Chapter 76: Under Suspicion [II]

At the head of the round table sat King William, looking drained and older than he had only days ago. He rested his elbows on the polished wood, his head supported in his hands as he listened to his noblemen tear his family apart.

His kingdom was slowly falling apart around him, and the weight of it all seemed to rest heavily on his shoulders. He closed his eyes, a deep sense of helplessness creeping over him. Even the councilors who had staunchly defended Basil during the previous session were now turning, swayed by fear and the relentless pressure of the opposition. Only Jonathan Ashcroft, the Prime Minister, was still standing firmly at Basil’s side.

Deep down, the King refused to believe that Basil could orchestrate such horror. The boy could be hot-headed, impulsive, and sharp-tongued, but he knew his son’s heart. Basil did not have the cold, calculating malice required to murder someone, let alone his own brother, even if they were not biologically related. Yet, looking around the room, the King knew his personal faith meant nothing against the political storm raging before him. He was losing control of his court. He hated the sense of weakness pooling in his chest, but he knew he could no longer shield his son from the council’s demands.

He hated this feeling of inadequacy. He was supposed to be the King, for crying out loud. He was supposed to be the one in control, the one everyone looked to for answers and leadership, not sitting at the head of the council table wondering which person in the room could give him the support he needed to avoid sacrificing his son to politics.

A faint vibration broke Thompson’s focus from the chaos unfolding around him.

He slipped his phone from his inner coat pocket, keeping it low beneath the edge of the table, and glanced down at the bright screen. The message was enough to make satisfaction flicker behind his eyes.

Perfect, he thought as he locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

He allowed several more seconds of heated argument to pass before clearing his throat, a smooth, deliberate sound that drew the attention of the surrounding men. Placing his hands flat on the table, he turned his gaze toward the Prime Minister and the King.

"If I may, Your Majesty," Thompson began, his voice calm, reasoned, and dripping with artificial concern. "I have just been informed that Prince Basil arrived at the palace a few moments ago. It seems the timing is appropriate. I suggest we summon him to this chamber now."

"Yes! Summon him!" several councilors echoed instantly. "Let him answer the accusations himself! If he has nothing to hide, he should have no reason to refuse questioning!"

Thompson turned directly to the Prime Minister and the silent monarch. "What say you, Your Majesty? Prime Minister? Surely, if the prince has nothing to hide, a few direct questions from this council will only serve to clear his name. There is no harm in asking for clarity."

The King let out a long, heavy exhale, the sound filled with bitter resignation. He looked at Prime Minister Ashcroft, whose grim face offered no further defense. They had run out of ground to stand on.

Turning to the royal guard stationed beside the heavy chamber doors, the King signaled with a weak wave of his hand.

"Go," the King ordered, his voice thick with strain. "Bring Prince Basil to the council room."

The guard bowed respectfully. "At once, Your Majesty."

As the guard slipped out the door, the King reached up and slowly massaged his temples, closing his eyes against the sharp headache pounding behind them. He hated this feeling, hated the quiet realization of his own powerlessness, sitting as a ruler forced to watch his court circle his son like vultures while he could do little more than watch. And he hated himself for it. He hated that, despite being King, he could not seem to stop the situation from spiraling further out of his control.

*****

The marble corridor leading toward the vault was silent, save for the rhythmic, heavy clicks of the guard’s boots as he led Basil and the Queen deeper into the palace. Basil’s jaw remained tight, his mind racing through the shorthand cipher he had memorized from the cell floor.

They were only two hallways away from securing Linda’s phone when a pair of royal guards turned the corner ahead of them, stepping directly into their path. The guards stopped, standing shoulder to shoulder to block the passage with urgent expressions. Their lead officer bowed his head respectfully, but his posture remained rigid.

"Your Majesty. Your Highness," the officer said, his tone clipped and formal. "Prince Basil, we have been instructed to escort you to the High Council Chamber immediately."

The Queen halted instantly, her arm sweeping across Basil’s chest in a protective motion. Her brow furrowed, a sharp edge entering her voice.

"On whose authority? For what reason? He has just returned from the hospital after a night of chaos. What is going on?"

"It’s a direct order from the King and the council, Your Majesty," the officer replied, keeping his eyes lowered. "They have requested the prince’s presence for questioning regarding the security breach at the Royal Crown Medical Center. We are under strict orders to bring him in now."

Basil’s expression remained unreadable while the Queen stared at the guards in disbelief.

"Questioning?" she repeated, her voice rising, her eyes flashing with disbelief. "Why would Basil be questioned? He was the one who saved his brother’s life! What could they possibly need to question him about? This is absurd. Move aside."

"My apologies, Your Majesty." The guard lowered his head, taking a half-step forward without giving ground. "We are only carrying out His Majesty’s orders. Prince Basil must come with us and appear before the council immediately."

The Queen’s hands trembled as she stepped forward, ready to resist. "That’s ridiculous. Basil has done nothing wrong. He—"

"Mother." Basil gently caught her wrist, his tone low and remarkably steady. "It’s okay."

She turned back to him, her eyes wide with mounting panic. "Basno. No, is not okay. They have no right to do this to you right now. Not after everything you’ve been through."

"It’s fine," Basil repeated, offering her a faint, reassuring smile. He had expected this.

The moment the assassination attempt failed, he knew whoever was orchestrating the plot was trying to push him into a corner, frame him, and place him under suspicion before the royal court.

"Let me go with them. It’s better to deal with it now."

The Queen swallowed hard, her hand lingering on his forearm before slowly sliding away.

"Please be careful," she whispered, her voice laced with deep concern. Basil’s expression softened. He stepped closer and gently squeezed her hand before leaning in. Lowering his voice so only she could hear, he said,

"Please continue to the storage room. Get Linda’s phone. Don’t let anyone else access it before we do."

The Queen’s eyes widened slightly before she gave a reluctant nod. Then Basil gently squeezed her hand once more before stepping away.

The Queen remained where she was, her fingers tightening around each other as she watched the two guards flank Basil and lead him down the long corridor. An uneasy feeling settled heavily in her chest. Something was wrong.

Once their footsteps faded from sight, she turned sharply toward the guard who had originally been leading them, her expression hardening with fierce resolve.

"Take me to the evidence storage room. Now."

*****

The heavy double doors of the High Council Chamber swung open with a deep, echoing thud. Basil stepped through the threshold, his posture straight, his eyes scanning the expansive room. The atmosphere in the chamber was suffocating, thick with tension and the low hum of hushed murmurs. Surrounding him were the most powerful figures in the realm, seated along a vast, circular conference table built into the center of the hall. Being in this room felt surreal.

Since his eighteenth birthday, when he was formally recognized as the Crown Prince, this was only the second time he had stood before the full council in session. Usually, he encountered councilors in passing or at formal galas, where they offered polite greetings and pleasantries. Seeing them gathered like this, their eyes locked on him with cold calculation, felt like a trial, quiet and hostile. The heavy doors closed behind him as he took another step into the chamber. The circular table was uniquely designed, forming a large, hollow ring in the middle — an open inner floor surrounded on all sides by the raised seats of the councilors.

At the far end of the ring, the King sat at the main podium. Seeing his son enter, the monarch straightened slightly, his exhaustion evident in the deep lines carved around his eyes.

"Basil," the King said, his voice echoing through the acoustics of the room. "Step into the center."