The trials lasted eighteen months.
Records revealed the Regent had stolen land from political rivals.
Manipulated grain prices.
Bought military appointments.
Blackmailed judges.
Threatened families of officers.
And arranged the destruction of the western fleet after learning the King intended to expose him.
The three sailors who returned with the King had been murdered.
The royal metalworker who hid the key inside the mask disappeared shortly afterward.
His bones were eventually found beneath an abandoned workshop wall.
The Queen ordered him buried with military honors.
“He fought without armor,” she said.
The Regent’s trial became the largest public proceeding in the kingdom’s history.
The Prince attended every day.
The Regent rarely showed emotion.
Until the golden mask was carried into the court.
Broken.
Cracked.
The rear plate hanging open.
The Prince watched his eyes.
Fear.
Still there.
Even now.
The chief judge asked whether the Regent regretted anything.
He smiled.
“Yes.”
The entire hall listened.
“I should have melted the mask.”
The Prince laughed.
Not loudly.
Enough.
The Regent looked toward him.
“You find that amusing?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you still think the mask defeated you.”
The Regent’s expression cooled.
The Prince continued.
“You defeated yourself the moment you were more afraid of truth than of becoming the kind of man who needed to bury it.”
The Regent stared.
Then smiled faintly.
“You will make an interesting king.”
The Prince answered, “I hope that is not praise.”
The Regent was sentenced to life imprisonment.
Some demanded execution.
The King refused.
Not because of mercy.
Because he believed execution would turn the Regent into legend.
Prison would turn him into evidence.
He was sent to a fortress inland.
No sea.
No hidden fleet.
No golden masks.
The Captain’s wife was found six months later.
Alive.
The Regent had kept her under a false name on an estate controlled by one of his allies.
The reunion happened privately.
The Captain returned to duty a week afterward.
The Prince noticed he smiled more.
Not much.
Enough.
The Royal Keeper resigned.
The Queen refused.
“You do not get to vanish because shame makes you uncomfortable.”
The Keeper stared.
“My Queen?”
“You will remain.”
“For what purpose?”
“To rebuild the archives you helped hide.”
He lowered his head.
“Yes, my Queen.”
“And teach every apprentice exactly how you failed.”
That surprised him.
“Publicly?”
“Yes.”
The Keeper swallowed.
Then nodded.
That became his greatest work.
For the next thirteen years, every palace archivist was taught the story of the golden mask.
Not as triumph.
As warning.
A secret hidden for safety could become a weapon when fear prevented anyone from uncovering it.
The King recovered enough to walk with a cane.
Never more.
His years underground had damaged him permanently.
The Prince struggled with that.
Childhood memories had preserved his father as invincible.