Just then, Lord Edric returns, flanked by two guards, guiding a woman in her sixties. She's hunched, thin, and dressed in plain faded robes. Her eyes dart nervously as the council, the Queen, Cassian, Shea, and. Everyone watches her like she's walking into judgment.
Her footsteps falter as she reaches the throne dais, then she lowers herself shakily to her knees before Queen Morgana.
Silence stretches.
The Queen doesn't look fragile now. Not tired. Not sick. Her spine is iron again, her voice cutting through the hall like a blade.
"Oman." She says the name like an accusation. "What did you do with the girls?"
A hush falls like snowfall. My pulse roars in my ears.
"You told me they were dead," the Queen continues, her voice rising. "You told me they were gone. But they are here. Now tell me the truth. Because this entire kingdom is about to collapse if you don't speak."
Oman's mouth trembles. She starts to cry, but no one moves to comfort her. Not even me. I feel Cassian standing beside me, rigid and tense. My own breath is shallow.
"Woman!" Lord Edric barks, stepping forward. "We don't have time for tears. Answer the Queen before we're forced to make you."
Oman's lips part, but the words are choked. It takes another moment before they come; fragile, broken, and heavy with dread.
"It was… twenty-eight years ago. The Queen was young… pregnant with her first child. Back then, the palace had no private clinic. So she was brought to Matica's Specialist Hospital. I was the midwife assigned to her."
She doesn't look at the Queen now. Only at the marble beneath her knees.
"Everyone knew it was a risky pregnancy. But she carried it well. Weeks before the birth, the Queen called me privately. She already knew it was going to be twin girls. But… she didn't want girls."
Gasps ripple through the room.
"She said it would disgrace her," Oman continues. "That the King would be disappointed. She begged me, no, bribed me to find a baby boy being born around the same time. She said we'd swap him with one of the twins."
My stomach twists. Cassian's hand brushes mine briefly but says nothing. He's frozen.
"The night she went into labour… two other women were giving birth in the same ward. One of them delivered a healthy boy. The other… a girl, but the baby was stillborn."
Oman stops, breath hitching.
"The Queen gave birth to twin girls. Healthy. Beautiful. But she was firm in her orders. She said: 'Swap one with the boy… and dispose of the second girl.'"
Shea's face is pale. The Queen's lips are pressed into a hard, merciless line.
"I did as she asked," Oman says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I gave one of the twin girls to the mother of the stillborn girl. Her name was Amira. She was crying so hard… I…I couldn't just… do it. She took the child with tears in her eyes, to replace her lost child. I told her she was lucky."
"And the Queen?" Edric demands.
"I told her I followed her instructions. That I had done what she asked. That one girl was swapped and the other… gone."
My breath leaves me.
The room is silent.
So silent I can hear the rain beginning again outside.
I turn to look at the Queen, her eyes are cold now. Like stone. Like something ancient has cracked but refuses to fall.
Cassian doesn't speak. He's staring at me.
And Shea… Shea lowers her head.
So this is it, I think.
The truth isn't just ugly. It's ruinous. Woven in lies and ambition. Lives were stolen, swapped, and reshaped, all to fit the desires of a crown.
And I… I was never supposed to live.
The hall feels colder now, like the chandeliers have dimmed, like history itself just sighed and collapsed into a heap of shame.
We all sit in the silence that Oman's confession carved.
Then I hear the sharp click of footsteps.
Cassian.
He steps forward slowly, not with the air of a prince, but of a man unraveling.
He stands directly before Oman. His voice, when it comes, is low, hollow. Raw.
"The woman who gave birth to the boy... the one you gave to the Queen... who was she? What was her name?"
His desperation is like a storm beneath the surface, barely controlled.
Oman's face crumples again.
"I… I didn't know," she whispers, barely audible. "I'd never seen her before. She and her husband… they looked like travelers. Foreigners, maybe. They left the hospital two days later, and I never saw them again."
Cassian's eyes widen in disbelief. He turns halfway, then back again.
"You don't know?"
Oman whimpers and nods, eyes fixed to the floor. "Even when Amira, the other woman, came back with one of the twins for a check-up, that woman never returned. Never."
The silence returns. But this one tastes bitter. Heavy.
Cassian slowly steps back, shoulders falling. His breath comes out in a tremble. I can't even reach out to him. My arm still aches from the transfusion. I watch as his hand clenches at his side.
He doesn't look at me.
He doesn't look at the Queen.
Then, Lord Edric turns to Queen Morgana.
His voice carries the weight of judgment now, not anger, but of law.
"By Matican law, deceit of this magnitude; treason through impersonation of lineage and disruption of the royal line is punishable by trial. Your Majesty, once your health is stabilized, you will be tried accordingly by the Royal Tribunal."
Just as Oman begins to slink backward toward the shadows, perhaps hoping the weight of her confession would earn her mercy or forgetfulness, Lord Edric turns sharply.
His voice is iron.
"Guards," he commands, without looking away from the Queen, "arrest her."
Gasps flutter through the corners of the hall.
Oman's hands fly to her chest. "Please…my Lord, I only did what I was told. I was a young woman…"
"You sold royal blood," Edric snaps. "You altered the line of succession. Your silence has nearly brought this kingdom to collapse. You will answer before the Tribunal."
Two guards step forward and seize her by the arms. She resists weakly at first, crying now, not the tears of remorse, but of fear. "I didn't mean to…please, I thought I was doing the right thing!"
No one responds.
No one comforts her.
Because the damage is already done.
As she's dragged out of the Grand Hall, her cries echo down the corridor like a final curse unraveling into the dark.
Then the doors close.
The Queen doesn't flinch. She sits back in her recovery chair like a sculpture of silence, her expression unreadable.
Without another word, Lord Edric turns and walks out of the Grand Hall.
One by one, the council members follow. Some with disgust in their eyes. Some were disappointed. None with respect.
The two doctors bow slightly and exit in silence, their white coats whispering along the marble.
I sit still, the drip cold against my skin. The chair suddenly feels like a throne of pain. I glance at Cassian. He hasn't moved.
Shea remains where she's been all along, by the wall, staring hard at the Queen. Her arms folded. Her jaw clenched.
No one speaks.
Not yet.
Because what is there to say when the truth doesn't just set you free, it shatters every part of you?
And now… all that's left is ruin.