The Queen

40. The Final Blow

"This cannot be quiet," Samira said. "A woman like Alice only truly dies in the eyes of others when her lies are dragged into the light."
Philip's jaw tightened. "Then we burn her lies under it."
Tristan stepped forward, placing a sealed parchment on the table. "I've drafted a summons to call the High Court into session. A formal council hearing. One where evidence is to be presented before nobles, knights, court officials... and the people."
Philip's voice was steel. "She tried to have you killed. Tried to claim my son, my throne... through betrayal. She weaponized motherhood and power alike. Let her choke on both."
Tristan nodded. "We present the soldier's confession. The bribery. The intercepted letters. I've already arranged for the soldier to be transferred under heavy guard. He'll speak."
Samira's gaze hardened. "And what if she denies it?"
Philip shook his head. "She won't get the chance. She thrives on spectacle. So we give her one."
Tristan smiled darkly. "We tell her the court is gathering to honor her regency during the king's absence. Let her dress in her finest robes. Let her think it's all been forgiven. Let her walk into that chamber believing it still can be hers to rule."
Samira stepped beside Philip, her voice low and deliberate. "And when she enters that hall, she'll find every noble, every council member, every banner... turned against her."
"And I'll be sitting on the throne, I'll expose her lies and scheming ways to everyone in this court."
Silence fell. The plan was dangerous. It was bold. But it was final.
Samira met their eyes. "Then we're agreed."
Philip reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. "Let the kingdom see her fall."
The great throne room of the palace had never looked more regal. Banners of gold and crimson draped the walls. Courtiers lined the perimeter, all dressed in their finest silks and brocades, whispering behind jeweled fans and nervous smiles. The royal guard stood motionless by every column, blades at their sides, eyes sharp.
A hush fell over the room as the grand doors creaked open.
Alice entered with her head held high, draped in emerald velvet that shimmered like envy itself. A crown sat delicately atop her curls, her hands gloved and graceful. She smiled — smug, radiant — believing this was a day of tribute. Her eyes glinting with arrogance.
She walked toward the dais.
Tristan stood near the far end, subtly directing the guards loyal to the king into position. Each step was carefully orchestrated. No room for missteps.
Samira entered first, graceful and composed, wearing the colors of the crown—a visual reminder of her position as queen.
Then came Philip. Proud, controlled, regal. But unlike his usual demeanor, he didn't rush to Samira's side. He walked separately, nodding briefly to Tristan, then addressed the room.
"I thank you all for gathering on such short notice," he began, his voice strong and echoing through the chamber. "I've returned, not just to restore order, but to uncover the betrayal that nearly cost me my life... and almost ended the life of the queen."
The murmurs turned into a ripple of tension. Samira took her place beside him now, eyes calm but piercing. A slow silence fell over the room.
Tristan stepped forward next, holding a scroll in his hands.
"This is a sworn confession," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "From the soldier who acted on a bribe. A bribe meant to sabotage the peace negotiation with Henry. A bribe that endangered our king. This man named the person who gave him the order."
Gasps scattered across the room.
Then, as if on cue, the guards opened the doors and brought in the soldier—his hands bound, face pale.
"I was paid in coin and promised protection... by Lady Alice," the man said, eyes cast down, "She told me when to move the army. She knew Queen Samira would be in the tent."
A frozen moment.
All heads turned.
Alice stood by the columns, expression tight, a forced smile still clinging to her lips. "This is absurd," she said, stepping forward. "A soldier's word? Bought or coerced? This is nothing but a scheme—"
"Your private funds were traced," Tristan cut in. "The chest of coin you used to bribe him—recovered."
"And your personal seal was found among his belongings," Samira added, stepping closer now. "This wasn't just ambition. This was attempted murder."
Philip looked directly at Alice. "You used our son as a pawn. You risked the kingdom. And now, you will answer for it."
Alice's face crumbled. "You all want to see me fall, is that it?" she screamed. "You think she's better than me? You think she deserves the crown—?"
The guards approached slowly.
She backed away like a cornered animal, eyes wild, laughter bubbling up bitter and sharp. "You'll regret this! You all will—"
But the doors shut behind her as the guards took her away.
Philip turned to the stunned room of courtiers. "Let this be a reminder: betrayal will never rule this crown."
Samira's hand brushed his briefly—quiet, grounding.
Their masks had fallen away. Truth had been brought into the light.
A heavy silence blanketed the hall after Tristan finished speaking. All eyes turned to Alice, who stood frozen in place at the center of the chamber. The proof had been read aloud—letters with her seal, testimonies from the bribed soldier, and records of her secret orders. There was no denying it now.
Philip's voice cut through the stillness, cold and sharp. "You attempted to orchestrate the death of your king and queen. You put this realm in chaos... all for a crown that was never yours."
Alice's lip trembled. She looked around desperately, seeking an ally—anyone who would speak for her. But the nobles averted their eyes, their silence more damning than any accusation.
She turned to the empty throne—the only throne that ever mattered to her—and then to Samira, radiant and unbothered beside Philip. Something snapped.
"This is her doing!" Alice cried out, pointing a trembling finger. "That witch! She turned him against me! All of you did!"
Philip raised a hand, and the guards stepped forward.
"No more lies, Alice."
The color drained from her face as two armored men gripped her arms. She thrashed, eyes wide with panic.
"You can't do this!" she shrieked. "I'm the mother of the heir! This was supposed to be mine!"
Her cries echoed off the stone walls, but no one moved to help her. The court stared in cold silence, some with pity, others with relief.
As she was dragged away, Alice's voice rose one last time—broken, shrill, desperate.
"You'll regret this! All of you! I'll come back—I'll—!"
The doors slammed behind her.
And just like that, Alice was gone.