In the grand hall of the High Conclave, the Head members sat around the circular table, cloaked in authority and centuries of tradition. Behind them, rows of elevated staircase seating brimmed with Conclave members in their ceremonial robes—silent, tense, and watchful.
Everyone wore grim expressions—everyone except Vincenzo, who looked more like a storm waiting to strike than a nobleman at trial.
At the center of the discussion was the Envoy's latest accusation: the murder of subordinate Gabriel.
King Archimedes, his presence radiating restrained power, broke the silence first.
"Envoy Lightwood," he said evenly, "How are you so certain Vincenzo is behind the murder of the subordinate?"
Egnatius stood, his voice sharp, laced with indignation. "Isn't it obvious? Ever since that girl crossed paths with the Conclave, Vincenzo has defied every protocol to protect her. He's made it very clear—he'll shield her no matter the cost."
He paused, scanning the room, his eyes catching fleeting flickers of agreement among the murmuring members before turning back to the King.
He scanned the room, letting his words settle in. Then his eyes snapped back to Archimedes. "I don't know why he would kill Gabriel—perhaps it was punishment for whipping the girl. Or maybe he forced the guard to do it for him. Either way, the outcome is the same. The moment the girl was involved, Vincenzo was never far behind."
A murmur of uncertainty rippled through the ranks.
Vincenzo leaned back in his chair with an expression of amused disdain.
"You and your wild accusations, Lightwood," he drawled. "With all these dramatic theories, perhaps you missed your true calling. You'd make a better playwright than a Conclave member. Although, frankly, you're not much good at that either."
The room stiffened as the tension crackled between them.
Egnatius's jaw clenched. "These are not wild accusations! You said it yourself in the last meeting—the girl is important to you. And now? Gabriel is dead. Someone's sending a message."
Vincenzo's crimson gaze darkened, his voice dipping into a deadly calm.
"Finally, Lightwood, something true escapes your lips. Yes. She is important to me."
He rose slowly from his seat, and the air seemed to shift around him—charged and still.
"I made it very clear last time: she is mine to protect." The word mine echoed like a curse in the chamber.
His next words were cold steel.
"And why would I waste time killing a mere subordinate... when you, Lightwood, are the one who gave the order? The one who allowed her to be shackled. Whipped. Humiliated."
Egnatius took an instinctive step back. "I did nothing wrong! I was doing my duty. She appeared under suspicious circumstances—and entire towns don't vanish without cause! The Dark Witches are stirring. You think I should have just let her go?"
"You should have informed the Conclave," Vincenzo snapped. "Instead, you acted alone. Recklessly. First you failed your duty. And now, to deflect, you accuse me."
Egnatius narrowed his eyes. "You never cared about anyone until now. And suddenly you're willing to risk your title, your power.… for her?"
A sinister chuckle escaped Vincenzo.
"Oh, Lightwood. I'd burn your entire empire to ash in a blink for her."
The statement hit like a thunderclap, and silence fell again—thick and electric.
"And as I said," he continued, "I didn't kill your man. I don't waste blood on pawns. But you… you dared harm something that's mine."
Tension spiraled upward, pressing against every corner of the chamber. King Archimedes exchanged a wary glance with Head Witch Bellatrix. This could no longer be dismissed as a political spat—it was becoming personal. Dangerous.
To defuse the spark, the King interjected gently, "Given the circumstances… arresting the girl may have been justified. But punishing her was not." His tone turned stern as he addressed Egnatius. "Vincenzo had no motive to kill your subordinate."
He turned his gaze on both men. "So regardless of personal grievances, these accusations must cease. The Conclave cannot fracture from within."
Egnatius began, "But there must be an investi—"
"I object," Vincenzo cut in sharply.
His voice rang clear, silencing the room.
"Envoy Egnatius Lightwood must be punished. Not only for imprisoning—but for laying hands on—the future Queen of Versimoil."
Gasps exploded from every corner. Faces turned toward each other in disbelief, eyes wide with confusion and curiosity.
The Regal Fairy, Luciana—whose quiet ambition had long been to see her daughter wed Vincenzo—stood in stunned disbelief.
"You mean… the girl from the forest?"
Vincenzo's eyes gleamed with something beyond pride—something possessive, protective, irrevocable.
"Yes. The girl from the forest. Anneliese Levine. Blue eyes. Brown hair. She will be my consort—and the Lady of the Versimoil Kingdom."
No one moved.
No one dared speak.
The truth had been spoken—and it changed everything.