Chapter 22 — The Framing of Rynvaris.
“I didn’t do anything!”
The words rang out sharper than Rynvaris had intended, slicing through the heavy stillness of the Great Hall. For a heartbeat, even the flickering mana-lamps seemed to hesitate.
“So,” the Vice Priest intoned, his voice reverberating against pillars of white marble, “you are declaring yourself innocent before the eyes of God Auriviel?”
“Yes…” Rynvaris answered. Her tone was steady.
A low murmur stirred among the assembled nobles.
The Vice Priest lifted one skeletal hand. The motion was small—yet absolute. The murmurs died instantly.
“Bring forth the person who was in charge of distributing the rations to the people,” he commanded, his words heavy with sacred authority. “In the holy name of God Auriviel.”
The great doors groaned open.
Thud… thud… clink…
Chains dragged against stone.
Every step echoed like a sentence being written into fate itself.
Two armored soldiers escorted a shackled man into the chamber. His shoulders were hunched. His face was pale. Sweat ran down his temples despite the cold air.
He was forced to his knees before Princess Rynvaris.
“L-Look up,” a guard barked.
The man raised his head just enough for his eyes to meet hers.
They were empty. Terrified. Already condemned.
The incense drifting from the altar thickened, curling around the colossal statue of God Auriviel. The carved god’s stone gaze loomed over them all—merciless, silent, judging.
“So tell us,” the Vice Priest said, stepping forward, “guilty man—did Princess Rynvaris order you to sell the rations meant to be freely distributed among the people?”
The man’s shackles rattled as his hands trembled.
He swallowed once.
Twice.
Then—
“Y-Yes, Your Holiness…” His voice cracked. “Princess Rynvaris was the one who ordered us to sell them. All the money we earned was sent to her after we took our small share. We had no choice but to follow her command—she is a princess, after all…”
The hall erupted into whispers.
“Did you hear that?”
“So it was really her…”
“Disgusting…”
“Selling relief rations? To starving citizens?”
Rynvaris felt the blood drain from her face.
What… is he saying?
I never gave such an order.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Her fingers curled slowly into fists.
Her chest tightened, as if invisible chains were locking around her ribs.
This is a lie. A clean, perfect lie.
The Vice Priest closed his eyes briefly, as if mourning.
Then he opened them again—cold and final.
“Princess Rynvaris,” he began, raising his staff, “I declare in the sacred name of—”
“Wait, Vice Priest!”
Her voice tore through the ritual like a blade through silk.
Gasps rippled across the hall.
Even the guards stiffened.
The Vice Priest’s gaze snapped to her.
“It is a grave offense,” he said slowly, dangerously, “to interrupt a priest while he speaks in the name of God Auriviel.”
Rynvaris bowed her head slightly.
But she did not kneel.
“Before you pass judgment, Your Holiness,” she said, her voice controlled but burning beneath the surface, “grant me the right to ask this man a few questions… in the sacred name of God Auriviel.”
The hall froze.
Eyes darted from the Vice Priest to Rynvaris.
Bold.
Reckless.
Desperate.
The Vice Priest studied her in silence. The statue of Auriviel loomed above them, as though waiting to see whether truth or power would rule this moment.
“…Very well,” he said at last. “You may speak. In the name of God Auriviel.”
---
Rynvaris drew a slow, measured breath.
She turned toward the chained man, her movements unhurried—almost serene. Yet behind her composed posture, her thoughts were racing, mapping every word, every inconsistency.
Her voice carried clearly through the vast courtroom.
“Tell me,” she said softly, “in which city were the rations transported? How many bags did you sell? And how much money did you receive in total?”
The man flinched.
His eyes darted toward the Vice Priest.
Then toward the nobles.
Then back to Rynvaris.
“P-Princess…” he stammered, licking dry lips. “Why are you asking this? You already know all of it.”
Rynvaris tilted her head slightly.
A faint, almost mocking smile curved her lips.
“Oh? Do I?” she replied lightly. “I’m just an idiot princess, remember? I forgot everything. So please—tell me again.” Her gaze sharpened. “In the sacred name of God Auriviel.”
A restrained ripple of laughter moved through the noble ranks.
It was not loud.
Not open.
Just enough to sting.
Just enough to unsettle.
Even beneath the crushing solemnity of the divine court, her irony cut cleanly through the tension.
The Vice Priest’s expression remained carved from stone.
But a flicker of interest passed through his eyes.
The man swallowed hard.
“The rations were transported to Dravemund City,” he blurted, words tumbling over one another, “on the western side of the capital. We sold three hundred bags of rations. Each bag was sold for ten silver coins—equal to one gold coin. S-So we earned a total of three hundred gold coins.”
He bowed his head immediately after speaking, as if bracing for punishment.
Rynvaris did not react at once.
She simply watched him.
Quietly.
Carefully.
…Dravemund City. Three hundred bags. Three hundred gold coins.
Every number too neat.
Too rehearsed.
Rynvaris folded her arms slowly, her gaze never leaving the chained man.
“And how much was your share?” she asked.
“Thirty gold coins, Princess,” he replied at once, lowering his head.
She nodded once.
“Did I come personally to receive my share?”
“No… you sent your servant.”
A faint stir rippled through the hall.
“Who was that servant?” she asked.
“Your maid… Moon.”
Rynvaris’s eyes narrowed just a fraction.
“I see,” she said quietly. “And how far is Dravemund from the capital?”
“By foot, one full day’s travel. By horse carriage, half a day,” he replied without hesitation.
Too fast.
Too clean.
She stepped closer.
“One last thing,” she said, her voice calm but cutting. “How many times did you meet this so-called servant of mine?”
“T-Twice,” he answered. “Once to receive the order. Once to hand over the money.”
“And what was she wearing?” Rynvaris pressed.
“…A dark cloak. Brown boots.”
“And her hair?”
“Black.”
Rynvaris straightened.
She said nothing for a long moment.
The silence thickened.
He swallowed.
She had him now.
She turned slightly.
“Sir Orion Blackveil,” she said firmly, “it’s obvious someone is trying to frame me. Tell me—how much gold did you find in my room?”
Sir Orion, who had stood motionless like a blade in its sheath, answered in a steady, disciplined tone.
“Three hundred gold coins.”
A sharp inhale rippled through the noble ranks.
Rynvaris looked back toward the Vice Priest.
“Your Holiness,” she said clearly, “first—Maid Moon is not one of my official attendants. She serves me of her own will. She is not bound to me by duty or oath.”
She took a step forward.
“My monthly allowance is only five gold coins,” she continued. “Not enough to secretly possess three hundred gold coins. I have never been to Dravemund City personally. Nor have I ever ordered Maid Moon to go there.”
Her fists clenched at her sides.
“But someone did.”
Someone wearing my face.
Someone using my name.
“So to prove my innocence,” Rynvaris said, lifting her chin, “I ask you plainly, Your Holiness—do you have any proof that I personally gave the order to these men?”
The words echoed.
And for the first time—
The Vice Priest did not answer immediately.
---
