The court was quieter than usual, as if even the pillars held their breath.
Clara stood alone in the grand hall, sunlight bleeding through stained glass and painting her face in fractured colors. Council members lined the sides, their eyes expectant—some curious, others sharpening their knives behind polite expressions.
She was no longer just the girl who had refused to kneel. Today, she was the girl who had come to strike first.
Lord Maynard's voice broke the silence. "Lady Whitmore, we expected your husband. Or are you to speak in his place again?"
Clara lifted her chin. "No," she said, her voice calm but crisp, "I speak in mine."
A ripple went through the room.
She stepped forward and held out a parchment.
"This," she said, "is the original copy of the land tax decree issued by the late Queen herself. It directly contradicts the council's current proposal to double the taxes on borderlands."
Lord Percival scoffed. "That document is outdated."
"It is signed, sealed, and still in effect. Your new version was never passed through the proper vote, only assumed."
Gasps followed. Whispers bloomed.
One of the older councilwomen, Lady Merra, narrowed her eyes. "And how did you come upon this, my lady?"
Clara held her gaze. "From the Queen's private archives. A gift—left behind for a daughter raised to see through smiles."
Silence.
Even the guards flanking the walls shifted.
Lord Maynard stepped forward. "Lady Whitmore, if you intend to accuse the High Council of bypassing royal law, then you had best be prepared to prove your authority."
"I am."
She turned toward the dais, where Alaric stood. He hadn't interfered. Not once. But now, he stepped down slowly, gaze steady on her.
"Is this true?" one of the members asked.
Alaric's voice rang clear. "It is. The decree she holds predates the vote. It stands."
Gasps again.
"She has my support. As Crown Princess, she speaks with my voice."
Clara felt a sudden coldness in her chest—not from fear. From the weight of what she'd just done. She had moved a piece on the board. Not just spoken—but changed something.
She turned slightly toward the council. "I don't intend to play politics," she said softly. "But I will not allow power to be misused under silence."
Then she bowed. Not in submission, but in strength.
The court would never see her the same again.
[ To be continued.....]