POV: Tristan
The air in the Council Chamber was thick enough to choke a wolf. After my outburst in the courtyard, the atmosphere had shifted from a coronation to an interrogation. My father sat at the head of the long stone table, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. The elders were huddled in whispers, casting glances at the northern dagger that still sat in the center of the table like a poisonous snake.
"The accusation is grave," Elder Harlen said, his voice trembling. "A murder? A frame-up? Silas, your daughter’s honor is under a shadow that may never lift."
Silas stood tall, though the sweat on his brow told a different story. "The Heir is hallucinating! He is grasping at straws to justify his obsession with a defect!"
"Then let us find the truth," I said, my voic
