Kael felt good, despite all the eyes fixed on him. Finally being able to put words on what he understood without triggering a thousand additional questions… it almost excited him. He felt a thrill rising along his spine. His gold-streaked eyes remained locked on the king’s icy gaze.

  Their eyes no longer separated.

  A silent duel, heavy as a guillotine blade.

  The king continued:

  “You claim that a founding god of the universe… needed your help?”

  A burst of laughter immediately shook the hall.

  Nobles, servants, even a few members of the Seven let out a snicker.

  Kael simply nodded.

  “That’s correct. As I said, Dubium needed me to understand how the Velasquez Limit truly worked.”

  A shocked murmur rippled through the room.

  As if each of Kael’s words added another layer of impossibility to the impossible.

  Lyssara then spoke, her voice sliding through the hall like a warm breeze:

  “He lies.”

  The king turned toward her, his gaze hard.

  The crowd did as well.

  Nervous whispers spread.

  She continued:

  “He lies by omission.

  Everything he said about this Velasquez Limit, and these ouroboros as he calls them, is true. Even when he claims the Primogene of Doubt needed him. But… those are not the only reasons the Indecisive was present in his Trial.”

  The king’s eyes vibrated. A twitch so subtle no one but Kael could have noticed it.

  It pulled a smile from him.

  And he kept challenging him with his gaze, without blinking.

  Come on… think.

  Ask yourself the one and only correct question.

  You’ll get there.

  Why would a Primogene seek his own cause?

  The king’s eyes remained drowned in Kael’s. The sovereign no longer listened to the crowd, the murmurs, nothing.

  Everything that mattered now rested on a single word:

  Why?

  And Kael understood it.

  There were only the two of them now, locked inside the same question. And Kael was the only one who could illuminate it. He had just moved a pawn on the chessboard. A subtle move, invisible to everyone…

  …except the king.

  During his Trial, Kael had learned something about knowledge.

  It was a weapon.

  A weapon that, when used well, could bend a king.

  He had understood that perfectly. And he had never deactivated the Axiom of the Perfect Shadow Theorem. He glanced at the king’s Perfect Shadow… and a faint smile escaped him.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  He had just concluded something new.

  And he kept it to himself.

  Althéa grabbed the railing and leaned forward, tense.

  “Why is he lying? This is really not the moment…” she murmured, not waiting for an answer.

  Lucanis, already leaning over the railing, replied:

  “He must have his reasons.”

  The king’s eyes widened, as if struck by a brutal realization. And he finally asked the question Kael had been waiting for. A question he did not address to anyone in particular.

  He was not even seeking an answer.

  “Why?”

  His instinct had pushed it out of him faster than his reason.

  A low voice.

  Cold metal ringing softly.

  So faint that no one could hear it… no one except the accused.

  Kael smiled.

  An almost insolent, imperceptible smile.

  “Are you really sure you want the answer… right now?”

  He paused slightly.

  Then he dropped the word like a slap, a deliberate provocation:

  “King.”

  Kael cast another glance at the king’s Perfect Shadow.

  All the shadows he had observed until now were only frozen doubles, prisoners of a single action, a single gesture.

  But not the king’s.

  The first time he had seen it, he had been caught off guard. That impassive man, hard, icy, that political monster capable of reducing an entire hall to silence with a single look…

  His Perfect Shadow was nothing like that.

  It was a little boy.

  A child with round features, gray-white hair, and amethyst eyes. A kid who circled around Kael as if the world no longer existed. Who stared at him with fascinated eyes… no.

  Not only fascinated.

  There was something else and Kael had eventually understood it.

  Nostalgia.

  The pure, raw nostalgia children feel when someone tells them a story they love with all their heart.

  The king’s lip trembled slightly, and he dropped to one knee.

  The hall held its breath all at once. The king’s eyes were now at the same level as Kael’s.

  They vibrated for only one thing now: hearing the answer he would give.

  His silver-gloved hands rested on the shoulders of a boy whose own hands had known nothing but filth and the scraps of others.

  Althéa stopped breathing.

  Even Velara, usually imperturbable, had a nervous tic.

  And the king asked the question softly.

  As if the world belonged only to the two of them.

  His voice was no longer heavy.

  “What are the real reasons?”

  Kael, who had been slumped until then, slowly straightened. He brought his face closer to the king’s, their gazes only a breath apart. His star-speckled eyes locked with the icy amethysts he knew all too well. Kael had never stopped learning during his Trial. And another thing he had understood was this:

  You do not answer a question with an answer.

  No.

  You answer a question by asking another. A question that will force the other to find the answer… alone.

  He replied quietly.

  The same intensity.

  The same fall.

  “What did I tell you earlier? Aren’t you exaggerating a little with the Primogenes?”

  At that very moment, the king’s Perfect Shadow — the child — raised an arm into the air like a victor…

  …and then disappeared.

  In its place, a sealed letter materialized.

  The king’s face changed.

  His lips parted slightly.

  He stood up abruptly and stepped back, his eyes still locked on Kael.

  His gaze was no longer firm.

  He was smiling.

  A blissful smile.

  The smile of someone who has just understood.

  Althéa stammered:

  “What…?”

  Lucanis finished, his voice strangled:

  “…he’s smiling?”

  The queen approached with quick steps, lifting the hem of her anthracite dress covered in mail. She placed a hand on the king’s shoulder, who remained motionless — frozen, his eyes locked onto Kael’s. She stared at Kael, stunned.

  Then she looked at her husband…

  …and stepped back.

  He’s smiling…? she thought, unable to understand.

  The world seemed frozen.

  No one dared to speak.

  Not even the Seven.

  “What did they say to each other…?” Althéa murmured, her voice trembling.

  The king finally spoke.

  The voice of a rock.

  But something in its tone seemed… absent.

  As if the voice came from a man who no longer existed.

  “Leave.”

  The queen stepped closer, confused.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He repeated, louder:

  “Leave.”

  Whispers spread through the crowd.

  The king had never needed to repeat himself.

  Never.

  But this king… had just yielded.

  Before a child of the Broken Crown.

  A half-naked boy, chained, who looked him in the eyes without trembling.

  And the king thundered:

  “EVERYONE OUT!”

  The hall suddenly stirred, a tide of whispers and hurried footsteps. The nobles scattered, unable to process what they had just witnessed.

  Kael raised his head toward the stained glass.

  Toward the pierced woman.

  And he murmured, so softly that only the wind could hear it:

  “Checkmate.”