Chapter 5: Stripped of Honor
The courtroom was suffocating. Heavy tapestries depicting images of battles and royal decrees hung on the stone walls, absorbing the murmurs that filled the air. Alaric stood in the center, his heart thumping in his chest. His previously flawless armor, the same that had gained him praise on the battlefield, now felt like a cage around him. Sweat formed on his forehead as he stared at the rows of nobility seated above him, their looks frigid and distant. The court had come not to praise him for his service, but to judge him for a crime he hadn't committed.
The king sat atop his gilded throne, his look unreadable. Alaric's father had once been a trusted counsel to this man, but today, that link felt like a distant memory. The king's gaze wandered throughout the room before falling on Alaric. For a brief moment, their eyes locked, and Alaric searched for a flicker of understanding, a clue that the king realized the truth—that this was all a farce organized by Edwin. But there was nothing. Only indifference.
The royal treasurer stood alongside the king, a huge ledger in his hands, replete with the damning evidence Edwin had so meticulously created. It was all there—false documents, fraudulent signatures, and testimonies that depicted Alaric as a man who had plundered from the realm he had promised to safeguard. Alaric's throat clenched as the treasurer cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Alaric Valemont, you stand accused of embezzling funds from the royal treasury, of betraying the trust of the crown, and of bringing dishonor to your family's name. The evidence has been put before this court, and the claims have been substantiated by several sources."
Lies, Alaric thought cruelly. Every word a lie.
"I am innocent," Alaric answered, his voice firm, though his heart felt like it was being torn apart. "I have served this kingdom faithfully. I have fought in its battles, guarded its boundaries, and enforced its laws. This accusation—it is a plan, aimed to ruin me. My cousin, Edwin, has concocted this entire hoax to steal my birthright."
A murmur went through the crowd. Edwin, seated among the nobles, assumed an expression of feigned disbelief. He shook his head ever so slightly, his face a mask of anxiety. Alaric wanted to lash out, to tear through the lies that surrounded him, but he knew it would only play into Edwin's hands. Rage bubbled inside him, but he forced himself to remain cool.
"Alaric Valemont," the king's voice roared out, cutting through the murmuring, "you stand before this court accused of treason. You have been given the chance to defend yourself, and yet, you present no proof beyond your words."
"My lord, the proof lies in the deception," Alaric said, his voice begging now. "The forged documents, the false witnesses—they have all been bought by Edwin. He aims to destroy me, to gain control of the Valemont estate for himself."
The king lifted a hand, silencing Alaric. "Enough. We have heard your defense. The evidence exists, and the crown cannot overlook such a violation of trust. The Valemont name has been tarnished by your acts, and for that, there must be justice."
Alaric's heart fell as the king's next words confirmed his destiny.
"You are hereby stripped of your title as heir to the Valemont estate. Your lands, your wealth, and your status within this court are forfeit. You shall be expelled from this kingdom, effective immediately. Should you return, you will be executed."
The words repeated in Alaric's head, each syllable striking him like a hammer. Stripped of his title. Exiled. He had known this was coming—Edwin had assured that there was no escape from the web he had weaved. But hearing the monarch proclaim his penalty made it real. His heart raced in his chest, a hollow beat that echoed with the finality of his dishonor.
For a moment, Alaric remained paralyzed, the world swirling around him. The nobles looked with a mixture of scorn and wonder. Some spoke to one another, their voices quiet, while others merely gazed, their judgment written plainly on their features. The man who had previously been meant to lead his family, to inherit the Valemont tradition, was now nothing more than a criminal in their eyes.
Alaric's legs felt like lead as he turned to leave the courtroom. His gaze found Edwin in the crowd, seated smugly among the nobility who had formerly lauded Alaric's leadership. Edwin's sneer was faint but evident, and it took every ounce of Alaric's will not to confront him right then. But what would it achieve? Alaric had no power left. The kingdom, his family, and even his fiancée had abandoned him. The weight of their betrayal pressed down on him, choking him as he walked past them, through the big doors, and out into the cold reality of his new life.
The courtyard was quiet when Alaric stepped outdoors. His previously loyal retainers stood in the shadows, avoiding his gaze. The banners of the Valemont estate waved in the breeze, a bitter reminder of everything he had lost. His armor seemed heavy, not with the weight of metal, but with the burden of humiliation.
Two guards approached him, their features deadpan. "We've been ordered to escort you to the kingdom's border," one of them remarked.
Alaric said nothing, merely nodding in acknowledgment. He felt numb, the world around him clouded by the gravity of his demise. The guards led him to a horse, one that had once been his pride, a stallion that had taken him into combat and brought him honor. Now, it would carry him into exile.
As Alaric mounted the horse, he cast one final look back at the house, the stately halls that had once been his home. The walls that had shielded him suddenly seemed remote, impenetrable. His family's legacy—his legacy—was gone. Stolen by the same man he had once trusted as a brother.
The trek to the kingdom's border was lengthy and silent. The guards, though deferential, kept their distance, as if they, too, feared being soiled by his humiliation. Alaric rode with his head held high, while inwardly, he felt broken. Every step of the horse was a reminder of how far he had fallen, how effortlessly everything he had built had been snatched from him.
When they neared the border, the guards halted. "This is where we leave you, my lord," one of them murmured, the title sounding hollow.
Alaric dismounted, his feet slipping into the dirt of the road. He stood at the border of the kingdom, looking out into the unknown. Behind him, the kingdom he had served, the life he had known. Before him, a future of uncertainty, of exile, and of dishonor.
But as the guards turned to go, a spark of resistance flared within him. Edwin may have taken everything, but he hadn't shattered Alaric's spirit. He would endure this. He would find a way back. And when he did, he would make sure Edwin suffered for every lie, every treachery.
Alaric Valemont was not finished yet.