The hall doors creaked open.
Everyone turned.
A man in dark red robes walked in, followed by two scribes. His expression was unreadable, formal and stiff.
He held a scroll in his hand, sealed with the royal crest.
The guards parted for him as he stepped forward, approaching the throne. "Your Majesty," he said with a bow. "The evidence has been delivered."
The Queen motioned for him to speak.
The man unrolled the scroll.
"We have done the confirmation as requested and it is true. Cressida Valmont is hereby accused of the following crimes: the attempted poisoning of Crown Prince Elias, the passing of confidential military strategies to border enemies, and the seduction of key nobles within the queen's court—specifically Duke Lucien Valarion and Sir Gareth Vane."
Cressida's head snapped up.
"What?"
The Queen raised an eyebrow. "Is that a denial?"
"I never laid a finger on Gareth," she said. "I barely spoke to that man!"
Another voice came from the left of the room.
Sir Gareth himself stepped forward.
"I have letters," he said, coldly. "Written in her hand."
He held out parchment to the guards. They delivered it to the dais. The Queen took one, scanned it, and smiled slowly.
"'Meet me at midnight. The Duke will not know. What I do for the kingdom must remain between us,'" she read aloud. "Interesting tone for someone who claims innocence."
"I didn't write that!" Cressida said, struggling against the guards holding her down. "That's not my handwriting—he's lying!"
"We had it verified," the red-robed man said. "The ink, the signature, the seal. It's all authentic."
"No, it's not," she whispered. "It's forged. It has to be."
More parchment was brought forward. Pages and pages.
A ledger of secret meetings. Payments traced to her name. Maps of border defenses hidden under her name in the archives.
It piled up. Paper. Paper. Paper.
Her heart sank lower with each one. It was damning. She was being accused for something she knows nothing about. A woman who was just an archive carer, and the Duke's woman. Well mistress. His sex whore since he had a wife.
She couldn't believe this was happen right now.
"None of this is real," she said, voice shaking. "You have to know this isn't real."
But it was too clean. Too timed. Too much. And it looked authentic, enough that she may not be able to prove her innocence.
The tears were in her eyes and it burned.
The Queen tilted her head. "And what about the prince?"
"I never touched him, we are not even friends," she spat.
"Interesting. Because we have his statement."
Prince Elias stepped forward from the shadows, pale and visibly ill.
"I drank from her cup," he said weakly. "The next hour, I was on the floor. Vomiting blood. I almost died last moonlight. I am just getting backing on my feet."
Cressida stared at him like she didn't recognize him. "I wasn't even in the room that night. Lucien tell them, we were together."
But he didn't say anything.
"You brought the wine," he said. "I remember."
"Me? I don't even have access to the Royal kitchen."
The Queen stood slowly.
"That's enough."
Cressida turned toward her. "Please," she said. "Don't do this. You have to believe me."
"You seduced a married man," the Queen said. "You sold out your kingdom. You tried to murder my son."
Cressida shook her head at each statement.
"All lies."
The Queen's eyes didn't move.
"And yet… the court believes it. I believe it."
Cressida's knees buckled as she was forced upright by the guards. Blood from her palms had dried against her thighs. Her mouth was dry. The room spinned.
"By the will of the crown, and the judgment of the people…" the Queen's voice rang across the hall, clear and cruel, "…Cressida Valmont is hereby sentenced to death. By fire."
Her mouth opened, but no sound came.
"This is impossible," she whispered, stumbling as the guards dragged her backward. "No—what? What is this?"
Her voice cracked. "This is a lie! I disagree—do you hear me? I disagree with this! I—I—"
She used all her strength to push forward releasing her hands from the guards. Her foot caught on the edge of her the stone floor. She fell again, knees slamming into the floor. The cold cut through her skin. Her bones rattled. She tried to crawl up, but the guards yanked her to her feet, their grips iron on her arms.
"No!" she shouted, twisting. "No! I didn't do anything!"
Her voice echoed in the grand hall, unanswered.
She wasn't marched out. She was dragged.
Out through the corridors, down the winding steps. Servants lined the walls, their eyes cast down. No one reached out. No one stopped them.
By the time she was thrown into the holding room, her legs were trembling, and her wrists were bleeding from the cuffs.
The chains were tight. Iron around her neck, wrists, and ankles.
A guard forced her down to her knees. Another grabbed the back of her head and slammed her face down against the stone floor.
The scrape across her cheek burned.
She cried.
Not because she was weak—but because this was so stupidly wrong. It felt like a nightmare that shouldn't be happening but it was
"I was a maid," she whispered into the stone. "I scrubbed chamber pots. I didn't even know how to hold a wine glass without spilling it. I wasn't born for any of this."
No one listened.
Her tears pooled beside her cheek.
"I saved him," she sobbed. "I saved Lucien. I pulled the dagger from his side. Even when I was attacked by his enemies, bleeding, I helped him. And now I'm—now I'm going to die like this?"
Her chest heaved.
"How…how could that be real?"
There was no comfort. Only the cold floor and the sound of her own shaking breath.
For years, she'd struggled. Starved. Washed linens till her fingers cracked. The Duke had been the first to speak to her like she was anything more than dirt.
She fell for him. She followed him.
And now she was being led to the flames like a dog for lies that weren't hers.
"No," she whispered again, throat hoarse. "No, please."
The cell door creaked open.
She didn't look up right away.
Footsteps approached, slow, echoing.
A voice followed.
Soft. Regretful and calm.
"Hello, Cressida."