Chapter 7 - THE TRIAL OF A KING
Julian survived.
The bullet entered beneath his left collarbone, missed the subclavian artery by less than two centimeters, fractured part of his shoulder blade, and exited through his back.
The surgeon called him lucky.
I called it inconvenient.
That was a lie.
When the physician told me he would live, I sat alone in a hospital corridor and cried for seven minutes.
Then I washed my face and went back to work.
I did not visit his room that night.
Alexander did.
Under supervision.
He brought the wooden fox.
“Daddy needs him more,” he explained.
I stood outside the doorway while my son climbed carefully onto the bed.
Julian looked terrible.
Pale.
Bandaged.
No cameras.
No ceremonial uniform.
No audience.
Just a father and his child.
“I got shot,” Julian said.
Alexander nodded seriously.
“Victoria got shot too.”
“Yes.”
“Her shot was smaller.”
“So I hear.”
“She was braver.”
Julian laughed, then immediately regretted it.
“Ow.”
Alexander placed the fox beside him.
“This is Blythe.”
“I know Blythe.”
“He scares monsters.”
Julian looked at the toy.
Then at our son.
“I could use that.”
Alexander nodded.
Then asked the question I had been dreading.
“Are you still king?”
Julian looked toward the door.
He knew I was there.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Daddy made some bad choices.”
“How bad?”
Julian swallowed.
“Very bad.”
“Did you say sorry?”
Children.
No tribunal in the world has sharper judges.
Julian looked at him.
“Not enough.”
Alexander considered this.
“You should.”
“I think you’re right.”
He reached for Alexander’s hand.
“Do you know something?”
“What?”
“You never have to be king if you don’t want to.”
My eyes closed.
Alexander shrugged.
“I want to be a train driver.”
Julian laughed again.
“Ow.”
For the first time in months, I smiled.
The emergency tribunal began three weeks later.
It lasted twenty-seven days.
Every session was broadcast.
That was my decision.
Not because I wanted humiliation.
Because secrecy had created the conspiracy.
Transparency would end it.
Dr. Halbrecht testified first.
He admitted altering my medication under orders from Julian’s private secretary and Queen Eleanor’s household.
Julian had approved increasing the dosage.
Eleanor had approved restricting my independent medical access.
Halbrecht had falsified reports describing me as paranoid, emotionally volatile, and potentially dangerous to Alexander.
When prosecutors displayed my actual blood analysis beside the palace reports, the courtroom became silent.
My so-called instability had been manufactured.
Victoria testified next.
She described the affair.
The political arrangement.
Her father’s promises.
The planned divorce.
The parliamentary votes.
She did not make herself a victim.
That mattered.
“I knew Evelyn was being isolated,” she said.
“Did you know she was being drugged?”
“No.”
“Did you participate in efforts to undermine her reputation?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Victoria looked toward me.
“Because I wanted what she had.”
“What did she have?”
Victoria gave a small, sad laugh.
“I thought she had Julian.”
The prosecutor paused.
“And now?”
Victoria looked toward Julian’s table.
He did not look back.
“Now I understand none of us really had him. Not even Julian.”
The courtroom remained quiet.
“What do you mean?”
“He belonged to the crown long before he wore it.”
Julian closed his eyes.
Queen Eleanor’s testimony came on Day Nineteen.
She wore no jewels.
That shocked the press more than anything.
For forty years, Eleanor had treated jewelry like armor.
She sat straight.
Spoke calmly.
And admitted everything.
The medical authorization.
The smear campaign.
The guardianship strategy.
Her alliance with Ashbourne.
When asked why, she gave the most truthful answer I had ever heard from her.
“Fear.”
The prosecutor frowned.
“Fear of what?”
“That the monarchy would become irrelevant.”
“And Princess Evelyn threatened it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She was popular without trying. Ordinary without being crude. She made the institution look human.”
The prosecutor glanced at me.
“Why was that dangerous?”
Eleanor’s eyes came to mine.
“Because institutions that rely on distance become frightened when someone proves closeness is possible.”
For three years she had called me common.
Now I finally understood what she had actually feared.
Not that I was beneath them.
That I made everyone else realize they were not above them.
Julian testified last.
He could have refused.
He didn’t.
He walked into court wearing a sling.
No medals.
No title announced.
“State your name.”
“Julian Adrian Laurent.”
“Formerly?”
He paused.
“King Julian IV.”
The prosecutor spent six hours dismantling him.
The affair.
The drugs.
The false medical statements.
The custody scheme.
The port agreement.
Julian admitted nearly everything.
At one point his attorney leaned over and whispered urgently.
Julian shook his head.
“No.”
The prosecutor noticed.
“Is there a problem?”
“My attorney would prefer that I clarify one answer.”
“Do you wish to?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Julian looked toward me.
“Because I am tired of clarifying things until they stop sounding like what I actually did.”
The courtroom went still.
I hated that sentence.
Because it was good.
Because it was true.
Because three years earlier I would have loved him for being capable of saying it.
The prosecutor continued.
“Did you love your wife?”
Julian’s lawyer stood.
“Objection.”
Julian raised a hand.
“No.”
Everyone looked at him.
He corrected himself.
“No, let him ask.”
The judge allowed it.
The prosecutor repeated—
“Did you love Evelyn Vale?”
Julian stared at the table.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When I married her.”
“And later?”
His eyes lifted.
“Yes.”
The prosecutor frowned.
“You instructed physicians to increase medication that impaired her.”
“Yes.”
“You attempted to have her declared incompetent.”
“Yes.”
“You conducted an affair.”
“Yes.”
“You publicly humiliated her.”
“Yes.”
“And yet you claim you loved her?”
Julian’s face changed.
“For a long time, I used love as a description of what I felt instead of a standard for how I behaved.”
Nobody moved.
He continued.
“I loved how she made me feel before I became afraid of what choosing her might cost me. Then I punished her for reminding me of the man I had promised not to become.”
My throat tightened.
The prosecutor stepped closer.
“So you loved her?”
Julian shook his head.
“Not in any way that should matter to her.”
That hurt more than I expected.
Perhaps because it was finally honest.
The tribunal issued its findings four days later.
Duke Edmund Ashbourne was convicted of treason, kidnapping, conspiracy against constitutional government, attempted initiation of armed conflict, and multiple financial crimes.
Dr. Halbrecht received twelve years after cooperation reduced his sentence.
Victoria received a suspended sentence for conspiracy-related financial violations and was stripped of her parliamentary privileges, but prosecutors credited her rescue of Alexander and her cooperation in stopping the defense attack.
Queen Eleanor renounced all formal royal authority and accepted permanent withdrawal from public office.
Julian was convicted of conspiracy to unlawfully manipulate guardianship proceedings, abuse of royal authority, interference with medical care, and falsification of official disclosures.
He was not imprisoned.
That decision angered many people.
The tribunal cited his voluntary abdication, his cooperation, his role in stopping Ashbourne, the gunshot injury sustained during the operation, and the absence of evidence that he knowingly participated in the kidnapping or defense attack.
Instead he received five years of judicial supervision, permanent exclusion from sovereign office, financial penalties, and mandatory restitution to several institutions affected by the conspiracy.
The monarchy itself remained unresolved.
That decision went to Parliament.
And unexpectedly—
To me.
The Constitutional Council asked me to become Regent for Alexander.
I refused before they finished the sentence.
The Chancellor stared.
“You understand that Prince Alexander is the lawful heir.”
“He’s four.”
“A regency would preserve stability.”
“So would not turning a preschooler into a constitutional instrument.”
“Director—”
“My son was kidnapped because adults saw royal blood before they saw a child.”
The Chancellor looked uncomfortable.
I continued.
“I will not reward that system by placing a crown above his crib.”
Parliament debated for twelve days.
Then Althea voted.
Not to abolish the monarchy entirely.
Not yet.
But to fundamentally transform it.
The Crown would become purely ceremonial.
No independent military authority.
No royal guardianship privileges.
No private control over strategic assets.
No legal preference in family court.
And succession could not be imposed on a minor without adult confirmation at age twenty-one.
Alexander was free.
Free to become king someday.
Free to become a train driver.
Free to become neither.
That night, I returned to the palace apartment for the last time.
My belongings were already packed.
Alexander ran through empty rooms pretending the moving boxes were castles.
Irony.
I found Julian standing on the balcony.
He had been allowed one final supervised visit.
“You’re leaving tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“The Vale house.”
The house my father left me outside the capital.
Small by royal standards.
Only six bedrooms.
Alexander called it tiny.
I called it freedom.
Julian nodded.
“I signed the divorce papers.”
“I know.”
He looked at the city.
“I didn’t contest custody.”
“I know.”
“I’m asking for supervised weekends until the court decides I can have more.”
“That’s reasonable.”
He looked surprised.
“What?”
“You expected me to keep him from you.”
“I would understand if you did.”
“I won’t use Alexander to punish you.”
Julian looked down.
“You could.”
“Yes.”
“But you won’t.”
“No.”
He smiled sadly.
“That may be the difference between us.”
I crossed my arms.
“One of several.”
He laughed.
Then winced.
His shoulder still hurt.
Silence settled.
Not hostile.
Not comfortable.
Just final.
“Evelyn.”
“Yes?”
“I am sorry.”
There it was.
Three words I had once dreamed of hearing.
They did not repair anything.
They did not restore love.
They did not erase pills, humiliation, Victoria, threats, or nights locked inside the North Tower.
But they belonged in the world.
So I let them exist.
“For which part?”
His eyes filled.
“All of it.”
“That’s too large for one apology.”
“I know.”
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You made me doubt myself.”
“I know.”
“You tried to take my son.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
I stepped closer.
“I forgive you for one thing.”
Hope flashed across his face.
I hated that.
“For what?”
“For disappointing the woman I used to be.”
His hope vanished.
I continued.
“She believed you would save her.”
He swallowed.
“And you?”
“I learned to save myself.”
I turned toward the door.
“Evelyn.”
I stopped.
“Did you ever stop loving me?”
I closed my eyes.
That question belonged to another life.
I looked back.
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly.
“When?”
“The night you threw the ring into the fire.”
He looked down.
“That stupid silver ring.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“It was never about the ring.”
Then I left him on the balcony.
The next morning, Alexander and I drove through the palace gates.
No royal convoy.
No marching band.
One security vehicle.
Two suitcases.
A wooden fox.
My son pressed his face to the window.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Are we still royal?”
I smiled.
“Do you want to be?”
He thought for several seconds.
“Can I still be a train driver?”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t care.”
I laughed.
May you like
And for the first time in years, the road ahead did not belong to a king.
It belonged to us.
