"Emperor Torsten, you are making a mistake—my father saved your throne!" "Silence," Torsten Avila said from his dais. His voice filled the Hall without raising itself. "You will not shout here, Princess." "You call him traitor," Dorothy Flowers shouted over the court. "You call him murderer, yet he held your northern walls while your generals argued. He bled so you could sit there." Torsten's fingers tightened on his armrest. He did not look surprised. He looked like a man watching a thing he expected to break. "Your words are treason," he said. "Do you plead for Eric's men? For the men you loved? Stand down, girl." "Stand down?" Dorothy stepped closer. Every eyeshot in the Hall pinned her. "My father handed you a treaty when your council wanted war. He vouched for your blood when your regent would have ended you. He saved you." A noble laughed. It ricocheted through the room. "Do you have proof?" Dorian Solovyov sneered from the first gallery. He took pleasure in the moment before a sentence landed. Dorothy reached for the man who had always stood as armor for her words. Eben Church stood tall despite the cords around his wrists and the iron plate fixed to his chest. He met her gaze and did not flinch. "If proof is what you require," Eben said, voice thin but steady, "ask my men. Ask the border commanders. Ask the shielded sentries who gave their lives in the pass." "Prove it," Torsten said