Chapter 27 Aug 18, 2025 Celeste The great council chamber had never felt smaller. Every noble, every minister, every person of consequence in the kingdom seemed to be pressed into the vast space. I stood at the back with my daughter in my arms, no longer hidden in the shadows but present for what I knew would be the final act of this long, painful drama. My child slept peacefully, unaware that her very existence had torn apart the foundations of the crown. Alexandre sat at the head of the mahogany table like a king from ancient legends-unmovable, terrible in his authority. His storm-gray eyes swept the assembled court with cold calculation. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of absolute power. "Lords and ladies of the realm," he began, each word precise as a blade. "We are gathered to address acts of treason against the crown." A collective intake of breath filled the chamber. Treason was not a word spoken lightly in royal courts. Renard stood to the right of his father's chair, his face pale but defiant. Gone was the polished prince who had once charmed courtiers with his easy smile. In his place stood a man whose desperation had stripped away every pretense of nobility. "The accusations made in this chamber three days ago," Alexandre continued, "constitute not just a betrayal of family bonds, but an attack on the stability of this kingdom." "I spoke the truth!" Renard burst out, his voice cracking with emotion. "How is truth considered treason?" "Silence." The single word from Alexandre's lips cut through the air like winter wind. "You will speak only when given permission." Lord Beaumont cleared his throat nervously. "Your Majesty, the matter of succession-" "Will be decided by me alone." Alexandre's gaze swept the room, touching each face with cold assessment. "Prince Renard has shown himself unfit to inherit this crown through his actions and his character." The murmurs started immediately-shocked gasps, urgent whispers, as nobles turned to each other in disbelief. I tightened my hold on my daughter, feeling the weight of history shifting around us. "Therefore," Alexandre said, his voice rising above the chaos, "I hereby strip Prince Renard of all claims to succession. He is to be exiled to our northern estates, where he will retain his title but hold no power, no council seat, and no claim to the throne of this kingdom." "No!" Renard's shout echoed off the vaulted ceiling. "You cannot do this! I am your son! Your heir!" "You were my heir," Alexandre replied with devastating calm. "Until you chose to put your wounded pride above the security of this realm." "I told the truth about your adultery! About your bastard child!" The words hung in the air like poison, but Alexandre didn't flinch. If anything, his expression grew colder. "You told lies designed to destroy this kingdom's stability," he said quietly. "You betrayed the crown. Not by sleeping with your wife-which you never did. But by refusing to protect your kingdom when it needed protection most." The truth of it hit the chamber like a physical blow. Several nobles nodded slowly, understanding dawning on their faces. Renard hadn't been defending honor or truth-he'd been trying to tear down everything out of spite. "Guards," Alexandre commanded. Two men in royal livery stepped forward, their faces impassive as they moved to flank Renard. He looked wildly around the chamber, searching for allies who were no longer there. "This is madness!" he cried. "You're destroying the royal line for a woman who made a fool of you!" "The royal line will continue," Alexandre said simply. "Just not through you." As the guards reached for his arms, Renard jerked away. "I'll fight this! I'll rally support! The northern provinces-" "Will be your home for the remainder of your life," Alexandre finished. "Unless you prefer exile beyond our borders entirely." The choice was clear. Renard's shoulders sagged as the weight of his downfall settled over him like a shroud. The guards took his arms gently but firmly, prepared to escort him from the chamber that had once been his pathway to power. As they walked toward the door, their path took them directly past where I stood with my daughter. This was the moment I had been dreading-the final confrontation between the man who had made my life miserable and the child who represented everything he had lost. I straightened my spine, meeting whatever look he might give me with dignity. My daughter stirred in my arms but didn't wake, her tiny fist curled against the soft blanket. But Renard didn't look at us. Not at me, with all the history of our failed marriage written in the space between us. Not at the child whose existence had cost him everything he thought he deserved. He walked past as if we were furniture, meaningless objects in a room he would never see again.