ESP 19

chapter 19

From the day Queen Leopoldine had visited, Keith refused to eat.

At least three men always stood guard outside his room. By the footsteps he heard during shift changes and the low murmurs, Keith could tell their number. For someone accused of a grave crime, the guard seemed far too few.

But Keith couldn’t know what was happening beyond the building. Judging by the sound of wind passing through the high-placed window, his room was set in an elevated place. That made it impossible to communicate with outsiders. He had no foolish intent to escape, but neither did he intend to remain locked inside until Her Majesty—or someone in her stead—decided to hear him.

For that, he first needed a pretext to leave this room. The guards hadn’t spoken a word to him for days, clearly under strict orders, so attempting conversation would be useless.

Thus, apart from a few sips of water, he ate nothing.

On the first day, there was no reaction. On the second, they brought him an even better-looking meal than before, piled high on a tray. Keith returned it untouched.

The next day, a pair of eyes appeared through the food slot. Though he felt their piercing gaze on the back of his head, Keith pretended not to notice and lay sideways on the bed, counting bricks. The room was far too fine to be called a prison—perhaps designed to starve inmates with boredom rather than hunger. With no books, no paper, nothing at all, he found idleness more unbearable than hunger.

On the fourth day of fasting, the guards brought nothing. Keith drank the icy water from the room’s tap, then lay down weakly. He thought bitterly that his past in House Dalmore—living on two poor meals a day—was finally proving useful.

On the fifth day, the opposite: a banquet worthy of nobility. The smell of roasted meat, freshly buttered bread, wine, and ripe fruit filled the air. But Keith knew such food would only poison a stomach emptied by days of fasting. Amid faint dizziness, his thoughts turned to Briony.

What foods did she like again…?

“There are so many orchards in Ebony.”

“Lord Ebony planted them all to increase profits. How is it in Shaubury?”

“No orchards there. Fresh fruit is rare.”

From then on, Keith had begged Dmitri to ensure Ebony Heights never ran short of fresh fruit, even in winter. Their chef prepared every possible fruit dish for the household feasts. Briony especially loved fruit compote. She ate it on bread, with other desserts, even stirred into tea.

Shaubury may lack fresh fruit, but surely Sir Gideon Allington can provide her all the compote she could want, Keith thought bitterly.

After another day or two, he was too weak to rise from bed, hands trembling.

A week into his fast, the tightly locked door finally opened.

The one guarding Keith was a member of the Queen’s Royal Guard. Normally, soldiers—not the Guard—watched over prisoners, but since this was no official prison, Her Majesty had ordered the captain to assign one of his men.

The guard only knew that the young man was a viscount or earl, accused of a grave crime. They had been ordered never to speak to him or hear his words. Yet they were also commanded to ensure he remained alive and well. So when he suddenly began a hunger strike, the guards realized trouble was brewing.

They tried tempting him with delicacies, withholding food entirely, even granting a condemned-man’s feast. Still, he refused everything. Through the slot, they only ever saw his back as he lay in bed.

By the fifth day, they still heard him stir. By the sixth, almost no sound. If he died, disaster would fall on them.

The three guards conferred. They weren’t supposed to speak to him, but shouldn’t they at least call for a physician? They had assumed the fast would last a day or two and ignored it. Now they feared reporting it too late.

Thus, they opened the door.

The youth on the bed was even younger, more emaciated, yet more beautiful than they’d imagined. He looked like an angel undergoing a devil’s trial, or a martyr under persecution. They recalled how the Queen herself had come—surely to seek a way to pardon such a one.

“I’ve seen him before,” one whispered.

“Isn’t he that poor noble who married a fabulously wealthy baron’s daughter?”

This guard frequented high society, and though it had been three years, he faintly remembered Keith’s face. It was too striking to forget.

“Ah, from Ebony lands?”

“…I am Keith Dalmore, Earl of Ebony,” the youth said, opening his eyes.

The three guards jumped in shock. Thank heavens, he lives! Relieved, they helped him sit up. He was pale, thin, but his gaze was sharp.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“We cannot say. By order of Her Majesty.”

“When is my trial?”

They hesitated.

“We were only ordered to guard you, Lord Dalmore.”

“Then tell your superior this: I have the right to appoint a defense.”

The guards belonged to the Royal Guard, composed of younger sons of noble families—men trained with the sword but with little knowledge of law. They did not know that nobles accused of treason were judged not by the High Court but directly by the Queen or her Spymaster, the Captain of the Queen’s Eye. Nor that such nobles were denied defense attorneys.

Keith, however, knew both law and sword. Against three ordinary guards, he was confident he could prevail.

“Our commander is far too busy for—”

“Then I will claim at trial that I was abused here. That you deliberately withheld food—”

“But you refused to eat!”

“And what if I say I feared poison in my meals?”

“Why would we ever—”

“Because I am innocent, and someone seeks to frame and kill me.”

“That’s not our concern! And your meals—we prepare them ourselves. Cast aside such paranoia.”

“Then why, three days ago, did you bring me nothing?”

The guards froze. They had indeed skipped a day, thinking he would give up. Now their mistake bound them.

“If you cannot answer, summon your commander. I belong to the High Court. To starve and interrogate me without conviction is unlawful. I will sue you all.”

“Are you threatening us, my lord?”

“So you admit you can be threatened,” Keith retorted coolly.

Even under their hostile glare, he sat upright, unyielding.

The guards wavered. If he raised this at trial, they might not just be punished—they could be dismissed.

Finally, one spoke gently, coaxing:

“…Isn’t there some smoother way to settle this, my lord?”

Exactly as I hoped. Keith hid a triumphant smile.

“Let me write a letter to my steward. And bring me his reply.”

Meanwhile…

Dmitri was working himself ragged.

As soon as he returned from Shaubury to Ebony Heights, he summoned all household staff and demanded silence.

“Anyone who wishes to leave may do so. You will be paid generously. But Lord and Lady Ebony’s divorce, and Lord Ebony’s arrest—these must never be spoken of inside or outside this house. If any of you are found spreading such tales, Lord Ebony himself will sue for slander.”

Next, he wrote a petition to Marquess Seymour, Keith’s superior at the High Court, on behalf of the household. It pleaded Keith’s innocence and urged Seymour to trust his character. Dmitri added carefully:

“My master has faithfully served as clerk for over three years. Though not a high post, the High Court only admits the most honorable and upright men. Should this disgraceful charge tarnish not only my master’s name but the Court’s, it would be intolerable. Forgive this poor, hasty letter, but I beg Your Lordship to consider it with mercy.”

The implication was clear: if the charge against Keith was not overturned, the Court itself would be shamed.

He then asked Mistress Mercy, the housekeeper, to check if anything was missing from the estate—aside from Lady Ebony’s belongings already sent to Shaubury. The Queen’s agents had ransacked the house, surely hoping to find incriminating evidence. If anything was missing, it might be key.

The Dalmore family’s modest means worked in their favor. Though Briony’s dowry had restored the manor, the household was still accustomed to thrift. Every candle, every grain was recorded and accounted for. Six hours later, Mistress Mercy reported that nothing had been stolen—only broken in the search.

So Dmitri turned to the earl’s study. All documents required Keith or Briony’s approval, and many passed through Dmitri’s hands. If anything were missing, he would notice. Yet the estate ledgers and important charters, though rifled through, were all intact. Only a bundle of unidentified drafts or letters seemed odd. But since the investigators left them behind, they likely held little significance—perhaps notes for court cases.

The bookshelves, however, were in shambles. Seeing Lady Kaitlyn Dalmore’s beloved novel collection—her treasured keepsakes—strewn torn across the floor pained Dmitri deeply.

Better that my lord never sees this sight, he thought.

Suddenly he recalled Undine Isle. Some of Lady Kaitlyn’s belongings might still rest there. After her tragic death, Keith and his father had seemed to erase the place from memory. But Dmitri, bound to manage the Dalmore assets, had hired a caretaker to check the island occasionally these past five years.

Surely Undine Isle is safe…? If the Queen’s Eye had gone there, the caretaker would have warned Ebony at once. Dmitri shuddered to imagine how Keith would react if that place were touched.

The island was not only an ancestral Dalmore property but also a repository of Keith’s most personal memories.

Meanwhile, Briony’s absence left a gaping wound. Without her presence in the estate, Dmitri had little access to noble allies. As a mere steward, his power to aid Keith was limited. Even in managing the estate, many matters required the lord’s approval. Without it, Ebony Heights risked falling back into decline.

Why did you ever divorce her, my lord… Dmitri cursed his master’s stubbornness.

A few days later, a sealed letter arrived. Dmitri recognized the crest at once—the Dalmore seal, borne only by the heir. Relief washed over him.

He lives…!

But the hastily scrawled contents renewed his anxiety:

“Trial late February. Delaying on grounds of health. Burn the manuscripts in the study and the books sent to Undine Isle. Keep all ledgers since last year’s end safe. Has Marquess Seymour said anything? Did Briony return to Shaubury safely? Reply quickly to the address below.”