CHAPTER 321: COURT IS IN SESSION-I

It was almost amusing, how similar everything felt.

Centuries ago, Atlas had never once sat among the guests in the court. His place had always been beside the King, his father, where he stood not just as a prince, but as the sword of judgment. When the court rendered its verdict, he would rise, draw the blade sheathed at his hip, and carry out the sentence. His siblings, trembling in the wooden chair reserved for the condemned, would plead and weep and beg for mercy.

But blood always flowed in those sessions. Every sibling judged guilty would meet the same fate, death. The wooden chair, soaked in memory and fear, had claimed them one by one.

And yet, what haunted Atlas now wasn’t that cursed chair, nor even the one that once belonged to the King, or to him.

It was Morgana.

There was something about her that echoed the women from his past, the endless sea of stepmothers and concubines who had filled his father’s palace, too many to count. They wore their wealth like armor: jewels heavy on their necks, gowns stitched from the rarest silks of Versailles, all while parading their sons before the court as the next would-be king.

But none of those boys had touched the throne. What they were pushed toward was not power, but the executioner’s blade.

Atlas had watched it all unfold then, and now, staring at Morgana, he felt the ghost of that same story rising again. How could mothers do such things, swearing they loved their children, only to use them as pawns in their own desperate gambits? Their ambitions were never about their sons, but about fulfilling their own broken dreams, no matter the cost.

Even if it meant leading their children to ruin.

"What has the court accused your Crown Prince of?" Atlas asked, his gaze drifting from Morgana to Arabella.

Arabella opened her mouth but faltered. It was Renard who spoke in her place.

"There are four primary accusations, along with a few minor ones. The major charges include: the death of the newborn princess, Miss Arabella’s use of witchcraft to incite an uprising, the murder of Princess Marissa by Miss Arabella, and—"

"And?" Atlas prompted, his voice calm but watchful.

Arabella’s eyes dropped to her hands, clammy and restless in her lap. Two out of the four accusations stemmed from her.

She hated that.

Hated being the reason Cassius’s life now hung in the balance.

Hated being his chain.

"The last one hasn’t been disclosed yet," Renard said. "Morgana claimed she would reveal it here, during the trial."

"I see," Atlas murmured. "So there will be interrogation. Evidence."

"Yes," Renard replied politely. "That is the plan."

"It should begin now," Karnala interjected softly.

Arabella turned, her gaze falling to the court floor just as the heavy doors swung open. Armed guards stepped through, flanking Cassius.

Seeing him again after so long sent a tidal wave of emotion crashing through her chest. She instinctively leaned forward, longing to move closer. But the rows below were reserved for nobles and ministers, none of whom would welcome her presence.

Cassius looked changed.

Gaunt. Thinner. His skin had taken on an unnatural pallor.

Prison had done its damage, and Morgana had ensured it would. She had chosen the harshest dungeon Versailles could offer, knowing full well it would break him.

Because the idea of Cassius surviving this trial... vexed her deeply.

Yet despite everything, his black hair was neatly swept back, and though his wrists were shackled in iron, his posture remained composed, unshaken, like the ever present trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He hadn’t broken.

Not under the weight of accusations, not from his sister’s death, nor from the betrayal of those who once pledged him loyalty. Cassius stood like a boulder against the tide, unyielding, proud.

Across from him, Morgana sat rigid. Her expression was calm, but her narrowed eyes betrayed the storm behind them. She had expected humiliation to rot him from within by now. She had imagined him shrinking beneath the weight of shame, too humiliated to lift his gaze.

But this?

Cassius was still smiling.

He wasn’t crumbling, he was daring. It was as if he believed the one losing wasn’t him... but her.

The thought rattled Morgana more than she cared to admit. Her mask of composure began to fray at the edges. She longed to cast judgment now, to declare him guilty and done, but she couldn’t sway the court, not yet. Not while Cassius still stood tall.

Not until he was finally removed.

Yet Cassius’s red eyes weren’t on her.

They shifted upward, directly to where Arabella sat.

And when their eyes met, her breath caught.

The ache of distance clawed through her. She wanted to leap from her seat, to run to him, to embrace him and erase the cruel days they’d spent apart. She wanted to lend him her strength, to press her hand against his and whisper that everything would be all right.

But she couldn’t.

She could only sit frozen, heart pounding, as his lips moved in a silent whisper she couldn’t catch.

Atlas, beside her, leaned in and murmured, "He said: Watch. It’s about to get fun, love."

Arabella was stunned. It seemed that Cassius didn’t only have a plan to win against Morgana. It was as though he knew that he was about to win.

"Such confidence," Atlas chuckled and slowly burst into laughter. His laughter echoed loud enough for even the people below them to swiftly turn their heads toward him while Arabella pulled her face away so she didn’t have to gather more attention.

Atlas slowly lowered his laughter after Karnala gently nudged him so he could stop laughing.

"Sorry, sorry," Atlas seemed as if he couldn’t breathe. He slowly suck more air into his lungs and spoke with glee, "I didn’t know that the man you love is such a confident man. He’s so fun to watch, isn’t he?

Arabella couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at her lips, even as her heart thudded nervously in her chest. Cassius, in shackles, under trial, surrounded by enemies—and still, he was the calmest man in the room.

Yes, it was terrifying.

But it was also awe-inspiring.

"He’s more than that," she whispered, her eyes never leaving him. "He’s unbreakable."