Julia’s lawyer rises and begins his questions. “Lady Julia, did you write this note?”“I did not,” she answers smoothly, her voice sharp with certainty.“And what about the handwriting on this coffee package, instructing the kitchen staff?”“That is not mine either,” she says without flinching. “The vendor must have written it. I only delivered it.”Her tone is cold, defensive. My jaw tightens, but I keep my calm. The council murmurs, some shifting uneasily. Doubt is a dangerous thing, and Julia knows how to plant it.When recess is called, I step outside to clear my head. That’s when Lina hurries up to me, eyes wide, voice urgent.“My lady,” she whispers, glancing around. “There’s something you should know. Amalia, she has received notes from Julia before. Handwritten instructions. I convinced her to give me one.”She presses a folded slip of parchment into my hand. My fingers tremble as I open it. The handwriting leaps at me instantly—those same slanted strokes, the same curve of th
The morning presses on me like a stone. My chamber feels too small, too tight for the storm brewing inside me. Today Julia’s trial begins.Gregory comes to me early, his expression unreadable at first. But I know him. Behind his calm, he is bracing for impact, just like I am.“We need to be ready for the note,” he says quietly. No preamble, no softening. Straight to it.I nod, though the air feels heavier with just the mention. That hateful letter Julia sent to Mother, the one dripping with venom, accusing Gregory and me of having an affair. The one that mocked her as a mother, as a ruler.The rumor is not new. It’s been whispered in corners for years. The stares, the sly glances, the half-hidden smirks, we’ve borne them all before. That doesn’t frighten me. Not anymore.But the thought of it being dragged into open court? Spoken aloud before the king, before the council, before half of Aerithia? That is what twists my stomach into knots.“It will hurt Father most,” I whisper. “He alr
The palace is thrown into chaos after Lady Julia’s arrest. Whispers run through the corridors like wildfire. I catch fragments as I pass; maids with hands pressed to their mouths, guards exchanging uneasy glances, stewards lowering their voices. Some say they don’t know what she has done. Others murmur with certainty: she poisoned the queen.Gregory and I sit with Father in the council chamber. His face is pale, drawn with grief and disbelief. My heart aches for him; I know how deeply he once cared for Julia. To think she might be the one behind this treachery, it is almost too much for him to bear.I tell him everything. My suspicions. The trail of evidence that led me here. Each piece is laid bare before him, heavy with its own dreadful weight. As the words leave my lips, Father presses a hand to his brow. His silence is more painful than any outburst.“She was once dear to me,” he whispers at last, his voice cracking. “I cannot… I do not wish to believe she is capable of murder.”G
As I walk back to my chambers, my legs move faster than I intend. Goosebumps prickle my skin, and my mind spins in a thousand directions at once. That was my mother’s mug, her mug, with my initials carved into it, clear as daylight, just as I painted them the day I gave it to her. And yet… there it sat in Julia’s house. On her table. Like some kind of trophy.What is my mother’s cup doing in Julia’s house?And why, why is the fake one left behind in my mother’s room? The one I’ve been keeping on my shelves, thinking it hers.I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting Julia to be trailing me. Her face when I lifted the mug still burns in my mind, an expression she couldn’t hide, no matter how she tried. Guilt. Fear. Raw and unmasked.I shut the door to my chamber and turn the key with trembling fingers. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might shatter through my ribs. I cross to the shelf where I left the mug I had taken from my mother’s room earlier. My hand hovers over it b
The plan is clear in my mind now. I need to see Lady Julia myself. Not through what others say, not through reports from the kitchen, but face to face.I will not accuse her. I will not raise my voice. That would be too easy for her to brush aside. Instead, I will go to her calmly, carrying an invitation to the Queen’s burial. No one can question that. It is the perfect reason to stand before her.But deep down, I am restless. I want to see her eyes when she looks at me. I want to see if her smile slips, even for a moment. I want to hear if her voice shakes when she speaks. Because sometimes the truth shows itself without a word.And I cannot wait to see her face when I hand her that invitation.There’s only one problem. To get the invitation with the royal seal, I have to go through Gregory. Father had given him the sole authority to handle them, and no one dares bypass him.The thought makes my stomach tighten. Gregory is the last person I want to see, let alone ask a favor from. Wo
After the meeting, I stay behind. My feet move slowly, carrying me deeper into my mother’s chamber. I touch the edges of her personal things, the delicate fabrics, the jewels she wore, the books she read. Everything still carries her scent, her presence, as if she might walk back in at any moment.In the inner room, I sink to my knees. My lips tremble as I whisper, “It’s seven days to your burial, Mother. Father has decided.” My chest tightens. “But I don’t want you to be buried before the truth comes to light. You deserve justice before you can rest in peace. I know Julia had a hand in your death… but I must find how she did it. Help me. Show me a sign.”I hold my breath and let the silence press around me, heavy and still. My heart pounds in the quiet, waiting… listening… hoping.Minutes later, I send a guard to fetch me some carton boxes, and when he returns, I start placing Mother’s belongings carefully inside. I begin with her books and her magazines, the ones she always loved, s