Royal court was a cavernous expanse, alive with tension. The air itself seemed to pulse with the weight of ancient traditions and the heavy presence of those gathered. Rows of polished obsidian columns reached toward the arched ceiling, frescoed with mythical battles and celestial prophecies, their muted colours faintly illuminated by the cold, flickering light of enchanted chandeliers. Every sound—a cough, a whispered judgment—was swallowed by the oppressive stillness.

  Valeria stumbled forward, her wrists bound in chains that clinked with every unsteady step. Two guards clad in black armour dragged her toward the dais at the room's heart. The heavy chains around her wrists bit into her skin, leaving angry red marks, but her expression betrayed no pain, only resignation. Her golden hair hung limp, a dull contrast to the bright determination it once carried. The whispers from the nobles and commoners surrounding her, lowborns with horns and highborns adorned with glittering jewels, buzzed like a swarm of venomous insects.

  "Disgrace"

  "She's defiled her sacred duty"

  "Didn't she once preach purity"

  Valeria barely heard them, though each word felt like a fresh lash against her spirit. Her eyes remained fixed on the obsidian throne that towered above the rest, flanked by two lesser seats. On that throne sat Zenitha’ar, his ember-red hair like a living flame against the cold black of his attire. His crimson eyes bore into her with a mix of sorrow and duty.

  Her knees buckled as the guards pushed her to the center of the court. Around her, the semi-circle of nobles remained silent, their expressions ranging from cold indifference to thinly veiled contempt. To king’s left sat her father, his golden hair dulled with age, his jaw clenched tight as if to keep the words he wanted to say from spilling out. He would not meet her gaze.

  "Valeria of Aetherion," Zenitha’ar’s voice boomed, filling every corner of the room. It was steady, carrying the weight of centuries of law. "You stand accused of defiling the sacred oaths of the Priestesses of Serelith and entering into an intimate bond forbidden by our laws. Do you accept these charges?"

  The silence that followed was deafening. Valeria’s body trembled, but she lifted her head, her hollow eyes meeting Zenitha’ar’s. "Is love a crime?" Her voice cracked but carried through the room, sharp enough to draw the attention of every ear. "Is it so unforgivable to care for someone?" She looked toward her father, her voice breaking as she pleaded, "Is it wrong to choose my own path when I’ve given everything else?"

  Her father’s jaw tightened further, but he said nothing. He remained stone, immovable and unyielding.

  A harsh laugh broke the tension. From the lower throne to king’s right, Drenor Raven leaned forward, his golden armor gleaming under the dim light. "Spare us the theatrics," he said, his voice cold and cutting. "You knew the laws. You swore the oaths. You spat on the sacred traditions that have guided us for millennia. That alone is your sin." His sharp eyes narrowed, his disdain palpable. "Do not act as though ignorance excuses you."

  Valeria’s lips parted to respond, but Drenor cut her off, his voice rising. "You’ve not only dishonored your bloodline but insulted all priestesses who uphold the sanctity of their role. You are an affront to Serelith herself."

  The crowd stirred, murmurs growing louder, emboldened by Drenor’s words. Valeria’s shoulders sagged as she glanced toward Zenitha’ar, silently begging for his intervention. But his gaze remained steady, a storm of grief barely hidden beneath his stoic exterior.

  "I..." Her voice faltered, barely audible now. "I accept the charges."

  The room erupted. Nobles whispered behind their hands; others hissed openly. The lowborns, seated far from the dais, looked on with fascination, their expressions ranging from pity to satisfaction.

  Drenor rose from his seat, the heavy cape at his back sweeping the floor as he descended the dais steps. His presence commanded attention, and the room fell into uneasy silence. "By the laws of our ancestors, Valeria Aetherion," he declared, his voice echoing, "you are hereby stripped of your divine essence and banished from Mythoria. You will no longer hold the title of Priestess, nor wield the magic gifted to you by Serelith."

  A cruel smile twisted his lips. "You will live among mortals as one of them. Your purity, your status, and your very identity are forfeit."

  The room’s air grew heavier, suffocating. Valeria’s knees buckled, and she nearly collapsed, but the guards held her upright. The sentence hung in the air like a blade poised to fall.

  But then, the room shifted.

  A new presence surged through the chamber, its intensity crackling like a storm. The massive entrance doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a resounding boom. Einar.

  He strode into the room, each step deliberate, every movement radiating raw power. His crimson eyes burned with unrestrained fury, his jet-black hair trailing like shadows behind him. The crowd parted instinctively as he approached, his mere presence a force that bent the air around him. Lightning sparked at his fingertips, tracing jagged arcs up his arms, and the scent of ozone filled the room.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  "Einar," Valeria whispered, her voice weak, trembling.

  He stopped before her, his gaze piercing as he knelt and cupped her face in his hands. "What have they done to you?" His voice was a low growl, barely containing the storm within him.

  "You shouldn’t be here," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please, leave. They’ll punish you too."

  His jaw tightened, his fury simmering just beneath the surface. He rose to his full height, turning to face the dais. "Who passed this judgment?" His voice carried across the room, a challenge that none dared to answer. "Who dared strip her of her honor?"

  Drenor sneered. "This is beyond your jurisdiction, Vratar. You have no authority here."

  Einar’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword, his movements slow, deliberate. Lightning coiled around the blade as he unsheathed it. "Being her brother is the only thing stopping me from cutting your throat for speaking in that tone with me."

  The crowd gasped, many retreating further from the dais. Even Drenor faltered for a moment, though his composure quickly returned.

  Zenitha’ar finally rose, his voice cutting through the tension. "Enough, Einar." His tone was cold, commanding. “You’re forgetting your place. You stand not before your brother today, but your king.”

  Einar’s gaze shifted to his brother, his expression hard. "And you forget what it means to lead. You sit there, bound by ancient laws, while you condemn her for something as pure as love. Does the Goddess Serelith herself not embody love? Or do we conveniently ignore the bonds she shared with our God Zerathu’um?”

  Zenitha’ar’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The silence stretched, the room frozen in the wake of Einar’s words.

  It was Drenor who broke it, his tone laced with mockery. “Centuries of tradition, upheld by the blood of our ancestors, and you dare to twist it for your whims? Don’t delude yourself, Einar. You are not a god, no matter how brightly your powers burn.”

  Einar’s expression darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Careful, Raven. You may share your father’s treachery, but I am not bound by my brother’s mercy.”

  “Enough!” Zenitha’ar’s voice thundered, resonating through the chamber. The force of it silenced the murmurs of the gathered nobles and lowborns alike. “You defy not just me, Einar, but the very foundation of our people.”

  In Einar’s arms, Valeria stirred weakly, her voice a fragile whisper. “Einar... please. Stop. This will only make things worse.” Her fingers lightly grasped his tunic, a futile attempt to steady the storm she saw building within him.

  Einar’s gaze softened for a moment as he glanced down at her. With one hand, he brushed away her tears, his touch gentle. “I swore to protect you,” he said, his voice barely above a growl. Then, looking back at his brother, he straightened. “If this is a crime, then let me bond with her. Let me share her burdens.”

  The room erupted into murmurs, shock rippling through the assembly like a wave. Drenor shot to his feet, his amethyst eyes blazing with disdain. “Have you lost your senses? You’d debase yourself for her? You wouldn’t even ask my sister’s permission?”

  Einar looked at Valeria. “That wouldn’t be necessary. She would understand my choice.” He whispers, “They are one.”

  Zenitha’ar’s expression didn’t shift, but his voice carried a subtle warning. “You know the tradition, Einar. Such a request must first go through her father.”

  From the lower throne on the left, Valeria’s father spoke, his gaze heavy as he looked between his daughter and Einar. “Einar,” he began, his tone steady but laden with sorrow, “do you truly understand what you are asking? Do you grasp the consequences?”

  Einar’s response was unwavering. “Better than anyone in this room. And yet, I will not abandon her.”

  Drenor rose from his seat, his amethyst eyes narrowing. “You would forsake your titles, your inheritance, your very legacy... for her?” His tone dripped with disdain.

  “Yes,” Einar said simply, his voice resolute. “For her, I would forsake everything.”

  Zenitha’ar exhaled slowly, leaning back against his throne as though the very act of speaking drained him. “Then so be it. Einar Emberheart, you are hereby stripped of all titles and claims to the throne. You are banished from the royal palace, to live as a lowborn among our people. You will carry no sigil, no honour. Your name will be erased from the annals of history.”

  Einar’s lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. “Titles mean nothing to me.”

  Zenitha’ar’s gaze lingered on his younger brother for a moment longer before he looked away, as though dismissing him entirely. “Very well. You may have your bonding ceremony in the temple of Zerathu’um. After that, you are to leave.”

  Einar sheathed his sword with a deliberate motion, the blade’s crackling energy subsiding as it slid into its scabbard. He tightened his grip on Valeria, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. “Let’s go,” he said softly to her, his voice gentle now, a stark contrast to the storm it had been moments before.

  As they turned to leave, the crowd parted reluctantly, their eyes following the pair with a mixture of awe, fear, and disgust. The lowborns whispered among themselves, some with pity, others with disdain. The nobles, however, remained stone-faced, their silence heavier than any words.

  At the massive iron doors, Einar paused. Without looking back, he spoke, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Mark my words, brother. These laws you cling to will one day crumble under their own weight. And when that day comes, you’ll call for me.”

  Zenitha’ar said nothing, his gaze fixed on the far wall as the heavy doors creaked shut, leaving the throne room shrouded in silence once more.