CHAPTER 210: LIES AND SLANDER

Lucien bowed his head slightly, though his eyes gleamed with unshaken conviction.

"I am not suggesting, Your Grace. I am declaring it."

A ripple of gasps spread. Some nobles exchanged skeptical looks; others leaned forward, eager for drama.

Alden’s voice boomed across the hall.

"Then speak clearly, brother. Who is it you accuse?"

The hall went silent.

Rowan, standing a few steps behind Lucien, clenched his fists, ready for the storm that would follow. Liora’s breath caught; she knew whatever Lucien said next could change everything, either sealing his fate forever or tearing the veil from the lies that bound him.

Lucien stepped forward, his boots echoing against the marble floor. His tone was low but sharp enough to slice through the air.

"The night my wife was killed, I was already under watch. My movements restricted, my words twisted. I was the easiest target. But the one who orchestrated it. "...his eyes swept the gathered faces, lingering for a fraction too long on Alden before shifting toward the council of nobles...", "...was someone who stood to gain both power and favor in the court."

He paused, letting the tension coil.

Liora’s heart pounded. He’s going to do it... He’s going to name them.

But before Lucien could continue, one of the elder lords, a hawk-nosed man draped in red, slammed his staff against the floor.

"Enough of this madness! These are wild accusations from a man already condemned by his own deeds!"

The interruption cracked the moment, and other voices rose in agreement, accusations, jeers, and doubts.

Lucien did not flinch. His voice cut through the noise.

"If you fear the truth, it is because you know it is near."

The hall fell into chaos, some demanding his arrest, others urging silence to hear more.

And then, Alden raised his hand. The noise died instantly. His eyes, pale and cold, locked on Lucien’s.

"Very well," the king said slowly. "You claim a conspiracy. You claim betrayal. Then prove it. Before this court. Before me."

The words were a challenge and a trap.

Rowan leaned in close to Lucien, his voice barely above a whisper.

"They want you to expose your hand too soon. If you’re not careful, they’ll bury you alive."

Lucien’s lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile.

"Then it is time they learn, I’ve already dug my way out of the grave they made for me."

The hall trembled with anticipation.

The hall bristled with anticipation, every eye locked on Lucien.

Even the braziers along the walls seemed to burn lower, shadows stretching as if the castle itself leaned in to listen.

Lucien’s voice rang clear.

"The truth does not hide forever. My wife’s death was not by my hand, nor by chance. It was the work of one who sought to fracture the throne and bury me with the pieces."

He began to walk, slow and deliberate, down the line of assembled nobles. Every step was calculated, every pause long enough to make them shift in discomfort. Liora’s gaze followed him, her pulse quickening; she had never seen him like this, unmasked, a blade of cold intent.

Finally, he stopped before the hawk-nosed noble who had slammed his staff earlier, Lord Marcan, the treasurer of the realm.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed.

"You speak loudest when truth draws near. Shall I remind the court where you were the night of the fire? Or how quickly your coffers grew fat when the eastern borders fell into chaos?"

Gasps rippled through the room. Marcan’s face blanched, then darkened with fury.

"Lies! Slander!" He slammed his staff again, but the sound rang hollow now.

Lucien tilted his head, almost amused.

"You would call it slander. But the ledgers Rowan holds... tell a different story."

Rowan stepped forward then, producing a sealed scroll. He bowed slightly, presenting it toward the throne. The hall stirred again; documents in a court session were not brought lightly.

Ellora leaned closer to Alden, whispering sharply, her composure cracking. Alden did not reply; his light-blue eyes were fixed on his brother, unreadable.

Queen Dowager Lilian’s lips curved faintly, a predator watching prey reveal itself.

"Show us, then," she said. "If you have proof, Prince Lucien... let it be seen."

Rowan unfurled the scroll, revealing neat rows of figures and signatures, transaction after transaction, linking Marcan’s treasury accounts with mercenary groups stationed near the borders during the rebellion.

The court erupted.

"Forged!" Marcan bellowed, his voice breaking as sweat beaded on his brow. "This is trickery!"

But Lilian raised her hand for silence, her gaze piercing.

"Forged or not, the Crown will know. An inquiry will be made."

Lucien’s eyes locked on Marcan, sharp as a blade.

"And while you scramble for excuses, remember this: truth corrodes lies like acid. No matter how many walls you build, it seeps through."

Liora, frozen at his side, felt a chill. This was no longer the disgraced prince she had been forced to wed. This was a man laying the first stone of his return.

And in that moment, she realized Lucien was not just fighting to clear his name. He was declaring war.

The courtroom did not quiet. Whispers surged like a rising tide, spilling into every corner of the throne hall.

Lucien stood steady at the center, the storm breaking around him. His cloak pooled at his heels, his shadow long across the polished floor.

Marcan’s face mottled red, his hand trembling on the staff. "This is outrageous! I have served the Crown for decades."

"Served yourself," Lucien cut in, his voice sharp enough to draw blood. "Fed the rebellion you claimed to crush. Sold my wife’s death to cover your greed."

Gasps cracked through the room like lightning.

Alden’s eyes hardened, his jaw set. At last, the king rose from his throne. His voice, calm but edged with steel, cut through the uproar.

"Enough."

The room froze.

"Marcan, these accusations weigh heavier than gold. You will answer them, before me, before the council, and before the gods if need be." His light-blue eyes flicked to Lucien, unreadable. "For now, you will be confined until the inquiry is held."

Knights moved swiftly. Marcan stumbled back, sputtering, but the steel at his sides left him no choice. He was dragged from the chamber, his protests echoing uselessly down the marble halls.

Silence fell again.

Lucien lowered his head, almost in mock deference. "Justice delayed is justice denied, brother. Do not let delay become your habit."

A murmur swept the courtiers, admiration in some, fear in others.

Alden did not rise to the bait. Instead, he fixed Lucien with a long, measuring stare before speaking.

"You play a dangerous game, Lucien. One that burns allies as quickly as it unmasks enemies."

Lucien met his gaze without flinching. "Better fire than rot."

The tension between them hung, taut and unyielding, until Lilian’s voice slid through the silence, smooth as oil.

"And so, the wolf bares his fangs again." Her lips curved faintly. "Let us see if they strike deeper than his father’s ever did."

The words landed like a blade against stone, deliberate, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

Liora’s breath caught. Lucien did not react outwardly, but she felt the shift in him beside her, the tightening of his hand, and the ripple of a wound reopened.

The court buzzed again with whispers of the former king, of buried scandals, of old blood.

And in the middle of it all, Lucien stood taller, the cracks of his disgrace beginning to fill with something far more dangerous: momentum.

The session dissolved in fragments, courtiers bowing out with hushed murmurs, their silks whispering against the marble floor.

When the great doors closed behind the last noble, the cavernous hall seemed to shrink. Only the echo of footsteps remained, Lucien’s, clipped and steady, and Liora’s, softer but faltering.

They walked in silence until they reached the shadowed corridor leading to their assigned chambers. Liora’s heart hammered against her ribs, the weight of everything said and everything unsaid pressing down on her.

Finally, she stopped.

"Lucien." Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

He halted, his back rigid, before turning to face her. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met hers.

"You told me Marcan betrayed you. That he was the reason you were cast aside. That much I can believe after tonight." Her breath shook, but she held his gaze. "But what Darius said... about my parents. You didn’t deny it."

The question hung in the air, trembling.

Lucien’s jaw flexed. For a moment, he looked as though he might deflect again, burying it in silence, as he had before. But her eyes pinned him, sharp and desperate, refusing to release him until he spoke.

He drew a slow breath.

"Liora... yYourparents’ deaths were not an accident. Nor a simple raid, as you were told."

Her chest tightened, her nails biting into her palms. "Then what were they?"

His voice llowered androughened.

"They were silenced. Used as pawns in a war of influence between factions in court. And yes, my family’s name is tied to it. Not because I ordered it, but because Blackthorne blood was behind the command."

The corridor tilted. Liora gripped the wall, her body rigid. "Your family..."