Reniel's death was still a wound upon the court, a martyrdom etched into memory.
To deny Lucian now… was to deny Reniel's last act.
Alaric's fists clenched.
"Don't you dare twist his death into a shield? Vile." His words cut like frost. "You are nothing but a vulture feasting on his corpse."
Alistair spat his venom sharper.
"Reniel was fire. You are ash. You stain his name by breathing it."
Lucian let his shoulders dip, the picture of wounded humility. His voice fell low, aching, though every syllable was blade.
"If speaking Reniel's name in defense of his will is a stain, then let me bear it. Better me than that his memory be trampled beneath pride."
Gasps tore through the nobles. Some glanced at the princes with unease—was it not they now trampling Reniel's legacy?
Alaric's face hardened, but a flicker of doubt rippled the chamber. Alistair's smirk faltered, sharpened into a snarl.
The emperor finally stirred. His voice rolled like thunder.
"Enough, All of you."
