Chapter 77: Under Suspicion [III]

"Basil," King William called, his voice carrying through the chamber. "Step into the center."

Basil walked down the short ramp into the open hollow of the circular table, stopping squarely in the middle of the room. He felt the weight of dozens of eyes pressing down on him from every angle. "Do not be afraid, son," the King said, trying to project a steady calm despite the hostility radiating from the surrounding seats. "You are not being formally accused of anything here today, and no decision has been made against you. I will not allow any injustice in this chamber. You are simply here to answer a few questions regarding last night’s events so we can clear up any misunderstandings."

Basil nodded once, keeping his face entirely unreadable. "I understand, Father."

Field Marshal Thompson watched Basil intently. Every time he looked at the boy, he couldn’t help but remember his foolish father. The resemblance between them was uncanny, from the shape of his face to the cold intensity in his eyes. Even now, Thompson still couldn’t believe the royal couple had never suspected that the boy wasn’t truly theirs.

Prime Minister Jonathan Ashcroft leaned forward from his position beside the King, his hands resting flat on the polished table. "Your Highness, the councilors will ask their questions one by one. You need only answer with the absolute truth. Do you understand?"

"I do," Basil replied, clenching his hands into tight fists to force himself to stay grounded.

Stay calm, he repeatedly told himself, allowing the political theater to play out. He had anticipated this move, but standing in the middle of the circle, surrounded by men waiting for him to stumble, didn’t make it any easier.

Field Marshal Thompson was the first to break the silence. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms against the polished table as his eyes settled on Basil in the center of the room. His expression remained composed, almost professional, but there was something deliberate in the way he studied him, as if he were examining a suspect. "Let us begin with the most obvious question, Your Highness," Thompson began, his voice echoing cleanly across the quiet chamber. "Why were you at the Royal Crown Medical Center last night?"

Basil stood straight in the center of the ring, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "I was there because my brother was there and had been there since he was admitted."

"A commendable sentiment," Thompson replied smoothly. "What were you doing when an intruder disguised as medical staff managed to slip past the outer security post, render six elite royal guards unconscious with an aerosolized agent, and enter Prince Darius’s private suite?" He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "How is it that an assassin breached a high-security royal wing undetected while you — the only conscious person in that room — remained completely unharmed?"

Basil answered evenly, without breaking eye contact. "I was asleep when the assassin slipped into the room, so I had no idea what was happening outside. I only woke up when I saw him trying to inject something into Prince Darius’s IV line. I engaged him before he could do any damage."

"So we are to believe that you, single-handedly, disarmed and pinned down a trained assassin who had just effortlessly neutralized six seasoned palace guards despite being caught completely off guard?" Thompson turned his head, casting a knowing look toward the surrounding councilors. "A remarkably convenient turn of events."

"It wasn’t convenient," Basil countered immediately. "He probably didn’t anticipate anyone else being in the room except the bedridden prince. I believe my presence caught him off guard. Or would you have preferred I let him inject whatever that was into Prince Darius?"

Thompson ignored the challenge. "You claim you simply happened to wake up at the exact moment the assassin was attempting to kill Prince Darius and happened to stop him. Does that not strike you as suspicious?"

Basil’s expression barely changed. "I didn’t—"

"Your Highness," another councilor to Thompson’s right interrupted, leaning forward. "Does it not strike you as deeply concerning that whenever Prince Darius finds himself in life-threatening distress, you are the sole witness present? You were with him when a vehicle ran him over, and now you were there during the ICU breach. The odds of such coincidences are rather thin, don’t you think?"

"Are you finished, Councilor, or are you just making a clumsy accusation?" Basil replied, his posture unyielding. "If I wanted Prince Darius dead, I certainly wouldn’t choose a public hospital room with my own name logged on the visitor sheet."

"Your Highness’s tone lacks a certain gravity," the councilor snapped, his face reddening. "You stand before this body showing no remorse, no distress, merely cold defiance. How are we to know this wasn’t an orchestrated display to clear your name after the initial accident failed?"

Thompson raised a hand, cutting off the councilor, and fixed his gaze back on Basil. "Let us look at the broader context, Your Highness. It is common knowledge within this court that when you discovered your true parentage two months ago — that you were not the biological son of the King and Queen — you locked yourself in your room, refusing food, refusing audiences, and openly rejecting the transition. You did not even visit Prince Darius once during his entire three-week stay in the hospital at the time. And there had been reports that, prior to his crash, your interactions with him were distant, bitter, and hostile, despite his repeated efforts to extend a hand to you."

The chamber grew heavy with subtext. Basil felt the sting of the words, but he forced his jaw to remain loose, refusing to give the field marshal the reaction he wanted.

"I ask you directly, Prince Basil," Thompson continued, his voice dropping into a dangerous, sympathetic register. "How did it feel to learn that the life, the title, and the parents you believed were yours actually belonged to someone else?"

Basil took a slow breath through his nose, his chest expanding slightly as he looked Thompson dead in the eye. "If you were told right now that the family that raised you, the life you built, and the identity you carried for twenty years were built on a construct, how would you react, Lord Thompson? Would you throw a celebration? I was emotionally and mentally shattered. I am human, for goodness’ sake. Of course I’ll grieve the loss of the reality I thought I knew and mourn my loss. I needed time to process everything. It is nothing but human nature."

"Precisely," Thompson pounced, leaning forward over the edge of the table. "You were pained. You were grieving the loss of your status and your parents. You could not accept that Prince Darius was the true heir, taking the place you believed was yours. In your own words, you were deeply wounded by his presence."

"Do not twist my words," Basil said sharply. "I said I was processing grief, not harboring murderous intent."

"The logic is clear, Your Highness!" Thompson declared, turning his face to address the entire assembly. "You had every motive in the world! Resentment, loss of status, envy, and the desperate desire to reclaim the life that was stripped from you! You had every reason to want Prince Darius eliminated!"

"I never said that!" Basil’s voice cut through the hall, firm and sharp. "You are deliberately misconstruing a personal crisis to construct a false narrative of treason!"

"Your Majesty, members of the council," Thompson shouted over him, turning directly to the King. "It is painfully obvious that Prince Basil is withholding the truth! His own admissions demonstrate a clear psychological motive for targeting the true Crown Prince! I move that Prince Basil be immediately remanded into the custody of the royal police for formal interrogation! We cannot allow family loyalty to blind us to a threat within the royal house!"

"I second the motion!" a councilor called out.

"Agreed! He must be taken into custody!" several voices chimed in, the chamber dissolving into a chorus of demands.

Basil’s jaw tightened as the accusations crashed over him from every side. He remained standing in the center of the chamber, his hands curling slowly into fists at his sides as he fought to keep his temper under control.

At the head of the table, King William sat frozen, his face pale as his hands trembled against the polished wood. "Quiet! I have not ruled on—"

"He must be interrogated, Your Majesty!" Thompson insisted, stepping closer to the center aisle. "For the safety of the realm!"

Before the King could speak, the grand double doors of the chamber burst open with a loud crash. The room fell abruptly silent as every councilor’s head turned toward the entrance.

A wheelchair rolled smoothly into the hall, pushed by a tall, heavily built man in a dark suit whose exposed neck and hands were covered in sharp, dark tattoos. Beside him stood other men with broad, threatening postures, their eyes scanning the gallery with cold efficiency.