching us with a fond expression. “You’ll love the gala, Rosanhi,” he assures me. “It’s one of the few times when we can let go of all responsibilities and simply enjoy ourselves. And my son is quite the dancer himself.”

I glance at Theo, who shrugs with feigned modesty even as a grin tugs at his lips. “I’ve been known to have some rhythm,” he admits, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

I return his grin, feeling a sense of lightness that has been absent for far too long. “I guess I’ll have to see it to believe it.”

Lord Ailwin laughs heartily at this before clapping Theo on the shoulder. “That’s my boy,” he says, his voice filled with pride and affection. He then turns to me and places a gentle hand on my arm. “Rosanhi, we’re so grateful you’ll be joining us tonight... and remember, if anyone gives you any trouble... just tell them you’re with us.”

Right… because a Human girl at a traditional elven party will blend in perfectly.