Page 77 of Her Orc Protector

The chamber was just as I remembered: three stories tall, its domed ceiling swallowing sound and turning whispers to echoes. At the far end of the hall, a half-circle dais loomed. Seven high-backed chairs rose above it, carved from dark wood and set with the Council’s sigils. Councilor Thenholt sat at the center, his silver hair gleaming in the morning light. Beside him was Councilor Thorne—sharper in profile than I remembered, her gaze flicking over the room with hawk-like precision.

Banners bearing the crest of Everwood hung motionless overhead, heavy in the still air. The gallery behind us was sparsely populated—clerks, a handful of observers, none familiar.

Gavriel was not among them. Relief passed through me like breath, but it was short-lived. He would come. This was merely a reprieve.

The clerk directed us to a small table positioned before the dais. Two chairs had been provided—one for me, one for Uldrek. We sat, and I placed my satchel carefully on the table.

Thenholt cleared his throat. "This hearing will now commence in the matter of Duskryn versus Duskryn. Declaration of magical coercion, filed eight days past." He looked directly at me then, and for just a moment, something softened in his expression.

"Mrs. Duskryn," he said, the name spoken with a kind of measured respect—as if he knew the weight of it and chose to carry it gently. "You may present your case."

I stood, oddly calm now that the moment had come. "Thank you, Councilor." My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "I am here today to testify regarding the illegal use of dark magic against me by Gavriel Duskryn, my former husband."

A faint murmur rippled through the gallery, quickly silenced by Thenholt's raised hand.

"Specifically," I continued, "I accuse him of using a forbidden artifact known as the Seal of Veritas to manipulate my thoughts, emotions, and perceptions. This artifact, confiscated during the Shadowfall War, was meant to remain in secure holding. Instead, it was illegally removed and given to Gavriel Duskryn by Councilor Darius Evrit during the early reconstruction period."

I withdrew the archive copies from my satchel and placed them on the table. "I have documentation from the Civic Vault here confirming both the nature of the artifact and its transfer. The records indicate it was checked out 'for experimental verification of efficacy' but never returned to inventory."

Councilor Thorne leaned forward. "These are serious accusations, Mrs. Duskryn. Can you describe the effects of this alleged coercion?"

I nodded, keeping my gaze steady. "The Seal of Veritas is designed to compel what the wielder defines as truth. In my case, it was used to subtly reshape my perception—making me doubt my own memories, fear things that posed no threat, and accept his version of reality even when evidence contradicted it."

I paused, gathering my thoughts. "At first, the effects were mild. I would find myself agreeing to things I had initially opposed. I would suddenly question decisions I had been certain of. Over time, the influence deepened. I began to lose hours—whole conversations I couldn't recall clearly. And when I questioned these gaps, he would insist I was being forgetful or irrational."

The chamber had grown very quiet.

"The most insidious effect," I continued, "was on my sense of self. I began to believe I was incapable of functioning without his guidance. That my instincts were flawed. That my fear was weakness, not warning."

Thorne's expression remained neutral, but I saw something shift in her eyes. "And how did you come to suspect magical influence rather than more... conventional manipulation?"

"I didn't," I admitted. "Not until I was free of it. When I fled with my child, I assumed I was escaping an abusive husband—not dark magic. It was only after I settled in Everwood that I began to recognize the patterns. And recently, when protective charms around my home began to burn without cause, I sought answers in the Archives. That led me to the Civic Vault and to the discovery of these records."

I gestured to the copies on the table. "The description of the artifact's effects matches exactly what I experienced. And its removal from inventory coincided with the period when his influence over me began to intensify."

Thenholt nodded gravely. "May I?" he asked, indicating the documents.

"Of course," I replied, passing them to the clerk, who carried them to the dais.

As Thenholt began to examine the papers, I continued. "What makes the Seal particularly dangerous is its subtlety. It doesn't force compliance—it simply... adjusts what feels true. He shapedmy thoughts. My fears. My memories. I’d lived under its weight without ever seeing it. Until I left."

The gallery went utterly silent at those words. I could almost feel the collective intake of breath, the weight of what I was describing settling over the room.

Councilor Thorne was about to speak when the chamber doors swung open. I didn’t need to turn. My body knew before my mind caught up—a cold flush down my spine, the prickle at the back of my neck. The kind of fear that teaches you to shrink before you’re even aware you’ve moved.

I kept my shoulders square through sheer will.

"My apologies for the delay, honored Councilors," came Gavriel's voice—smooth as ever, pitched to carry without seeming to project. "The summons reached me with very little notice."

I turned then, unable to resist seeing him after all this time.

He looked exactly as I remembered. Immaculate in dark formal robes, not a crease out of place. That same rich brown hair, silver just touching the temples—effortless. Intentional. He moved with the same easy confidence that used to pass for charm back when I’d still been trying to earn his approval.

What struck me most was how unchanged he appeared. I had transformed in our time apart—had rediscovered pieces of myself I thought long lost, had built new strengths, new connections. But Gavriel looked as if he'd stepped directly from my memory, preserved in amber.

He met my gaze, and his expression softened into something that might have passed for regret. "My dear," he said quietly. "I'm sorry it's come to this."

My stomach turned. I remembered that voice. I remembered how it used to sound like safety.

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