Chapter 4 The Crown's Judgement.

The sun filtered through the high arched windows of the Solare throne room, casting long golden shafts of light across the polished marble floor.

Court was in session, but the usual hush of noble murmurs had shifted to a current of tension.

Something unusual was happening today.

Hope stood at the threshold, her shoulders slightly drawn in, eyes quietly scanning the intimidating length of the hall.

Two guards had escorted her here wordlessly.

She hadn't been told why she was summoned.

Only that the King himself awaited her.

She took a breath that trembled slightly.

Her gown was a soft silver-blue, gifted by one of the older maids who had taken a gentle liking to her.

Her dark curls were neatly braided back.

She looked regal enough-but her hands were clasped tightly in front of her skirt, betraying her nerves.

Trumpets sounded.

King Aldric of Solare entered with the slow, commanding gait of a man well-versed in power.

His robe trailed behind him like a river of crimson velvet.

His sharp eyes immediately locked onto Hope.

He gave no smile.

"Step forward," he commanded.

Hope obeyed with careful steps, each footfall echoing.

The nobles leaned in, watching with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

Zavian was not in the room.

That fact made her heart sink a little.

King Aldric settled onto the Sun Throne, a massive seat of gold-veined stone.

"You are the girl my son found at the border," he said.

"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied softly, her voice clear despite its gentleness.

The King studied her.

"You speak well. Not like a slave."

Hope's fingers tightened.

"I... I was made a slave, Your Majesty. Not born one."

A stir rippled through the room. The King raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so? Do you remember where you came from?"

Hope hesitated.

Her brows knitted slightly.

"I... only fragments. I think I was part of a royal household once, but... I can't remember names or places clearly. Only pain. Fire. Running."

Some nobles scoffed softly.

Others watched with sharp eyes, whispering behind fans.

"A convenient amnesia," one woman muttered too loudly.

Hope lowered her gaze but did not shrink. Her quiet composure held firm.

King Aldric waved a dismissive hand.

"Enough. She's not on trial."

He leaned forward.

"Do you love my son?"

Hope blinked, startled.

Her cheeks colored faintly.

"I... I'm only beginning to know him, Your Majesty. But... I admire him. He's kind, in ways most wouldn't expect. And his presence makes me feel... safe."

There was a silence.

The nobles didn't look pleased.

Disdain lingered in their expressions, even as her gown shimmered with elegance. A few whispered assumptions.

One man in the back chuckled dryly.

"Safety isn't love," someone muttered.

The King's gaze swept the room, silencing the whispers.

"You may not remember who you were," he said, "but you carry yourself better than most who do."

Hope looked up, surprised by the subtle approval in his tone.

Just then, the great doors opened with a groaning creak.

Zavian strode in, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade.

His eyes scanned the hall until they landed on Hope-and then on his father.

"Father," he said, his voice sharp.

"Has this gone on long enough?"

King Aldric leaned back lazily.

"She's no threat. Just confused. And composed."

Zavian stepped beside Hope, gently but firmly taking her hand.

"Then let it be known," he announced, his voice echoing, "that the investigation is over. We're getting married this week."

Gasps erupted.

A few nobles choked on their drinks.

Murmurs turned to protests.

"This is madness."

"She could be a spy."

"She remembers nothing!"

King Aldric only waved his hand again.

"If she isn't a threat, I couldn't care less. Let the boy do what he wants."

Zavian didn't wait for more arguments.

He turned to Hope and guided her from the hall.

Hope's heart pounded as they exited together, hand in hand, leaving a court full of murmuring nobles and unanswered questions behind.

She had survived the crown's judgment.

But she knew the court's true fire was yet to come.

Outside the throne room, the corridor was blessedly quiet.

Zavian's hand remained wrapped around hers, firm and steady.

They walked in silence until they were far from the eyes and ears of the court.

Then Hope gently pulled her hand away.

Zavian stopped. "Is something wrong?"

She looked up at him, unsure of where to begin.

Her voice was soft, but searching.

"Why... why did you say that in front of everyone? About the marriage. You didn't even ask me."

His jaw tightened for a moment, not in anger-but in thought.

He glanced away, then turned back to her.

"You're right. I should've asked. But I knew what they would do to you in that room. Strip you down with words. Crush you with questions. Make you feel like you don't belong."

He took a breath.

"So I gave them no time. No space to tear you apart."

Hope stared at him. "Wasn't that too much?"

Zavian continued, his tone quieter now.

"You've been through enough. You've known chains, and fear, and loss. Maybe it's time you experienced something else."

His gaze softened.

"Something like love."

Her breath caught slightly.

Not a grand declaration.

Not a demand.

Just... a quiet possibility.

Hope looked down, her fingers brushing the fabric of her gown.

"Love?" she repeated, as if the word were new on her tongue.

"I'm not asking you to love me now," Zavian said.

"I just want you to know you're safe. That you have a choice again."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Not wide.

Not loud.

Just a silent shift in her heart.

She nodded. "Okay."

For the first time in a long time, the word didn't feel like surrender.

It felt like a beginning.

Later on, in one of the grand halls, Hope leaned over a table scattered with fabrics, centerpieces, and flower samples.

"What do you think of this bouquet?" she asked, lifting a spray of sunroses and frost-lilies.

"It's... elegant," one of the organizers nodded politely, glancing at Zavian for approval.

Zavian didn't speak.

He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching her-her eyes dancing with curiosity as she flitted between vases and cloth swatches.

She turned to him. "Too much white?"

Zavian blinked.

"No," he said, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

"It suits you."

Hope smiled back, shyly.

Something about being seen made her shoulders square a little more.

Moments later, Zavian stepped closer, murmuring, "I'll speak to the head chef. The menus need refining."

Hope nodded.

"I'll just look around a bit."

He brushed his fingers lightly across hers. "I won't be long."

She wandered off, following the winding hallways like they whispered secrets from the past.

Her gown brushed the floor, silent as her footsteps.

Then-voices.

Snickering.

Hope paused behind an ornate wall divider, where two junior maids arranged linens and whispered behind cupped hands.

"Can you believe it?" one giggled.

"A slave girl in a royal gown."

"I know," the other said with a sneer.

"Why would Prince Zavian throw a big wedding for a slut?"

Laughter.

Hope's blood chilled.

"After the wedding, she'll be nothing more than a sex doll," the first maid continued.

"Once he's bored, he'll pass her around like leftover wine."

Her breath hitched. She clutched her skirt.

A sex doll?

The words burrowed deep, and suddenly-flashes.

Fingers clawing.

Chains clinking.

Screams swallowed by night.

Kings.

Guards.

Her own helpless voice.

Her heartbeat thudded violently in her ears.

"I thought he wanted to show me love," she whispered, backing away.

"Not use me..."

Sweat beaded her forehead.

"I thought he cared."

She turned, almost stumbling over her own feet.

The laughter behind her faded as her vision swam with ghosts of the past.

Her hands trembled.

"Hope!"

Zavian's voice cracked like thunder.

She froze.

He was there at the end of the corridor, concern etched across his face.

"Hope," he said again, softer now.

"What happened?"

Her eyes found his, wide and wet, and she couldn't speak.

Only her silence screamed.

            
            

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