The hall was in turmoil. Murmurs, insults, the hurried footsteps of nobles echoed through the space like a chaotic tide, clashing and uncontrollable.

  The great doors opened and everyone left the throne room in agitation, walking around Kael as one avoids a dangerous anomaly. He did not move.

  Still pinned to the ground by the banner, he stared at the stained glass without understanding what drew him so strongly to it — that scene frozen in light, like a knot that refused to be untied.

  The king was staring at Kael.

  His eyes still flickered, streaked with almost feverish sparks.

  The queen placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear:

  “What’s happening to you?”

  She cast a glance toward Kael, then immediately looked back at her husband.

  The king said nothing.

  He turned away and walked past the Seven.

  They had not moved an inch.

  They were observing Kael differently — a gaze filled with something unspeakable.

  A silent tension ran through their ranks.

  A quiet certainty.

  Each step of the king echoed heavily on the stone.

  He reached the throne and sat down. — Not like a triumphant ruler. Like a man crushed by a revelation too heavy to bear alone. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped before his bearded mouth, his sharpened eyes fixed… locked onto Kael.

  The queen, still at his side, continued whispering in his ear.

  It did nothing.

  He did not answer.

  Not a word.

  His silence said everything.

  Little by little, the hall emptied, leaving only the Seven of the Celestial Laws, Velara, the king, the queen… and the only two who had remained still: Althéa and Lucanis.

  A dense silence settled.

  Almost tangible.

  A silence heavier than the entire crowd had been.

  Then the king stood. With a rapid, almost brutal stride, he walked straight toward Kael, who still had not moved. It was not impatience…

  It was something else: a cold, visceral urgency.

  He passed behind him and, with a sharp motion, tore the irons from his wrists. The metal struck the floor with a sharp crack.

  The queen let out a furious breath, a flash of indignation — but the king did not even look at her.

  Kael rubbed his wrists, testing their mobility.

  The sovereign took a few steps as if to leave, then stopped. He glanced toward Kael out of the corner of his eye.

  And said, in a firm, irrevocable voice:

  “Follow me.”

  Kael placed a hand on his knee, stood up, and followed the king without argument.

  He passed between the Seven of the Celestial Laws, observing them one by one with almost clinical curiosity. He even slowed down, nearly stopping in front of one of them: a man of average height, white hair, three days’ beard.

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  He was staring at the floor, motionless. It was impossible to see his eyes.

  But something in his presence… an impression.

  He resumed walking.

  They passed the amethyst throne. Kael briefly lifted his eyes, drawn despite himself to the cold mass of the royal seat — a simple reflex, a lingering instinct mixed with defiance — then followed the king as he climbed the steps leading to the balcony where Althéa was waiting.

  Halfway up, the king turned his head toward the Seven.

  “Lyssara.”

  A single word.

  The woman immediately stepped away from the group. Her footsteps glided across the stone as if she were floating, her black-and-red fan closed in her hand. She joined them without a sound.

  The queen stepped forward as well, ready to follow them…

  But the king simply placed his violet gaze upon her.

  Not a word. Not a threat.

  Just that look.

  She froze.

  Searched for an excuse, still tried:

  “My king, this is not—”

  Her sentence died in her throat.

  The sovereign’s gaze had extinguished it instantly.

  She stepped back.

  Kael observed the queen — or rather, the Perfect Shadow forming behind her.

  What he saw froze him.

  It was no longer the proud, sharp silhouette he had seen earlier. No more treachery. No more calculation.

  Her Perfect Shadow was naked, hands resting on her stomach. Tears streamed silently down her nonexistent cheeks, carving trembling trails across a face she would never show.

  Kael felt a wave of cold climb up his spine.

  This was not just a hidden truth.

  It was an intimate collapse.

  A secret that should belong to no one else.

  And at that exact moment… He wished he had not seen it.

  He did not have time to think further.

  Lyssara slapped him on the back, brutally reigniting the pain of his wounds.

  He grimaced.

  She leaned toward him, her voice sliding into his ear like a caress:

  “So, you’re the little protégé of my sister.”

  She paused, bringing her face a little closer to his and whispered:

  “I can’t wait to get to know you.”

  A shiver ran through him.

  Impossible to tell whether it was fear, curiosity… or something else.

  He replied, still slightly shaken:

  “I thought you reminded me of someone…”

  He studied her briefly. The same platinum-blonde hair. The same feline blue eyes.

  “I understand now,” he added.

  The bandage on the back of his neck was beginning to itch badly.

  Then he saw them.

  Althéa and Lucanis.

  They seemed to be waiting for him.

  His throat tightened. The closer he got, the more guilt rose to his face. He bit his lip repeatedly, unable to calm his agitation.

  The king’s footsteps struck heavily behind him, amplifying his anxiety. Each impact echoed in his chest.

  They reached them.

  The king stopped abruptly and stared at his daughter.

  She held his gaze without flinching, upright, imperial.

  Kael stood in front of Lucanis, not knowing what to do.

  He was happy to see him again… but unable to express it.

  His hands became clammy.

  Lucanis, on the other hand, did not even try to understand.

  He pulled him into a hug.

  They patted each other on the back, like two comrades who still recognized each other despite everything, then let go.

  Kael exhaled, a smile at the corner of his lips:

  “Sorry about the arena… it wasn’t really the best moment to come say hello.”

  Lucanis gave a faint smile.

  Kael glanced toward Althéa.

  She, however, was not smiling.

  She was staring at him with her amethyst eyes.

  Not icy like before.

  But calm.

  Controlled.

  He was briefly impressed and he stepped closer to her.

  Her beautiful white hair had grown, now falling to her shoulders. She still had that distinctive fringe he liked so much.

  Then a thought struck him.

  How long had she spent in the Trial?

  What could have happened to her to change her this much?

  Her shoulders were squared.

  Her legs more muscular.

  Her back slightly broader.

  But above all… her gaze.

  That gaze was what had changed everything.

  Impassive.

  Calm.

  Unreadable.

  He closed the distance further, each step weighing a little more heavily.

  He tried, his voice hesitant:

  “Althéa, I…”

  She did not answer.

  Not a word.

  Just her amethyst eyes resting on him, unshakable.

  Kael clenched his fists, searching for courage in the tension of his own muscles.

  Then he inhaled and finally said, more clearly:

  “I’m… sorry. For what I did to you in the arena.”

  No reaction.

  She kept staring.

  Still.

  Without blinking.

  He swallowed weakly.

  Hesitant.

  He felt as if he were walking along the edge of an abyss.

  The king began walking again.

  Lyssara placed a light hand on Kael’s back and subtly pushed him forward, inviting him to follow. He obeyed, but just before crossing the doorway, he turned around one last time.

  Althéa had not moved.

  She remained there, upright, hands behind her back, her amethyst gaze fixed on him, without the slightest visible emotion.

  That gaze pierced his chest like a cold blade.

  Then he crossed the threshold.

  The heavy door closed behind him with a breath of stone and steel.