**Chapter Seventeen: The Price of Power**
Dawn crept into the palace like a ghost.
Soft at first—pale gold spilling across marble floors, casting long shadows down every hallway. But it brought no warmth. Not today.
Outside, the kingdom stirred.
Merchants opened stalls. Children laughed in the alleys. Birds flew between towers as if the world hadn't shifted the night before.
But inside the palace?
Silence.
Heavy. Thick. Cold.
The traitors had been locked in the palace dungeons—deep below the eastern wing, where stone met soil and secrets never escaped. A place forgotten by light and mercy.
I stood outside the gate with Lorenzo.
He wore no crown. No velvet. Just black leather, his sword strapped tight across his back. His jaw set in grim stillness.
A prince by blood.
A judge by fire.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No," I whispered. "But we go anyway."
He nodded once.
And the iron doors opened.
* * *
The first cell held Lord Ceren.
A court advisor. A man who once kissed my hand and offered candied figs with a smile too polished to trust. He now slumped in chains, lips split, eyes bloodshot.
"I never betrayed the crown!" he gasped as we approached. "I served faithfully! I advised your father!"
Lorenzo didn't blink. "You sold troop positions to the west. Five dead, twelve wounded."
"I—I didn't mean—"
"You meant to profit. And you did. That's enough."
I watched the words hit him like a blade. His shoulders sagged. His fight ended.
We moved on.
* * *
The second was a kitchen maid. Barely older than me.
She stared at the floor, shaking. Elira had seen her slip powders into tea cups. Subtle. Slow. But intentional.
"She laced my mint tea once," I said quietly.
Lorenzo looked at her, his voice colder than iron.
"You poisoned a future queen."
"I was told to," she sobbed. "I didn't want to! They said they'd kill my brother!"
"Then you should have come to us."
She didn't respond.
He turned to the guards. "She'll be held until the truth of her brother's threat is confirmed. But she will not walk free."
Two guards dragged her away, screaming.
* * *
We went cell by cell.
A merchant who funded rebel meetings. A seamstress who stitched poison into royal hems. A noblewoman who confessed before we even questioned her—claiming her family had been cursed since the Queen Mother exiled her sister.
But the most painful was Lady Thessa.
She didn't look at me as we entered.
She simply sat—dignified even in chains—back straight, hands folded.
"You danced beside me at the spring gala," I said.
"And you looked like a child playing queen," she replied, soft and cold.
"You tried to kill me."
"I tried to kill a mistake."
Lorenzo stepped forward. "Say that again."
She met his eyes. "She doesn't belong on the throne. She doesn't belong beside you."
"You don't decide that," I said.
"No. But we tried."
Lorenzo's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
"Enough," I said. "She wants to die with fire in her mouth. Let her."
We left her in the dark.
Alone.
* * *
Hours later, the great hall echoed with whispers.
Every noble was summoned.
Not for punishment—but for witness.
We sat at the high table. Lorenzo to my right. The Queen Mother to my left.
Her face unreadable. Her hands gloved in silk.
Lorenzo stood.
"The Crown has uncovered betrayal within its walls," he said. "Evidence has been gathered. Confessions recorded. Justice is required."
He gestured to the prisoners.
One by one, they were brought in. Shackled. Filthy.
Some wept.
Some raged.
Some said nothing at all.
"I do not seek cruelty," Lorenzo continued. "But I will not tolerate rot in my house."
He turned to the nobles.
"You may speak for or against the accused. But know this—your voice today will be remembered."
Silence.
Then one old man stood.
He spoke for his cousin—one of the accused. Said she had been blackmailed. That she regretted everything.
Another noble rose, then another.
Some begged for mercy.
Others demanded blood.
And I?
I watched them all.
Weighing not just what they said—but what they didn't.
* * *
The Queen Mother leaned toward me, her voice low.
"You've turned this palace into a trial court."
"No," I said. "I'm turning it into a kingdom."
She smiled. "Then let's see what kind of queen you truly are."
* * *
By nightfall, the verdicts were delivered.
Three were sentenced to exile.
Four to public punishment and years of servitude.
But two—Lady Thessa and Lord Ceren—were sentenced to death.
Lorenzo didn't flinch.
I didn't look away.
The executions would happen at dawn. Quietly. Without spectacle.
But the message would echo through every noble house.
The era of impunity was over.
* * *
Back in our chambers, I removed my earrings slowly, my fingers trembling.
I didn't cry.
But my body remembered every scream.
Lorenzo stepped behind me, his hands sliding around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder.
"You did well," he said.
"I don't feel proud."
"You shouldn't."
I turned to face him.
"We've crossed a line."
He nodded. "There's no going back."
"Do you regret it?"
He took my hand. Kissed the back of it.
"No. Because now, they know we're not afraid to fight."
I looked into his eyes.
"And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow, we begin rebuilding."
* * *
That night, he didn't touch me in passion.
He held me.
Strong. Silent. Present.
And I let him.
Because in a world where daggers came in letters and kisses were used as weapons—this simple warmth felt like rebellion.
The kind I needed to survive.
The kind that made me want to fight again in the morning.