Everything was in chaos.

Everyone was confused.

Panic rippled beneath the surface, but no one dared speak it aloud.

Every servant in the hall whispered, as if afraid the walls might listen.

No one could understand why were the Duke and the Duchess being forcefully taken away by the imperial knights.

The imperial knights offered no reason—only silence and drawn blades.

Something was wrong.
And everyone felt it.

______________________________________________

The Crimson Court had never held so many people.

Beneath towering black pillars and blood-soaked banners, the crowd swelled—peasants, merchants, soldiers, nobles—drawn not by justice, but by curiosity, by fear, by command.

It was a spectacle disguised as justice.

The people had been summoned. Not invited.
Some came willingly—hoping for answers. Others came out of fear of what would happen if they didn't.

The crowd pressed close, eyes wide, mouths shut. A thousand whispered questions.
And no answers—only steel.

The Duke and Duchess hit the platform hard, cast down like traitors—discarded by the very empire they once served.

On the upper balcony, amid the sea of gold-threaded nobles, one man leaned forward ever so slightly. His mouth curled into a grin—not of pleasure, but of victory.

Everyone had been told they were guilty.
Told by the same imperial knights who now served no master, only orders. 

The knights who brought them here wore no insignia. Their swords gleamed, but their faces were grim. Not out of duty—out of discomfort. As if they knew this wasn't punishment. It was removal.

A herald read the charges in a loud, unwavering voice:

"Duke Theon Nightwhisper and Duchess Zara Nightwhisper, you have committed many heinous crimes. Treason against the crown, conspiracy, and murder of our sovereign heir- Crown prince Aurion Starforge!"

Somewhere among the soldiers stationed at the edge of the platform, two stood stiller than the rest—ranked higher than most, yet silent now. They had known the Duke. Had trusted the Duchess.

And something in their eyes said they didn't believe this. They couldn't look at the scene anymore, it would be too brutal of them to do so. They knew the family too well.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some cried. Some clenched their fists. While some could not even believe what they heard- it was too hard to do so for they had known and even served them once. 

The executioner stood ready. The blades gleamed—not with honor, but with hunger.

Theon stepped forward, voice cutting clean through the silence:

"You don't fear traitors. You fear rivals."

His wife, as sharp as him, joined him:

"This isn't justice. It's survival—yours, not ours. You think the bloodline ended eighteen years ago."

A hush fell—thicker than silence.

"But it didn't."

Eyes widened. Nobles leaned forward as they always wanted just something to gossip about.
The executioner's hand tightened on the hilt.

She turned, her gaze sweeping nobles, guards, the people crushed below.

"Another heir still lives."

Someone in the crowd stumbled back. Another fell to their knees.

A noble stood abruptly on the balcony above.

Theon took a breath and was about to speak but the blades spoke faster than him, than the truth.

Two bodies slumped. Two legacies silenced.

The crowd gasped. Somewhere, a noble turned away, pale. 

And yet—

A metallic clink.

A pendant, its chain glinting with fresh blood, slipped from Zara's fingers and rolled toward the edge of the platform. A pendant no one would care about as it belonged to a traitor. A murderer.

Until a gloved hand—deliberate, silent—reached out and claimed it.

But someone saw.