ESP 23

chapter 23

A few days after beginning his hunger strike, Keith was transferred to another location. The people sent to escort him were different from the previous guards and weren’t wearing the standard uniform.

In fact, the clothes these new escorts wore felt more familiar to Keith. They were the kind of people assigned to monitor and escort defendants appearing in court—they were personnel stationed at the court itself. This meant that Keith could now receive a proper trial according to the legal procedures he knew.

They treated Keith with a level of courtesy that, while not exactly friendly, was considerate given his status as a defendant. This time, Keith’s eyes were uncovered, his hands were free, and he rode in an ordinary carriage rather than a prison transport vehicle.

A doctor, sent by someone while he had been confined in that old room, accompanied him to check on his health regularly. Having eaten nothing but water for a week, his strength had waned, and he had even caught a mild cold that left him bedridden for a day or two. His appetite had yet to return, so he ate only a little soup and a slice of bread at each meal.

As familiar rooftops of the workplace that paid him began to appear beyond the carriage window, Keith felt a surge of emotion and almost hugged the doctor beside him. Usually, anyone who worked at the court and committed a crime serious enough to face trial would be sent to another court to ensure a fair trial. But since his case involved charges of treason, it would fall under the jurisdiction of Her Majesty the Queen—or her representative. Considering the travel distance, his trial had been scheduled at the High Court of Fanshaw. Though it wasn’t exactly flattering to see someone who had been working in an office being brought to a detention facility…

“Who’s this? Isn’t this my secretary who’s been absent without leave for over half a month?”

The first person to greet Keith upon arriving at the court’s back yard was his direct superior, Marquis Seymour.

“…Marquis.”

Seymour, a cheerful man in his late thirties, was often teased for lacking ambition despite being a court clerk at that age, but he was diligent and cared deeply for his colleagues and juniors. The Marquis looked at Keith’s face with concern.

“You’ve been through a lot; your face has suffered.”

Then, lowering his voice quickly, he asked,

“Were you subjected to any torture?”

“No, nothing like that. I just haven’t adapted to the change in environment…”

“Ah, I anticipated that. We prepared a decent room here for you. Marquis Matthias, by special order of the Minister of Justice.”

Even though Keith was a noble, it was unusual for the Minister of Justice to personally oversee the accommodations of a single count awaiting trial at the High Court.

“So this is my trial, yet I seem to be the last to know?”

“I’m equally unaware of the details. But no matter how severe the charges, unless you were caught in the act, due process must be followed. It seems the Minister of Justice reported your health issues to Her Majesty. Seeing you now, I can understand why.”

“Please don’t speak as if my punishment is a foregone conclusion.”

Still, Keith felt that enduring a week on water alone had been worth it. From the High Court’s perspective, he was just a single clerk, and among the nobility, only one count among hundreds—but the nature of his arrest, the charges, and the place of confinement had surely stirred the court and nobles.

‘A count arrested in his own territory for treason by the Queen’s eyes and taken to an unknown location’—any nobles remembering the events from five years ago would react sensitively.

“This place may not be as comfortable as Ebony Heights, but rest here for a few days at least.”

The Marquis led Keith not to the prison but to lodgings for judges visiting from other regions. Judges rarely preside outside their jurisdiction, so these lodgings were mostly unused.

“Is it legal for me to stay here?”

“There are rats in the prison. You can’t keep a patient in such conditions.”

Years ago, when a nationwide epidemic had claimed one-twentieth of the population—including the Crown Prince—the kingdom had experienced an unprecedented disaster. Soon after, Queen Leopoldine, who ascended the throne, legalized regular sanitation in cities with populations over 100,000 and established a dedicated bureau for epidemic research. So, in the heart of Fanshaw, less than a mile from the palace, there would be no rats in the High Court detention facility. Keith accepted this with gratitude.

“Thank you for your consideration. I’ll remain as quiet as if I weren’t here.”

“Is there anything else you need? Family visits, perhaps…”

The Marquis paused. Keith’s divorce had caused quite a stir even within the High Court, but he chose to ignore it, not wanting to think about it for now.

“By now, the Queen’s Eyes must have revealed my charges, right? Honestly, I don’t even know which country I supposedly colluded with.”

The Marquis’ expression darkened.

“I suspected as much. I thought the charges were absurd… But the trial will not be public, so even clerks like me won’t be informed of the details. I have a hunch it involves Orlov…”

“Orlov, huh.”

The Orlov Principality bordered the northern frontier of Algonquin. A century ago, it had waged a brutal war with the kingdom over territory, leaving massive casualties on both sides, ending with neither victor nor vanquished.

Since then, the kingdom and Orlov had maintained a tense relationship. There were no official diplomatic or trade relations, and civilian contact was strictly forbidden. Among the continent’s nations, Orlov was the only “enemy country.”

Despite a civil unrest 12 years ago due to religious conflicts, Orlov remained a strong military power with a long history, making it a formidable adversary.

…And regarding Orlov, Keith had some inklings.

“If the ‘enemy country’ has been identified, the Queen’s Eyes must have acquired evidence sufficient for that conclusion.”

“Have there been any recent incidents involving Orlov within the kingdom? Official or unofficial?”

Even with strict prohibitions and tense borders, it was impossible for there to be zero contact between neighboring countries unless hostilities existed. Some individuals would inevitably operate across borders. Among socialite ladies, Orlov-style fashion and tastes occasionally became trendy, reflecting the sophistication of Orlov culture.

“I’ve heard nothing officially, but I’ll investigate to the best of my ability.”

“Thank you.”

On the first day at the High Court, Keith could barely eat half of the special meal his superior provided and fell asleep midway, exhausted. Seeing a familiar face in a familiar place had instantly eased his tension.

The next morning, Dimitri was sitting beside him.

“…How does a person become such a wreck in this short time?”

Even at the most generous interpretation, it was a rebuke.

Seeing his face, he was already being scolded. Sighing, Keith tried to lie down, but his butler urged him:

“Since you’re awake, measure your dimensions first. If we start tailoring your clothes now, the seamstress will have to work through the night.”

“Dimensions…?”

“Do you plan to appear in court wearing borrowed clothes? If they look shabby, the nobles won’t pity you.”

“I have nothing; of course, they’ll look shabby.”

Still, Keith got up. Feeling mentally lighter, his body felt far less strained than yesterday. Dimitri helped him sit and continued scolding him.

“Please use the few advantages you have. Even if you’re starving, your face alone can command the admiration of royalty—that’s your specialty, Count.”

“Isn’t that called dignity, not a specialty…?”

Dimitri helped Keith out of his shirt and into freshly pressed and starched clothes. Wearing properly fitted attire for the first time in a while made him feel alive. After changing the rest of his clothes and washing up, Keith drank the tea Dimitri brought and ate boiled eggs, ham, and bread, though he didn’t know where they had come from.