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The echo of heavy footsteps reverberated off the marble floors as King Dwight strode into the grand room. Lavishly decorated with towering columns, richly woven tapestries, and glistening chandeliers casting prismatic light across the polished stone, the space was normally a stage for celebration and diplomatic notions. Today, however, it was transformed into a courtroom of royal decree and public shame.
Mercedes Jones stood at the center of the room, bound by two grim-faced guards. Her emerald gown—once a symbol of rebellious beauty—was marred by the dirt and tears of recent struggle, her eyes fierce with defiance despite the restraints. Her presence commanded attention, even as the iron chains clamped around her wrists betrayed the severity of her punishment.
King Dwight climbed onto a raised dais, his dark uniform trimmed in gold glinting as he surveyed the assembly of nobles, courtiers, and diplomats. Every eye in the room fixed upon him as he began to speak in a voice that carried both regal authority and icy finality.
"Loyal subjects of Cordova," he intoned, "today we are confronted with an act of treason that shakes the very foundations of our sacred traditions. Mercedes Jones, by her insolent conduct in the private confines of that elevator, has committed a heinous crime against our royal line." His gaze swept over the gathered crowd as whispers broke out. Pausing to let his words sink in as everyone murmured around them. "By our ancient laws, any woman who fornicates with the heir to the throne, in this case, Prince Samuel—while he remains betrothed, which he is to Lady Fabray, dishonors our bloodline and our destiny. Today, Ms. Mercedes Jones stands accused of committing such an act in the most public of settings, in the elevator of our very embassy. A clear spit in the face of our Kingdom. Since she has transgressed against our time-honored customs. Today, in the presence of this esteemed assembly, we shall see that justice is served."
A murmur of disbelief and discontent spread through the room. Some courtiers exchanged troubled glances, while others nodded in rigid approval. The air was thick with tension as King Dwight's words rippled like a dark tide.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Sam stepped forward, his voice trembling with anger. "Father, wait! You can't do this! Not to her. Mercedes did nothing but love—"
Dwight cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Silence, Samuel. This is not a matter of sentimentality. Tradition and duty must prevail." His eyes swept over the assembly. "I intend to make an example of her for all to see. Let her bear the punishment for her insolence."
At that moment, Sam's desperation broke through. "Then what if I renounce the throne? She can't be charged under our laws if I give up this crown!"
Dwight's lips curled into a dismissive sneer. "If only you did that before you allowed her to seduce you, then maybe that could have worked. But you are the Prince of Cordova, so it is treason, Samuel. The laws stand regardless of your wavering ambition. Ms. Mercedes Jones will be sentenced with our traditions' harshest punishment."
Dwight's voice was ice-cold as he declared, "She fornicated with the engaged Prince of Cordova in that elevator—like the common whore she is!" The accusation reverberated throughout the hall, drawing gasps and murmurs of shock from the onlookers.
Mercedes's eyes flashed with indignation, and despite her restrained posture, her voice rang out defiantly. "How dare you!" she shouted. "I am not some common whore for you to cast aside at your whim! I am a woman of dignity, and I refuse to be degraded by your archaic, oppressive laws! Sam and I are in love, and I am sorry you can't understand that."
Sam's face burned with a mix of appreciation, anger, and grief as he stepped closer, shielding her further. "You twist our traditions to suit your cruelty, Father," he spat. "Mercedes is not the enemy here; your hatred for her and your outdated rules are."
The tension in the great hall thickened to a near-palpable level. Courtiers shifted uneasily; some whispered in protest while others watched silently, fearful awe. King Dwight's eyes narrowed as he prepared to issue his final decree, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
Sam's defiant stance, Santana's seething anger, Jane's indignant challenge, and the hushed whispers of the crowd all testified to a moment of irreversible rupture—a turning point in a kingdom on the brink of internal strife.
Sam's jaw set in defiant anger. "You cannot simply condemn her because of your outdated traditions! I admit—I came onto her, I pursued her, and for that, I take responsibility. But she is not to blame for following her heart!"
King Dwight's eyes, cold and unyielding, narrowed as he turned his steely gaze upon his son. "Silence, Prince Samuel," he declared sharply. "It is not your personal failings that are under scrutiny here, but the defiance of our laws. By indulging in your passion for Ms. Jones, you have not only dishonored yourself but have imperiled the future of this Kingdom. My judgment is clear: Mercedes Jones, by the sacred law, must pay the price for her transgression. For she has fornicated with the future King of Cordova—an act of betrayal for which the penalty is death!"
A gasp rippled through the grand room. Some nobles clutched their pearls in horror; others exchanged uneasy looks, torn between loyalty to the King and the stirring of conscience. The harsh words were like a death knell in the opulent silence.
"No!" Sam thundered, his voice raw with anguish. "Father, you leave her alone! How can you sentence her to death when you yourself allowed this to happen? I demand—no, I insist—that a trial be held, that she be given a fair chance to prove her innocence before the judgment of our laws!"
For a long moment, King Dwight regarded his son with a mixture of disdain and reluctant calculation. Finally, with a slow exhale that betrayed his inner irritation, he replied, "Very well. I shall grant your demand for a trial. We shall reconvene first thing in the morning—at precisely 9 a.m.—when justice can be properly administered." His voice was flat, leaving no room for negotiation. "But mark my words, Prince Samuel: by virtue of her actions, Mercedes Jones shall face the swift hand of justice, for her defiance has imperiled our sacred traditions."
As if on cue, the guards tightened their grip on Mercedes, and with no further chance to protest, they began dragging her away from the dais. Her eyes flashed with sorrow and determination as she was forced toward the side exit, away from the watchful eyes of the assembly.
In the wake of the King's decree, chaos broke out in murmurs and heated whispers. Her eyes glinting with fury in her fitted black gown, Santana pushed her way through the crowd, determined to reach Mercedes. Jane, equally outraged, followed close behind, her delicate features set in a mask of indignation. But as they neared the corridor where Mercedes was being led away, a pair of guards intercepted them with firm, unyielding arms.
"Stand back," one guard barked, his tone leaving no room for argument.
A murmur of approval ran through the crowd. But even as hope sparked in a few hearts, the finality of King Dwight's decree loomed like a dark cloud. With grim efficiency, the guards swept Mercedes out of the great room, her fate now set for a trial at 9 a.m.
As the heavy doors closed behind her, sealing her fate for the night, the great hall became a cauldron of tension and regret. Courtiers exchanged furtive looks—some sympathetic, others fearful of speaking against the King. The room was filled with bitter debate: some argued that the ancient laws must be upheld to preserve the Kingdom's honor, while others whispered of reform and justice tempered by mercy.
Stevie's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he stared after the departing guards. "What have we done? Why did we start this, Sam?" he murmured, guilt and sorrow mixing in his voice.
Blaine clenched his fists, his gaze hardening. "We'll find a way to fix this," he declared with grim resolve, "even if it means defying every rule this kingdom stands for."
Jane, her eyes burning with indignation, turned to Sam. "I know you're in pain, but if Mercedes has any hope, you have to challenge these decrees, challenge your father."
Sam's face was a tumult of conflicting emotions—rage, sorrow, and the dawning realization that the battle for love was now a battle for freedom itself. "I…I promise you," he said, his voice low and resolute, "I will not let her be sacrificed to these archaic rules. Tomorrow, at 9 a.m., we'll fight for her, for all of us who believe that love and justice must prevail over blind tradition."
The great hall fell into a heavy, contemplative silence for a moment. The clash between the old order and the desire for reform was now an open wound in the heart of Cordova—a wound that might one day heal into a revolution or fester into an unyielding tyranny.
As the last echoes of Mercedes's forced departure faded, Sam, surrounded by his loyal friends and allies, felt both the weight of his responsibility and the spark of rebellion ignite within him. The road ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but one truth had become clear: he could no longer remain a silent heir. With every fiber of his being, he vowed to defy the oppressive laws of his Kingdom and fight for the woman he loved—and for the future of a realm that yearned for change.
Mercedes sat in the dimly lit adjoining suite, a repurposed chamber once used for private meetings, now transformed into a makeshift holding cell. Heavy drapes, once elegant in their deep burgundy, now hung like curtains of despair across the tall windows.
The room bore every mark of its dual purpose as she sat on a bed, chains on her legs, and unyielding guards. Two guards stood at opposite corners of the room, their eyes as cold as the iron cuffs that bound her.
The atmosphere was oppressive, filled with the weight of destiny and the threat of punishment.
For hours, Mercedes had sat in silence, her eyes fixed on the ornate ceiling, refusing to offer any words to the merciless world outside. Her mind raced with things left unsaid, wondering if spilling her secrets would save her, but knowing it may just piss Dwight off more.
Her heart pounded steadily beneath her defiant exterior, but her lips remained sealed, deciding on a quiet rebellion against the tyranny she now faced.
At last, the heavy wooden door swung open with a deliberate creak. King Dwight Evans entered, flanked by one of his most trusted guards. His polished boots clicked against the marble floor as he strode purposefully into the room. The air seemed to contract as his presence filled the small space.
He stopped a few paces from Mercedes, his gaze dark and unyielding. For a long, tense moment, they simply stared at each other. Mercedes met his eyes with a steely, silent defiance, refusing to offer him even a single word in reply.
Her silence was a challenge, a refusal to let his cruelty penetrate the fortress of her spirit.
Dwight broke the silence with a sneer, his voice dripping with disdain. "Mercedes," he began, his tone measured and contemptuous. You have given me no choice. I tried to warn you and give you an out, but now I see I am going to make an example of you. Your actions…your insolence have disgraced my family and the very name of Cordova."
He paced slowly in front of her, his eyes never leaving hers. "Do you know why my son fell for you?"
She stared at him, curious as to what he was going to say, but not answering him.
Dwight smiled. "He fell for you because they don't make women like you in Cordova. A woman so captivating and dangerous that even my heir could not resist your charms. And yet, as much as you think you are good for him, you are nothing but a stain on our honor."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "You defy the natural order of things. You, who dare to believe that your passion, your foolish heart, can rewrite the rules, and rewrite history? No. Your behavior in that elevator was not a harmless dalliance; it was treason, plain and simple. You have committed an act so vile that you must now face the consequences."
Leaning in, Dwight's voice dropped to a low, menacing murmur as he continued, "That being said, you have a choice. You can take your chance at a trial where the full measure of our ancient laws will be weighed against you. Or, if you prefer to avoid the spectacle of public judgment, we can strike a deal. A deal where you might spare yourself the death sentence by serving as a reminder to all who dare follow in your footsteps."
He laughed harshly, the sound echoing off the walls. "Tell me, Mercedes, do you think you are so indispensable that you can defy the crown and still be good for my son? You are mistaken. You are not fit to be the partner of a future king."
Mercedes, though physically bound and confined, remained unmoved. Her dark and unyielding eyes continued to meet his with a silence that spoke louder than any retort. Every cruel word he uttered bounced off her, met only by her stoic resistance.
Dwight's leering gaze roamed over her as if trying to unravel the mystery behind her unwavering defiance. "No words, no pleas, only silence? But let me be clear: by refusing to speak, you may only confirm your guilt in my eyes. I will not tolerate such insolence."
He stepped closer still, his voice rising in a final, chilling ultimatum: "You have embarrassed my family and tarnished the name of Cordova. And for that, you will pay." Her silence clearly annoyed him into anger. "I see you refuse to answer, but don't worry. I am going to take that as an agreement. You will still stand trial, but after that, you are mine."
A long pause stretched between them. The guards shifted, the soft clink of their armor punctuating the silence. Mercedes's eyes did not flinch; they remained fixed on Dwight's, filled with a quiet, relentless fire. Not a single word escaped her lips.
Dwight's smile turned cold and final as he delivered his parting threat. "Very well. I see you choose silence over submission. You will face the full fury of our traditions, and you will be punished accordingly."
With that, he turned on his heel, dismissing her with the finality of a judge's gavel. The guard beside him stepped forward, unchaining her and then seizing her arm firmly. "Come," he ordered, and without waiting for any further protest, the guard began to lead Mercedes out of the room.
Outside the suite, the murmurs of the court awaited. In the great hall, courtiers whispered in hushed tones, their opinions as varied as the intricate patterns on the marble floor.
Some shook their heads in sorrow, while others looked on with a mixture of fear and approval. Among them, whispers mingled with those of resigned acceptance. The seeds of rebellion were beginning to stir—each word of mercy denied only fanning the flames of defiance in hearts that had long suffered under the oppressive hand of tradition.
The first pale light of dawn filtered through the tall windows of the embassy as Sam, Stevie, and Blaine arrived at the main entrance. Sam's face was drawn from a sleepless night spent searching every corridor and chamber for any sign of Mercedes.
Despite his desperate efforts, she had remained elusive until now. His heart pounded with a mixture of dread and determination as the trio made their way down the long, echoing halls of the palace.
At quarter to nine, they reached the grand hall, and Sam's heart dropped in his chest. There, chained against a marble pillar and still wearing the same dress from the previous night—a deep, striking emerald gown that had once accentuated her rebellious beauty but now was ripped and ruffled stood Mercedes.
Even in her restrained state, she maintained a dignified, stoic presence. Though her posture suggested vulnerability, her eyes burned with a quiet defiance that refused to yield to fear.
Sam's gaze roamed over her. He wanted nothing more than for her to look at him, to signal that she was okay and still fighting. But he knew she couldn't. At this moment, a single glance of submission would only seal her fate under his tyrant father's eyes.
As they entered, Sam's phone vibrated in his pocket. A quick glance revealed it was a string of messages from Jane and Santana.
He had learned that they had spent half the night with Blaine and Sebastian, huddled over whispered plans to force his father to back off.
With trembling fingers, Sam shot back a brief text: "She'll be okay." In truth, his heart pounded with uncertainty.
His father had done his research, knowing full well that Sam would be powerless to resist Mercedes's allure. His father knew how much they loved each other.
Choosing Mercedes over Jane was a calculated move in Dwight's eyes; Mercedes estranged from her own family after her mother's death, was an easy target. No one besides Santana, Jane, and Sebastian would truly miss her. Jane, being in school, would raise too many flags. In the cold calculus of royal politics, Mercedes was the sacrifice.
King Dwight cleared his throat from the dais at the front of the hall. In response, Sam moved forward—shouldering Blaine and Finn so that his presence was unmistakable.
He would not let his father send Mercedes away without a fight. As Sam took his place among his allies, his phone buzzed again. Santana's persistent calls filled the quiet, but with the trial about to begin, he hit "ignore."
Meanwhile, Stevie's phone suddenly began to blow up with messages. Concerned, he slipped outside to answer, leaving the three friends standing amid a charged silence as King Dwight prepared to speak.
"Today," Dwight's voice thundered, "signifies a day of retribution. Anyone who dares to defy the crown will feel the swift justice of Cordova." His eyes, cold and unyielding, swept over the gathered assembly. A hush fell.
At that moment, Sam could no longer contain his anger. Standing taller declared, "And yet, Puckerman walks free. He slept with an ally's wife and was let off with no consequence, while Mercedes, who is innocent, is to be made the example!"
A murmur ran through the crowd. Dwight's eyes narrowed as he responded, "Puck slept with a woman who is insignificant in the eyes of the law. But Mercedes slept with the future King of Cordova."
Sam's retort was swift and incredulous: "Says you! There is no proof that we did anything beyond talking!"
Dwight's tone turned icy. "Is that a fact?" he demanded. "Without incontrovertible evidence, a transgression can never be punished, you say?"
Sam met his father's gaze steadily. "Yes, that is a fact. And without proof, how can you justify sentencing an innocent woman?"
A bitter smile crept onto Dwight's face. "There is a video," he said, "though I will spare you all the indignity of watching it. Suffice it to say, there is more than enough proof. Mercedes is guilty, and unless a real reason is presented to spare her, she shall pay for this treason."
Before Sam could respond further, Stevie rushed back into the hall, face flushed with urgency. He pulled Sam aside, whispering fervently in his ear. Confused, Sam looked to his brother, and Stevie produced a small, incriminating photo from his phone. Sam's heart lurched as he turned his eyes past his father and fixed on Mercedes.
Dwight cleared his throat. "As King, I declare that Mercedes Jones be put to death immediately."
"No!" Mercedes finally spoke out as the guards grabbed her tightly.
In that fleeting moment, Mercedes finally met his gaze through the subdued light and tear-stained face. The tears in her eyes were silent testimony to the truth Stevie had just shown him—a truth that rendered all arguments moot.
Sam's voice, barely a whisper yet filled with resolute determination, broke the tension." Stop." When no one did, he moved closer to his father. "I SAID STOP!" I cannot let you harm Mercedes Jones, now, or ever again."
King Dwight's eyes flashed as he demanded, "And why, Samuel? Why should mercy be granted?"
Sam's reply was as deadly as it was powerful: "Because she is carrying the next Heir of Cordova."