The accusation came at sunset.
A formal summons. A trial in all but name.
They dressed it up in ceremony—called it a Council Review—but everyone knew what it was.
The old families were done whispering.
They wanted Aris out.
She walked into the throne hall alone. No prince. No guards. Her gown black, sleeveless, her throat bare. She didn't dress like a victim. She dressed like the executioner had called the wrong name.
Candlelight poured over her skin—dark and smooth, like burnished onyx. The kind of tone that didn't fade under pressure. The kind of skin that made old men remember myths and young ones forget rules.
She didn't soften it. Didn't hide it. She wore it—like armor.
The Emperor sat high above, expression unreadable.
The generals were gathered in full. The clergy too.
And at the center stood Lord Cassian—the Duke of Dareth, the first man Aris had outmaneuvered in the war room. Old money. Older grudges.
He bowed.
"I bring forth evidence," he said, "that Aris of the South falsified military intelligence. That she forged documents to humiliate members of this court. That she manipulated the Prince for personal gain."
A murmur rolled through the court like a storm.
Aris stood still.
Didn't blink.
Didn't flinch.
"Do you deny these charges?" the Emperor asked.
> System: This is bad. Like, really bad. Don't look smug. Don't—
Too late.
She smiled.
"No," Aris said.
Gasps. One woman dropped her goblet.
"No?" the Emperor repeated.
"I don't deny manipulating," she said. "That's how I survive in a palace built to crush women like me."
She stepped forward. Eyes on Lord Cassian.
Her steps echoed against polished marble like prophecy. Her skin—dark, unyielding—was framed by a single gold cuff at her wrist, and still, they watched her like she was flame in the flesh.
"But I did not falsify reports. That was his scribe."
She snapped her fingers.
And a servant stepped forward.
Shaking. Pale. Holding a torn letter and a trembling voice.
"She… she found me drunk," the servant whispered. "Lord Cassian had me rewrite the casualty report to make her look incompetent. I—I didn't know she'd trace it back."
> System: Holy hell. You planned this.
> Aris: "Of course I did. He's predictable. Desperate men always reach for lies before logic."
The Emperor's eyes turned cold.
"Is this true?" he asked.
Cassian fumbled. Denied. Stammered.
It didn't matter.
By the end of the hour, he was stripped of his command. His titles frozen. His estate seized pending review.
And Aris?
She didn't say a word as it all happened. She just watched.
Eyes soft.
Mouth quiet.
Skin gleaming like obsidian against the dying firelight—unbothered, unbowed.
That night, the Prince found her in the garden. Alone. Moonlight painted silver along her shoulders, against the curve of her dark skin, as if the gods were outlining her in reverence.
"You didn't need to do that," he whispered. "You could've just waited it out."
She looked at him. Really looked.
"I don't wait to be saved," she said.
He stepped closer. "I would've fought for you."
"I know. That's why I didn't let you."
The Knight watched them from the shadows.
His hands tight at his sides.
He saw the way she owned the Prince. The way she owned the court.
And for the first time...
He felt fear.
Not for her.
Of her.
Later, the System buzzed in her skull.
> System: You sacrificed a servant just to corner a Duke.
> Aris: "He lived. I promised him protection."
> System: And if he hadn't confessed?
> Aris: "Then I would've buried him with honor."
> System: You're starting to enjoy this.
> Aris: "No. I was born to."