The council chamber was colder than usual.
It wasn't the weather. It was the air—the way silence coiled like a snake waiting to strike. The long table stretched before them, filled with the same old faces wearing polished masks.
Clara stood at the center.
She didn't bow.
She didn't blink.
Not when Lord Cedric smirked. Not when the High Chancellor cleared his throat as if her very presence was an inconvenience. Not even when the parchment in her hands trembled slightly.
Alaric stood beside her, his silence louder than any declaration.
"You were warned," Lord Varrick said, tapping his ring against the table. "And yet you keep making noise, Lady Clara."
"I don't recall truth being considered noise, my lord," she replied coolly.
A few murmurs followed.
Alaric remained still, but Clara felt the tension in him. Every word from the council was a veiled blade.
"She broke the alliance with House Drelan," Cedric added, voice deceptively calm. "She has questioned the traditions that built this court. What else will she break if we let her stay?"
Clara stepped forward.
"I broke nothing," she said. "House Drelan was already plotting with your allies behind the court's back. I exposed it."
Varrick's eyes narrowed. "With what proof?"
Clara lifted a sealed letter. "With this. Signed by Drelan's second son. He confessed under oath."
Gasps rippled through the room.
For a moment, it seemed she had them.
Until the doors opened.
All heads turned.
The guard didn't announce him. He didn't need to.
A tall man entered, cloak trailing, boots echoing against the stone. His face was aged by travel, but unmistakable.
Clara's breath caught.
"No…"
Her voice was a whisper lost to the chamber.
"Uncle Rhys?"
The room exploded in whispers.
Rhys Whitmore—her mother's younger brother. A man presumed dead during the Northern Uprising. A man who had vanished the night her mother, Lady Evelyn, made her blood-bound decree.
"You were dead," Clara said, stunned.
"I was silenced," he replied, gaze sharp. "But no longer."
Rhys walked to the council table and dropped a worn scroll.
"My sister died protecting this kingdom's future. And this"—he pointed to Clara—"is part of that future."
Alaric moved instinctively to Clara's side. "What is this?"
Rhys unrolled the scroll. Inside was a signature only a few had ever seen—Evelyn Whitmore's private seal.
"She knew you'd be hunted," Rhys said to Clara. "So she gave me the truth to protect. And now, the time's come to reveal it."
"What truth?" Cedric demanded, standing.
Rhys looked at Clara.
"You are not just the daughter of Evelyn. You are the heir to the covenant made with the First Crown."
Silence. Utter, deafening silence.
Then chaos.
The council roared, papers flew, and Clara just stood frozen—like the floor had vanished beneath her feet.
She wasn't just a threat now.
She was a living key to the oldest power in the realm.
And the moment that truth was spoken aloud—
Everything changed.
[ To be continued…]