Under a Dimmed Sun [UNCENSORED]

Epilogue: Chapter LXXXII: The Colombus

The heavy stone walls of Wode Castle in Pontevedra echoed with the clanging of armor and the hushed conversations of Peter of Wode's men. Peter, sitting in the dim candlelight of his chambers, stared intently at the map sprawled across the table. His brow furrowed, his mind preoccupied with the consequences of his actions. The abduction of the bishop had been a bold act of defiance, one meant to send a clear message to the royal court. But now, as the weight of what he had done settled upon him, Peter knew that the time for rebellion had passed. The king and queen would not let this slide. His future was uncertain, and his survival depended on his next move.

A knock at the door broke his concentration.

"Enter," Peter called out, his voice gruff and low.

One of his trusted captains, a weathered man named Esteban, stepped inside. "My lord, news from the capital. The king's emissaries have arrived. They bring a message."

Peter looked up, eyes narrowing. "And what is this message?"

Esteban shifted uncomfortably. "They demand your presence in the capital. His Majesty King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella wish to speak with you personally."

Peter's lips pressed into a thin line. He had anticipated this, but that didn't make the reality of the situation any easier. "And if I refuse?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Esteban swallowed hard. "Refusal will be seen as treason, my lord. The punishment... would be death."

Peter leaned back in his chair, silent for a long moment. Treason or not, his actions had already pushed him to the brink. The abduction had been a desperate move, one fueled by anger and frustration at the crown's increasing control over his lands. But now, the game had changed. His survival rested on more than just brute force; it would require strategy, humility, and perhaps even the ability to beg forgiveness.

He rose to his feet, his decision made. "Prepare the horses. We leave for the capital at dawn."

...

The journey to the capital was long and arduous, and Peter's mind was a battlefield of its own. Memories of his time at war, his defiance, his family, and the specter of Alice haunted him. As the towering spires of the capital city came into view, a sense of dread settled deep within him. This was no longer a battle fought with swords, but with words, politics, and power.

Upon arriving at the royal palace, Peter was ushered into the grand hall where King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella awaited him. The hall was magnificent, its high ceilings adorned with tapestries depicting battles, exploration, and the divine right of the crown. At the far end, the king and queen sat upon their thrones, their gazes sharp and unreadable.

Peter, ever the warrior, stood tall as he approached, though he knew that his life hung by a thread. He knelt before them, bowing his head in submission.

"Your Majesties," Peter said, his voice steady despite the fear creeping into his heart.

King Ferdinand was the first to speak, his voice cold and authoritative. "Peter of Wode, you stand before us accused of treason. You abducted a bishop, defied the authority of the crown, and sowed the seeds of rebellion in our lands. Do you deny these charges?"

Peter looked up, meeting the king's piercing gaze. "I do not deny them, Your Majesty."

The hall fell silent, the tension thick in the air. Queen Isabella, her face unreadable, leaned forward slightly, her eyes locked on Peter. "And yet, here you stand, seeking our forgiveness," she said, her voice soft but laced with steel. "Why should we not sentence you to death for your crimes?"