TPB 10

Chapter: 10

People secretly hoped that David was actually Prince Ian. It was probably because that scenario was more sensational and entertaining.

It already seemed too late to resolve the long-neglected rumors with a simple clarification. The most effective approach appeared to be exposing Humphreyd, the Viscount suspected to be David in disguise…

Fortunately, the extremely conservative members of the aristocratic council had already taken offense at David’s latest work, so Ian didn’t have to intervene personally.

The council, burning with a sense of duty to protect the honor of the royal family, sought to resolve the prince’s scandal.

After considering various ways to attack David, they finally decided to charge him with violating the publishing law, claiming that his new work contained explicit and obscene words.

Of course, the language was no different from that in any other sensual novel, so even if prosecuted, he would likely be acquitted. But revealing his identity, humiliating him, and restoring the shaken social order would be more than sufficient.

However, when it was revealed that David’s true identity was a twenty-year-old baroness, the matter exploded into an enormous scandal.

The council, having discovered his identity while pressing the charges, was utterly shocked.

They were furious at the audacious double life of an unmarried young lady and immediately filed a lawsuit against her.

The charge was “gross obscenity,” a convenient law for anyone accused of causing social disturbance through obscene acts.

“It seems the rumors about His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Former Lady Eris have finally quieted down. Her Majesty the Queen is reportedly very pleased…”

Marcus tried to frame the news in a positive light.

In truth, Queen Violet was delighted that the entire public’s attention was now focused on an unheard-of noblewoman named Natalie Daws.

“In any case, everyone now knows that the prince had nothing to do with David…”

“Leave out the part about ‘It wasn’t Prince Ian.’ Otherwise, even those who didn’t know will find out.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Marcus promptly noted the prince’s instructions.

Ian slowly rose from his seat and approached the window, gazing outside.

The world was in turmoil over the erotic novel, yet the gardens of Malick House remained as peaceful as ever.

“…I don’t understand. Why are they so angry? What is it about David?”

Ian muttered to himself, nearly chuckling.

“…It’s surprising if you actually read it. Such boldness and exhilaration haven’t existed until now.”

He turned his gaze toward Marcus. The look in his eyes seemed to say, Ah, so you’ve read it too. Marcus hastily added,

“It’s not just provocative; the social satire inside is sharp. If you read on, it even reaches a whole new level of aesthetic pleasure…”

This time, Ian’s expression clearly showed he wasn’t the least bit curious. Marcus wisely cut his commentary short.

“Hmm. In any case, Miss Daws and her family will find it hard to set foot in society again.”

“Doesn’t Vaten allow freedom of expression?”

Grand Vaten did recognize freedom of expression. He acknowledged it, but…

“…I suppose it’s unusual for a woman to write novels, and even more so that an unmarried young lady would write erotic ones…”

“It’s not illegal, though.”

“Not illegal, but… it’s still hard to call it normal… My apologies, Your Highness.”

Marcus, rambling, finally lowered his head.

Customs had already deemed her guilty, yet the more he spoke, the harder it became to pinpoint the baroness’s actual fault.

“Apparently, she merely shocked the delicate old council members.”

“……”

Marcus, not part of the council but equally stunned by David’s identity, quietly fell silent at the prince’s concise assessment.

Ian gazed again at the peaceful scenery outside, thinking:

Luck really isn’t on her side.

If David had been Viscount Humphreyd, he likely wouldn’t have faced charges of gross obscenity.

What a pity.

He had seen many individuals dragged to ruin in the name of preserving royal dignity, some accused of crimes they didn’t commit.

By now, he was desensitized; the baroness’s tragedy didn’t strike him as particularly extraordinary.

Stretching his long legs, Ian began to move. Marcus, finally returning to his duties, hurried after him and continued the remaining report.

“Miss Daws’ first trial will commence at 10 a.m. tomorrow…”

“No need for further updates. Prepare the carriage. We’re heading to Oberon Palace.”

“Right away, Your Highness.”

Prince Ian Astius, soon to become Crown Prince, had far more pressing matters to attend to.

Her name sounds familiar…

“Ah.”

Descending the stairs, Ian suddenly stopped. Marcus, puzzled, asked,

“Is something wrong?”

“A letter.”

“Huh?”

A apricot-colored envelope. Honest handwriting. Lieutenant Hitton’s cousin—Natalie Daws.

So it really was David, Ian murmured with a wry smile.

Marcus couldn’t comprehend the prince’s muttering. As always, Ian seemed utterly unpredictable.

Countess Bianca, pressured by her husband, the Earl of Rutherford, could not stay by Natalie’s side.

The earl intended to sever ties with the disgraced in-laws and cut off contact between his wife and her sister, introducing a lawyer as the last connection.

Bianca wasn’t the only one severed from Natalie.

The Hittons, who acted as Natalie’s guardians, and everyone else quickly turned their backs on her.

A letter from the family estate, the Warfield Barons, did arrive, but the shocked Baroness Warfield was bedridden and informed that no one could visit Duan.

Natalie was left with a seemingly indifferent lawyer.

Even so, the “David trial” approached quickly.

“Rise. Those attending the Central Criminal Court for the trial of treason and major offenses, maintain order.”

Waiting with the bailiff in the dark corridor before entering the defendant’s bench, Natalie clearly heard the judge’s solemn voice declaring the court in session.

Treason and major offenses? Me, charged with major offenses? Dizziness swept over her.

“God save the King.”

“Miss Natalie Daws, daughter of the Warfield Barons, come forward.”

She wished she could faint. But fainting, unlike in novels, rarely happened in real life.

Walking through the dark corridor and standing at the defendant’s bench, she saw the solemn courtroom in full.

A heavy silence fell as Natalie entered. All the onlookers, save for her, were elderly gentlemen.

Their eyes fixed on Natalie with hostility, and she instinctively shrugged her shoulders.

“By the court of His Majesty the King, Miss Natalie Daws, daughter of the Warfield Barons, is charged with producing immoral publications, causing a breach of public order, and dishonoring ladies…”

The judge began reciting her charges, interrupted occasionally by shouts and jeers.

Natalie anxiously searched for her lawyer. He was yawning. Any hope she had shattered instantly.

“Natalie Daws, guilty or not guilty?”

Finally, the judge asked the prosecuting attorney, Sir Anthony Gotten.

With a detective-like mustache, Sir Gotten leapt up and shouted “guilty,” eagerly detailing her supposed crimes.

Before the trial, Natalie’s lawyer had insisted she remain silent, claiming it would look better to the jury.

Please stop…

Thus, throughout the first trial, she endured one-sided verbal attacks and ridicule.

For this moment, the courtroom seemed like the entire world. She felt as if everyone were accusing her of being abnormal. Perhaps it wasn’t even an illusion.

I’ve done something crazy. I shouldn’t have written… anything.

Embarrassed. Scared.

Natalie felt overwhelming shame and fear. Tears flowed as regret consumed her.

I just want to disappear.

Exactly as the council and Sir Gotten intended.

“Recess. The trial will resume at 10 a.m. next Sunday.”

…But are they right? Was writing a little erotic novel really such a terrible crime?

She didn’t think so.

Even as she left, tear-stained, Natalie continued questioning herself silently—a long-standing habit of hers. Her mother often found this noncompliance extremely frustrating.

Since the carriage hadn’t moved at all, Ian lifted his heavy eyelids, revealing bright blue eyes beneath long lashes.

We must be at least a hundred times stuck by now, he murmured lazily.

Marcus, who had been nervously observing Ian, glanced out the window.

“Today is Miss Daws’ final trial, so the roads seem clogged. Every time she has a trial, not only the area in front of the court but even the surrounding streets are paralyzed.”

Marcus and the coachman hadn’t expected that roads far from the courthouse would be blocked.

Miss Daws. Natalie Daws.

The name, long forgotten, caught Ian’s attention. He noticed tabloid sheets on the streets, boldly proclaiming “Final Trial.”

He recalled hearing about her first trial two months ago. It seemed her trial was already nearing its end. Only matters like this moved with such speed—he snorted.

Noticing Ian’s interest, Marcus cautiously added,

“She will likely receive a prison sentence.”

“…Was it really something deserving imprisonment?”

Ian frowned, incredulous that the young baroness might actually be sentenced.

Really, David is… it was bizarre that everyone rushed to bury a twenty-year-old baroness over him.

“The charge of gross obscenity is as vague as its name, making it easy to apply anywhere. The jury assigned to her trial by the council is extremely conservative. Under these circumstances, she’ll likely receive a prison sentence.”

Narrowing his eyes at Marcus’ fluent explanation, Ian asked,

“You seem very interested. Are you a fan?”

“…Not a fan. It’s impossible not to know; the newsletters keep talking about it.”

Marcus, excited, gestured unintentionally and sheepishly denied it.

Ian turned his gaze back out the window.

The carriage still showed no sign of moving. With the road blocked front and back, turning around seemed impossible.

After a moment of contemplation, Ian suddenly asked Marcus,

“Was it Vice Admiral Portney and the Duke of Northam invited to my mother’s luncheon?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Her Majesty wants you to maintain personal relations with both of them.”

“Understood. But it seems today the three of them will have to enjoy the luncheon themselves.”

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. The roads are clogged, but we should reach Windsorbell Palace in time for the luncheon…”

“I don’t think so.”

The twenty-four-year-old prince, speaking with the most charming tone, smiled faintly at Marcus.