Watching Brutus go off on his speech in the court, Lucian realized that Theobald had been quite on the money. Brutus’ speech had been electrifying. He had no doubt they would print that on every newspaper imaginable. Well, at least those Cyril couldn’t censor.

  All of lawyers that had been attempting to prosecute Lucian stood up and started speaking at the same time. They were joined by discussions from many of the spectators. Eventually, the judge had to slam his gavel repeatedly, demanding order. While he was doing so, Brutus scanned the crowd until he found Lucian, then gave him a smile.

  “I demand silence!” the judge shouted, finally wrestling control from the crowd. “And don’t all speak once. Confer amongst yourselves, and then present your request.”

  The lawyers took his advice. They had a brief discussion, and then one of them stood up to speak for the four of them.

  “…the Confederation has elected to end its allotted time to present evidence during this hearing, provided the defense has no questions,” the lawyer said bitterly. Clearly Brutus’ testimony wasn’t something that had been shared with the other three.

  “No questions,” Theobald said with a smile.

  “Ordinarily we’d move right away to the defense’s evidentiary hearing, but we’d like to request a recess before it actually switches,” the lawyer continued.

  The judge contemplated that request in silence. “Given the circumstances, I believe that a brief recess is more than warranted. We’ll reconvene in 30 minutes.” He hit his gavel lightly, then stood, muttering something.

  Theobald predicted this, Lucian recalled. What did he say was going to happen? Negotiating time.

  Lucian glanced toward Cyril. The man was pale—paler than normal—and had servants redressing his injuries after an outburst had made him bleed. That definitely looked like a man ready to negotiate.

  ***

  Lucian sat on a bench in a garden in the Collegium, and Theobald stood just beside him. As they waited there, Duke Cyril stormed up. His prosthetic foot clicked on the ground, followed shortly by the stomp of his boot.

  “What do you want from me?” Cyril asked. He looked between the two of them. “What do you need to end this travesty?”

  “Travesty?” Theobald said, tsking. “I think you’re confused, used the wrong word. The word you’re looking for is tragedy, with yourself as the star. Not that you didn’t bring this on yourself.”

  Cyril ground his teeth together. He stared at Theobald. “What did you promise Brutus? How did you bribe him?”

  “You insult me, Duke Cyril,” Brutus said.

  Brutus emerged from the bushes nearby. He’d planned that, hiding there without shame for a few minutes. Cyril turned toward him in alarm.

  “I’m a man of principle. I said what I said because I believe it. I used to think that you were a man of principle, but one’s own family has the best perspective of their true nature. Lucian gave me insight into who you really are. And you…” Brutus put his hand on Lucian’s shoulder, shaking his head. “You are scum. It’s a good thing your son broke free of that influence.”

  Cyril eyed Brutus with his steely gaze. “Funny. I used to think that you weren’t so idiotic as to be manipulated by a fool. It appears I was wrong.”

  “Your son is a fool, yes… in the same way that I am,” Brutus said. “He risks his life for the things he believes in. He’s a man who protects his woman—rather unlike you, from what Lydia says.”

  “Don’t you dare bring her into this,” Cyril said harshly, stepping up to Brutus. They stood eye to eye. Lucian felt like he was caught between a pair of snarling predators.

  “What? Worried your dirty little secrets are going to come to light?” Theobald asked.

  Cyril looked toward Theobald. “You have no idea what you’re doing. She’s using you.”

  “I think we have one of those… what do you call them? Mutually beneficial arrangements,” Theobald said.

  “No!” Cyril shouted, clearly furious. “Lydia is worse than the devils, you fools. She’ll bring ruin to you, me, to everyone. She’s a madwoman that can’t be reasoned with. She dons the fa?ade of reasonability only so that she can get what she wants. Everything that she does is self-serving, self-obsessed, self-satisfying. Her mind bends only toward whatever hedonistic desires she has on that day.”

  Theobald scoffed. “Unbelievable. This is coming from the man who gave her laudanum, shipped her away to some isolated luxury estate, and then proceeded to assume her identity and write letters on her behalf.”

  “I’m wasting my words,” Cyril said, then looked at Lucian. “You need to stop this. The trial needs to settle.”

  Theobald began, “The lawyers should be the ones to make such an—”

  “Cut the games,” Cyril interrupted. “I have sway.”

  Lucian couldn’t help but think of what Denzel said. If he could really convince his opposition to settle, it wouldn’t be quite the exoneration that he hoped, but… it might help things out with that situation.

  “We’re at the cusp of victory. Why would we settle?” Theobald asked.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “Not talking to you,” Cyril said, then kneeled before Lucian as he sat. “Lucian. What do you want? Your title of heir back? Your position within the household, restored? Your sister secured, permanently? I can give it all to you.”

  Lucian was baffled all of that was even on offer.

  Theobald smiled. “He can earn the title of heir back when we countersue following our victory. After all, your reputation will be at rock bottom, and your recent choices could be invalidated.”

  “Lucian, you know what damage she could do. You know exactly what she’s capable of,” Cyril insisted.

  “What is she capable of?” Lucian asked with a raised brow.

  “A self-destruction that will hurt not only me, but the entire nation,” Cyril said urgently. “What do you want, Lucian? Just name it.”

  “Don’t settle. We’re winning, Lucian,” Theobald said. “His desperation is evidence of that fact.”

  “It’s his decision,” Cyril said angrily, then looked back at Lucian. “What do you want? Name it.”

  Lucian shook his head. “You could never give me what I want.”

  “Justice,” Brutus declared loudly. “He wants justice alone."

  Not… quite, Lucian thought, but kept that quiet.

  “Please, Lucian!” Cyril said, grabbing his hand. “Please.”

  The expression that Cyril sported… it was difficult to describe. Whatever was coming up truly affected Cyril, to the point he’d fall to one knee and beg the son he had no regard for. Lydia Villamar… why the hell did she rattle Cyril so much? What kind of dirt did she have on him? Most of all, what kind of things had Cyril actually done?

  “No,” Lucian said.

  In that moment, Cyril’s face shifted. A madness blossomed in his eyes, and Lucian started to see dark magic appear in the air. It triggered that damnable fear of his, and he froze. He felt wind pass by his ear, and then Brutus had a dagger pointed against Cyril’s neck.

  “Remove. Your. Hands,” Brutus said coldly.

  The dark magic persisted, so intense that a few onlookers took notice. Lucian couldn’t see anything but the darkness swirling all around him. He was certain that he’d be swallowed up into it. His body didn’t obey him even as he wanted to recoil away.

  Then, Cyril pulled back suddenly. He stood to his feet, brushing the grass off his knees. Without another word, he walked away.

  “Oh my heavens…” Theobald said excitedly. “He’s breaking. By the gods, we have witnesses, too. Excellent acting, Lu—” Theobald said, turning to look at Lucian.

  He likely paused because he realized it wasn’t acting at all. Lucian was in quite the state, trembling uncontrollably. Remembering Aurelia’s advice, he created some holy light and peered within as Theobald and Brutus both talked around him. He could barely even hear them. Eventually, his breathing came back under control, and he became more aware of his surroundings.

  “You’re alright, kid. You’re safe,” Theobald said.

  “I’m… I’m getting over it,” Lucian said. “I’m fine. It was… I’m fine. It wasn’t…”

  “That’s not the first time he’s done something like that, is it?” Brutus asked darkly. “And before… there was no one to stop him.”

  Lucian couldn’t even muster the willpower to care about the misunderstanding. He just sat there, drained.

  “I’ll stay with you, boy,” Brutus said, pounding his back. “Nothing will happen.”

  “He’s right. One thing is for certain, though,” Theobald said. “With that, things just got a lot worse for him. I knew Lydia rattled him, but not to that extent.”

  ***

  “…and dark magic started to rise up around Cyril,” the witness said—some instructor in the Collegium that happened to be in the garden at the same time. “Brutus pulled his knife out to demand that Cyril release Lucian, but it seemed like Cyril was really going to kill him. Lucian… he looked broken.”

  “Had you ever seen Lucian like that before?” Theobald asked.

  “Never,” the instructor said, shaking their head. “He looked… like his deepest fear had been manifest. Like a beaten child before the belt.”

  “As I recall, you actually witnessed him during one of the tournaments. The polearm tournament, if I recall correctly. How would you describe him there?” Theobald followed up.

  The instructor thought briefly. “He seemed unafraid of death. He charged Denzel recklessly. He was severely injured, bleeding from a great many places. But he fought until the end, and he overcame Denzel with a last-ditch effort.”

  “Has anyone ever described him as easily frightened?” Theobald continued.

  “Never. He always fought with great bravery,” the instructor said.

  Theobald turned away from the witness, declaring, “No further questions.”

  Lucian watched, sitting right beside Brutus. The Martial Prince was hovering quite protectively. Lucian was stifled, but somewhat assured. Cyril had seemed genuinely crazed.

  “So…” Theobald said. “Ladies and gentlemen, the moment that Cyril experienced something in this trial that went against his narrative… he went to Lucian. He seemed frustrated by the presence of the Martial Prince and myself, and tried to speak past us. He suggested that he had sway over the four lawyers present here today. And the moment that his son dared to say ‘no,’ the strongest dark mage on the continent brought to bear his magic against his own son. The response… it was conditioned. It was etched into Lucian’s soul. It was fear. The fear of someone who’s been broken before. The fear of a child broken down by decades of conditioning.

  “As a father… even if my own child were to testify against me, I wouldn’t dare think of using violence against them,” Theobald said firmly. “For Cyril… it was natural. It was natural to use his magic, a honed weapon, against his son. Is that something you’d expect of an upstanding man, ladies and gentlemen? Would you do that?”

  The court hung on Theobald’s words like nothing else. Even the judge seemed wrapped up in them. When Theobald finally nodded toward the judge, the man wiped his face down and leaned forward.

  “…would the prosecution like to cross-examine this witness?” the judge asked.

  The lawyer stood up and said with a bitter quietness, “No, judge.”

  Lucian was surprised. No cross at all? This court system was a lot different from the one he knew. A hell of a lot fewer rules and regulations.

  “I’d like to call Lydia Villamar forth next,” Theobald declared. “Duchess of Villamar, and Cyril’s wife.”

  Lydia Villamar entered, dressed in purple and silver formalwear. She’d cleaned up nicely. She looked dignified, even. She went and took the witness’ podium. He glanced toward Cyril to see the man hiding his face with his hand. Lucian had been avoiding Lydia partly because of the awkwardness of her insistence on acting like a mother.

  It was time to learn what Cyril was so afraid of.