The atmosphere inside the High Elders' Council Hall was as cold and heavy as stone.
Dust motes danced in the pale shafts of afternoon sunlight cutting through the narrow slit windows. High atop the wooden dais sat Chieftain Tamil Madurai, flanked by the six oldest clan leaders of the Iron Steppes. To their right stood Emperor Cedric, flanked by Crown Prince Cassian and a squad of elite imperial guards clad in steel.
The center of the hall was bare stone, save for a single heavy iron ring embedded in the floor.
Thoris stood above that ring.
He wore no armor, no mantle of leadership, and no weapon. His dark tunic was still torn, revealing the dark, purple bruises across his chest and ribs from the Emperor's earlier rage. Half of his face remained swollen, but he kept his head bowed low, staring silently at the cold floor beneath his boots.
"We are gathered under ancestral law," Chief Elder Kael began, his raspy voice cutting through the silence. "Prince Thoris of the Madurai clan stands accused of a grave crime—striking a royal guest, dishonoring a sacred union, and severely endangering an unborn heir of our bloodline."
Elder Kael turned his head toward Emperor Cedric.
"Emperor of the West," Kael said, his tone formal and rigid. "The crimes were committed against your house and your son. Before the elders render judgment under the laws of the Steppes, we demand to hear the will of Edrath."
Emperor Cedric took a slow step forward, his heavy cloak swishing against the stone floor. His blue eyes burned with a cold, terrifying authority that made even the battle-hardened elders stiffen.
"If this were purely a matter of war,"
Cedric spoke, his deep voice resounding off the walls,
"I would have drawn my blade and cut his head from his shoulders the moment my son woke in pain."
Thoris didn't flinch. He simply tightened his fists at his sides, accepting the words without a murmur.
"However,"
Cedric continued, his gaze shifting to Chieftain Tamil,
"my son Adrian has made his desire clear. He wants no more blood spilled on his account. He wants nothing more to do with this marriage, and he wants never to see this man again."
Cedric stepped closer to Thoris, looking down at him with utter disdain.
"Edrath demands three things,"
Cedric declared firmly.
"First, the immediate annulment of the union between Prince Adrian and Thoris. Second, the total relinquishment of any parental or legal rights Thoris holds over the child carried in Adrian's womb. Third, his permanent removal from Adrian's presence. If he so much as steps foot within a hundred leagues of my son ever again, it will be taken as an act of war."
Silence settled over the hall.
Cassian stood quietly beside his father, his crimson eyes fixed on Thoris like a hawk watching its prey. He knew that for a warrior of the Steppes, losing rights to his own child and being cast out by his in-laws was a fate worse than death.
Chieftain Tamil slowly stood up from his high seat. The old chief looked aged and worn, the burden of his son's monstrous mistake weighing heavily upon his broad shoulders.
"The demands of Edrath are just,"
Tamil announced, his voice echoing with profound sorrow.
"And the laws of the Iron Steppes demand even more."
Tamil turned to face the elders, then looked down at Thoris.
"Thoris Madurai,"
Tamil commanded softly.
Thoris raised his head, meeting his father's eyes for the first time since the night of the tragedy.
"You were named a Great Warrior of our tribe,"
Tamil spoke, every word laced with deep disappointment.
"You were given strength to protect our people and secure our future. Instead, you used that strength to abuse a fragile life entrusted to your care. You brought immense shame upon your ancestors, your father, and your brother."
Tamil held up his hand, signaling the clan elders.
"By the unanimous decree of the Council of Elders,"
Tamil proclaimed,
"your name is hereby stripped from the Madurai registry. You are no longer a prince of the Steppes. You are no longer a warrior of our halls. Your weapons are confiscated, your rank is erased, and your bloodline rights to your child are severed forever."
Thoris closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. The heavy weight of complete banishment settled over his soul, but he did not speak a word in his own defense. He knew he deserved every bit of it.
"Furthermore,"
Elder Kael added coldly,
"you are sentenced to immediate banishment from the Steppes. You will be cast out into the western borderlands as a nameless slave—under the absolute custody of Emperor Cedric to serve out whatever retribution the Western Empire sees fit."
Vikra Madurai stepped forward, holding a heavy iron collar—the mark of a condemned criminal stripped of tribal honor.
Vikra walked over to his younger brother. His amber eyes were wet with unshed tears, but his jaw was set with absolute firmness.
"I never thought I would live to see the day I put this around your neck, brother,"
Vikra whispered hoarsely, his voice meant only for Thoris's ears.
Thoris looked at the cold iron in his brother's hands. He slowly lowered himself onto both knees, bending his neck forward in complete, silent submission.
"I am no longer your brother, Vikra,"
Thoris rasped softly, his gravelly voice trembling with raw grief.
"Do what must be done."
*CLICK.*
The heavy iron collar locked around Thoris's neck, the cold metal biting into his skin.
Emperor Cedric watched the scene with a stern, unyielding expression. He turned on his heel, his cloak fanning out as he began his march toward the heavy double doors of the hall.
"Bring the slave,"
Cedric commanded cold-heartedly to his imperial guards.
"We return to Edrath at dawn."
As the guards stepped forward to grab the heavy chains attached to Thoris's collar, Thoris remained on his knees for a moment longer, looking up at the high ceiling of the hall he would never enter again. His title was gone, his family had disowned him, and his child would grow up without knowing his name—a nameless servant bound by iron, left only with the unbearable weight of his own regret.
*****