🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter: 11
“Oh, no. Don’t tell me.”
But every time Ian smiled in that heart-fluttering way, Marcus’s heart fluttered for an entirely different reason.
Before Marcus could even open his mouth to persuade the person he served, Ian flung open the carriage door. The carriage was still stopped in the middle of the road, and the prince stepped out lightly, abandoning his seat.
From the moment he had become aware of the duties and role of royalty at a very young age, Ian had never allowed himself to think about his own future. When life failed to unfold the way he imagined, the disappointment was too hard to endure.
It felt better not to dream at all.
If there was one saving grace, it was that he was far more patient than most. No one was better than him at suppressing his true nature.
That didn’t mean he was fine. Every so often, there came moments when the sudden pressure inside his chest became unbearable.
It had already been two months since he’d been summoned to Windsorbell Palace for a private meeting with his mother. Those moments were becoming more frequent.
At this rate, he thought, he might even start to resent his older brother.
What Ian needed now was a place to breathe for a moment—not another meal spent sitting face-to-face with sly old men who smiled like foxes.
Let’s say he was having a bout of childish rebellion far too late in life.
Let’s say he wanted to run away like a coward because the crown frightened him.
And, truth be told, the news of the baron’s daughter receiving an actual prison sentence had left a small but persistent discomfort in his heart.
Whatever the reason, his appearance at Miss Douse’s final trial was entirely impulsive.
***
The David trial, conducted over three sessions, had learned its lesson from the first two proceedings: the gallery was emptied, and all spectators were strictly excluded.
In the middle of the trial, Ian—who for once fully exploited his status as a prince—slipped quietly into a corner of the empty gallery.
And then, almost immediately, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the defendant’s stand. Eyes that had been dull and lifeless for nearly two months regained their light in an instant.
That cross-dressing woman.
Her half-tied hair, neatly swept behind her ears to appease conservative jurors, made it easy to recall her face from that day.
Pale skin. Darkly pigmented eyes and hair.
At first glance, she looked like a pretty boy—but she was unmistakably a woman.
Above all else, there was that brazen expression, as if she’d been wronged beyond endurance.
She was the woman in men’s clothing who had collided with his attendant at Dwan Central Station.
The only differences from that day were that she was sobbing uncontrollably now, her eyes red and bloodshot.
Cross-dressing to write erotic novels.
Impressive.
Ian felt pure astonishment at one person’s flamboyant résumé. It was a fresh shock—one he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.
He didn’t know why, but he felt a sense of anticipation. His heart even began to race, so he leaned in to listen to the trial.
That curiosity didn’t last long.
The examination dragged on—an unmotivated defense attorney and a prosecutor reciting social conventions without logic, fueled purely by personal bias. It could hardly be called a proper trial.
Each time Ian looked back at the defendant, she wore an expression of profound injustice, yet only moved her lips without speaking.
Just as he was wondering whether he should leave, narrowing his eyes—
The moment the lawyer finished another foolish answer, Natalie Douse raised her hand. Her fingers trembled violently in the air.
All eyes turned to her. The judge noticed and spoke.
“Defendant. Do you have something to say?”
The prosecutor glared at Natalie, brows raised, as if to say how dare you open your mouth. Natalie shrank her shoulders—but her lips moved as if by instinct.
“…Yes.”
“Proceed.”
“Your Honor… sniff… to accuse me of inciting immorality among ladies—I never once imagined doing anything so outrageous.”
Natalie Douse, who had done nothing but sob throughout the trial, began to speak cautiously.
“I only wanted to do what I liked. What I wanted to do.”
Her voice was nasal and pitiful, but as the defendant’s first statement in three trials, the courtroom fell silent.
“I simply wanted to make a different choice.”
At that moment, Ian’s eyes widened as he stared at the baron’s daughter.
A different choice.
He had heard those words once before—from Charlotte.
At the time, he hadn’t understood them. Nor could he bring himself to ask Charlotte, whose expression had been so rare and unreadable.
But now, he felt—instinctively, almost fatefully—that he might finally find the answer.
The defendant began her final statement in a plaintive voice.
“I wrote carelessly. I didn’t consider the influence my writing might have, as you said. I only focused on showing off how clever my sentences were, how vivid my imagination was—and my greed led me here.”
She finished without taking a breath, then blew her nose loudly. Ian reflexively stepped back, frowning.
“So for that, I truly reflect.”
For the first time, the jurors—men who looked old enough to be her father or grandfather—nodded at her.
“But, Your Honor, I’m so foolish that I still don’t know whether I’ve actually broken the law. There’s no law that says an unmarried lady can’t write erotic novels… is there?”
Though she glanced around anxiously enough to unsettle anyone watching, she finished her sentence resolutely.
Translated bluntly, it meant: Plenty of people write filthy novels—why am I the only one you’re picking on?
The jurors clutched the backs of their necks. It was a brazen statement, yet her wretched delivery made it hard to tell her to shut up outright.
Even the judge looked flustered as he replied.
“The defendant produced obscene material while holding the status of a baron’s daughter. You caused social disorder.”
“And that disorder is… sniff… exactly what kind of disorder?”
“You disturbed the moral fabric of our society.”
“Well… I understand that social morality is something every citizen of Great Batten must uphold. Gentlemen and ladies especially must set an example.”
“…Indeed.”
“But then why is that morality enforced so strictly only on ladies? Sniff. Your Honor, I’m stupid, so I truly don’t understand. Do ladies and gentlemen learn entirely different morals? Or does the law discriminate between people…?”
Even while sobbing, Natalie Douse slipped in barbed sarcasm.
The mouths of the gentlemen in the courtroom slowly fell open.
The judge sighed heavily, like a grandfather watching a rebellious granddaughter at her worst.
“What I mean is—if I’m a disgrace to womanhood, then gentlemen must all be walking obscene publications….”
If we’re measuring indecency, you lot are worse—so why are you only coming after me, you hypocrites.
Natalie swept her gaze across the men around her, leaving the rest unsaid. But the vile prosecutor read her true thoughts clearly in those tear-filled eyes.
“Sophistry! Your Honor! The defendant is deliberately obscuring the issue!”
He shouted in rage.
But once unleashed, a lady’s tongue does not close easily.
“Sir Gotten is a nobleman and a respected legal professional, so surely you attended university and belong to prestigious clubs? Then you must gamble with other gentlemen—and visit brothels as well… ha… how lewd…. I may be unfit to be a lady for writing erotic novels, but if we’re being precise, wouldn’t you be far more debauched and obscene…? That’s what I can’t help thinking.”
It was astonishing she had managed to stay silent until now.
“Your Honor! The defendant dares to mock the prosecutor in His Majesty’s court—!”
“Mock? I would never. I’m merely suggesting that the daily lives of gentlemen do far more to erode morality and noble dignity…. As a citizen who loves Great Batten, that thought naturally occurs to me….”
“Ladies and gentlemen are different! A lady must—!”
“That’s exactly what I don’t understand. I’m stupid, you see. Who decided that in the first place? Either everyone follows the same rules, or why only ladies….”
Though utterly cowed, Natalie muttered loudly enough for all to hear. When a thoroughly enraged Sir Gotten slammed the table, she flinched violently—
—and then muttered again.
“I-I just don’t understand why it’s a crime if I write erotic novels, but perfectly fine when a famous gentleman does….”
“Writing is not something a lady should do! And obscene writing, least of all!”
“You’d think our destinies were written on our foreheads from birth—”
“That mouth! Will you not shut it—!”
Sir Gotten screamed, eyes bulging.
“Sir Gotten, control yourself!”
“An obscene witch has revealed her true nature!”
Though the judge reprimanded him, Gotten—furious beyond restraint—lunged toward Natalie as if to strike her.
“You dare not repent for writing perverse fantasies no one could ever understand—!”
“I don’t particularly need Sir Gotten’s understanding….”
“What?!”
“…sir.”
Natalie said it softly, but clearly. Her voice, pushed beyond endurance, refused to yield.
Ian found his mouth hanging open. To think such spirit could exist in such a state—it was admirable.
“Defendant! Cease speaking! Sir Gotten, you as well! The court will recess briefly. Jurors, deliberate your verdict!”
The judge shouted urgently.
The moment Natalie Douse opened her mouth, the trial collapsed into chaos. The jurors began filing out, murmuring loudly as they left to deliberate.
“…She’s right. There’s no such law. No one is born with their duty written on their forehead….”
Ian murmured, gazing down at the wreckage in silence.
What was this feeling? The answer he thought he’d never find suddenly felt within reach.
Ian called to the aide who had been quietly waiting behind him.
“Marcus.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“We’re returning to Malik House. What’s Charlotte’s schedule today?”
“She has no outings planned.”
“Good. We’re leaving immediately. And—”
Ian never took his eyes off the defendant’s stand as he spoke.
Noticing this, Marcus followed his gaze. There sat a woman with her head bowed, face drenched in tears and snot.
“Can we bribe the jury right now?”
It was likely the first act of blatant meddling in Prince Ian’s twenty-four years of life.
Marcus turned back to study Ian’s profile.
He was smiling—not his usual polite, professional smile, but one of genuine joy.
It was the first real smile Marcus had seen in a long time.
