ESP 31

chapter 31

“Marquis Favia, as I’ve heard so far, there seems to be no decisive evidence proving that the accused colluded with the enemy nation, is there?”

The Queen’s remark cut through the courtroom. It wasn’t spoken in her private chamber but in front of countless nobles, and being rebuked publicly made the marquis falter and stammer.

“Y-Your Majesty, I believe that with this evidence alone, we can—”

“Send him to the gallows, you mean? Then there would be no need for a trial at all. Chief Justice?”

“Your command, Your Majesty.”

The High Judge responded, and the Queen rose from her seat, supported by her royal guards.

“As I understand, the final judgment on treason lies with me, does it not?”

Her Majesty the Queen of Algonquin—the sovereign ruler of its government, thousands of nobles, and millions of soldiers. The separate judicial body had only come to exist as the kingdom grew, and the need for codified laws and an independent court arose. But of course, the Queen stood above all law. The monarch was the kingdom itself, and so it was only natural that she alone held the right to condemn anyone who threatened her palace.

“That is correct, Your Majesty,” the High Judge confirmed.

The Queen looked around the courtroom. Though she was the smallest in stature among those present, from the gallery that resembled a coliseum, even as they looked down upon her, her presence towered above all.

“Then I shall postpone the verdict indefinitely.”

“But, Your Majesty—”

She cut off the marquis without hesitation.

“Marquis, the ‘Queen’s Eyes’ ought to be sharper than this.”

Then she turned her back to him and faced the young count standing at the defendant’s dock. Though his charges had just been lifted, the count did not look the least bit relieved. The onlookers assumed it was because he was still dazed or nervous.

“Count Dalmore.”

He bowed deeply before her.

“…Yes, Your Majesty.”

The Queen stepped closer to the defendant’s seat. From where most people sat, her expression couldn’t be seen clearly. Her voice softened for a moment, and many thought it was because of what she was about to say.

“My investigators’ inadequacy has caused you much suffering. You shall be compensated by the ‘Queen’s Eyes.’”

“Then… am I innocent?”

“If that is what you claim.”

The court clerks helped the young man step down from the dock. The count had declared his innocence, and since Her Majesty herself had acknowledged it, he was now a free man. Yet, his expression did not ease; the longer he stood there, the more rigid his face became.

“I have never done anything to dishonor Algonquin or the royal authority,” he said firmly.

The Queen nodded.

“I believe in your loyalty, Count.”

With graceful composure, she turned her back to him. The royal guards quickly formed two neat lines. Knowing what that signified, everyone in the courtroom rose to their feet. The doors opened, and the Queen began to walk. The marble floor should have echoed beneath her steps, yet only the soft rustle of her gown could be heard. Even as they watched, the nobles could hardly believe what they had just witnessed and heard.

Her Majesty had truly acquitted the Count of Dalmore…?

A man arrested under a warrant issued by the Queen’s own eyes?

Even to those who had witnessed the trial, the evidence of Dalmore’s alleged treason had seemed tenuous at best. Still, the fact remained that after being granted his title, he had shut himself away on his estate. That he couldn’t even keep his own wife in line was still considered a mystery among some nobles. Physically and mentally sound, yet living a life so ascetic that even the court had confirmed it—surely that alone could have served as cause for suspicion if she had wished it. And yet… she had spared him.

The Queen turned once more before leaving.

“All who gathered here today have done well to witness this trial. In recognition of your efforts, I shall soon hold a banquet.”

“We are deeply honored, Your Majesty,” the dukes seated in the front row answered, bowing in unison.

As if suddenly remembering something, the Queen looked up toward the gallery.

“I’d like to extend my regards to the witnesses who testified today. Where are they?”

Marquis Seymour, the court’s clerk, rose to his feet. Naturally, everyone turned to look for the other witness. But the woman who had quietly sat in a shadowed corner of the gallery was nowhere to be seen.

“She must have returned home after giving her testimony,” said the clerk. It wasn’t required for a witness to remain until the end of the trial unless they were a key witness. Still, considering that the verdict decided her ex-husband’s life or death, it seemed rather cold of the former Countess Dalmore to leave so soon.

The Queen nodded to Marquis Seymour, then turned once more to the count.

“This is merely advice, Count—but if you wish to avoid unsavory rumors, perhaps you should make an appearance in society once in a while.”

“I am unworthy of such concern, Your Majesty,” Keith replied. His tone was quick, formal, and so mechanical that a few in the audience turned their heads toward him.

At last, Her Majesty disappeared beyond the doors. The courtroom erupted in a new wave of excitement. Those gathered here had been summoned by the royal court to witness the hearing—some had come in fear, others in curiosity, expecting perhaps to see the execution of an innocent young man. Instead, they had witnessed something quite extraordinary. Now, they would return home with stories to keep the salons of high society buzzing all night.

The judge struck his gavel.

“Court adjourned!”

Count Dalmore, at last freed of tension, gripped the railing before him for support.

Marquis Seymour hurried to his secretary.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Mistress Arlington! Please, wait!”

As Bryony stepped out through the courthouse entrance, someone called after her urgently. She knew the voice even before she turned. Reluctantly, she turned around.

“…Lord Weardale.”

“I asked you to wait outside, not to leave entirely!”

Lord Weardale—Duke Byron—was slightly out of breath, as if he’d hurried to catch her. It was strange to see such a high-ranking noble without even a single attendant. Bryony, worried someone might see them together, quickly stepped down into the inner courtyard.

“But you did tell me to leave.”

“I meant the courtroom, not the building.”

Did everyone wear their finest clothes when coming to court? The duke was dressed in deep crimson satin with gold epaulettes—a formal uniform that inevitably reminded her of the one Keith had worn.

“Then why say that at all?”

“Because Her Majesty is not someone to be taken lightly.”

That was putting it mildly. Five years ago, people had secretly whispered the word tyranny to describe the Queen’s decisions. The duke, having seen her up close, surely knew better than anyone. Bryony wondered if his phrasing was a cautious understatement—or simply the sort of political tact an ordinary person like her would never understand.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

He brought a hand to his lips, pretending to think.

“When you testified earlier, you did splendidly—but I could see it was taxing for you. If Her Majesty were to summon you again, it might be rather… difficult.”

“If Her Majesty summons me, shouldn’t I return regardless?”

“That depends on Her Majesty’s mood.”

He spoke in riddles, but Bryony had a feeling she understood what he meant. If the Queen demanded a witness be brought back, there would be no refusing. But if she was told the witness had already gone home, perhaps she would simply say, “Very well,” and let it be. In other words—

…Is Her Majesty a fickle woman?

That was the conclusion she reached.

“Anyway,” the duke continued, “aren’t you curious about the verdict?”

Bryony blinked in surprise and looked at him.

“…The verdict has already been announced?”

“I thought you’d want to know, so Theodore Byron came running after you himself.”

His tone was relaxed, and that now-familiar smile softened his handsome face. Though he hadn’t said the outcome yet, Bryony felt a wave of relief—Keith must have been spared punishment. Still, she didn’t show it outwardly, keeping a polite wariness toward the duke.

He arched a brow.

“Ah, you’ve already guessed?”

“I have an idea. But since you went out of your way to tell me, Lord Weardale, I should probably hear it from you.”

“How could I possibly refuse Mistress Arlington?”

He sighed lightly and gestured toward the main gate.

“Shall we walk a bit? Where’s your carriage?”

“In the back, but…”

She trailed off. Dmitri had driven her here and promised to take her back to Undine Isle. But now that Keith had been cleared, the butler would have no reason to linger in town—he’d likely return to Ebony, perhaps even with Keith himself.

At present, the only carriage belonging to House Dalmore was the one she had arrived in.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you think I could find a carriage heading out of Fanshaw?”

“You do seem to be perpetually in need of a carriage,” he said with a small laugh.

Only then did Bryony realize how flustered she’d been—she hadn’t even properly thanked him for his previous help.

“Lord Weardale, I’m sorry for the late gratitude. Truly, thank you for before. Your valet—”

“Christian?”

Even the man’s servant had a noble-sounding name. It wouldn’t have surprised her if the valet’s rank was higher than her own.

“Yes, I’m indebted to him as well.”

“I heard you went to Vernon? I’ve been told the forests there are quite beautiful.”

That was true. Though the forested road from Vernon to Fanshaw via Ebony wasn’t exactly pleasant, its beauty couldn’t be denied.

“Yes, I’m still staying there.”

“At Undine Isle, I presume?”

Since Christian had escorted her and Myrtle near the estate itself, it wasn’t strange that the duke knew its name. Still, his tone suggested he knew more than that. Bryony remembered that he and Keith had once trained under the same sword master.

“I’m there due to… certain circumstances—”

“You needn’t explain,” he said gallantly.

He truly was the picture of a gentleman.

“So, do you need a carriage again today—to take you back to Undine Isle? You could use mine. My residence in Fanshaw is close enough to walk to.”

“Oh, no, that’s quite all right.”

She declined firmly. It didn’t seem wise to accept favors from this man twice. She would tell Dmitri the trial’s outcome and ask him to hire another carriage.

But when they stepped out into the street, they were met with a long line of luxurious carriages stretching along both sides of the road—likely those belonging to the nobles who had attended the trial. Fifty nobles meant fifty carriages, and so the entire street was choked with them.

“At this rate, it’ll take ages just to get out of here,” the duke muttered, clicking his tongue and guiding her toward the inner walkway.

Coachmen and servants in varied livery stood about, chatting and smoking. Fanshaw might be a large city, but during the social season, nobles all gathered in the same few places, and their servants inevitably came to know each other. None of them would recognize her, but they might recognize him. Bryony quickened her pace—she wanted to leave before the crowd from the courtroom poured out.

“Master!”

A familiar voice called out, and both turned toward it. Among the many servants stood one wearing a striking green velvet vest—Christian. Upon spotting her, the valet bowed politely.

“Mistress Arlington. A pleasure to see you again.”

“Hello,” she said softly. The duke glanced around.

“Where’s the carriage, then? I suppose you’ll be taking this lady home again today.”

“Lord Weardale, really, that’s unnecessary. My own carriage must be here somewhere.”

Saying so, Bryony hurried after the duke as he strode ahead. If only I’d worn a veiled hat, she thought ruefully. Then her mind leapt to the one Keith had mentioned ordering from some boutique—the Orlov-style hat she’d seen in court earlier, worn by that noblewoman. It had been truly exquisite. Whom had Keith intended to give that hat to, she wondered?

The duke’s carriage wasn’t far. Christian had parked it at the entrance of a quiet alley, where there were few onlookers—a small mercy. Bryony still had no intention of accepting his offer.

“Lord Weardale, then I’ll take my leave—”

Just then, a voice called from within the alley.

“Mistress Arlington…?”

All three turned at once.