Chapter 31
‘Maybe it would be better to bring Noah to a banquet soon. If I dress him up nicely and let him show his face, those stupid rumors might calm down a bit.’
Rickman tried to think rationally about what to do next, but his anger wouldn’t fade.
Then his eyes caught sight of a servant crouched on the floor, picking up the pieces of a broken teacup.
The servant’s shoes and trouser cuffs were soaked, but he didn’t dare make a sound—just crawled on the floor like an insect.
“Dear, servants aren’t slaves. They’re people we’ve hired.”
Agnès used to say things like that all the time. What nonsense.
But now, looking at this pitiful creature crawling at his feet, how could anyone say they weren’t slaves?
Just thinking about Agnès made red rage rush to his head.
Rickman pressed his boot down on the servant’s hand as he picked up a shard of the cup.
“Aaah! M-my lord! Please, I beg you—!”
The servant’s scream—caused by sharp fragments digging into his palm—finally sounded human.
Rickman gave a thin, cruel smile and pulled his foot back.
“I’ll pay for your treatment. Now finish cleaning the floor. Don’t get blood all over my office.”
The servant, clutching his bleeding hand, hurriedly gathered the shards onto a tray and fled the room.
If he sold himself for money, then he should be prepared to do anything for it.
Rickman clicked his tongue, watching the man’s retreating back with contempt, then turned toward his pale butler.
“Is there any way to stop the trial?”
“…That will be difficult, sir. Since the plaintiff is the Duke of Basteron, a member of the royal family, too many eyes are watching.”
“I can’t just let them take Noah. They say they’ll return him when he’s grown? Ridiculous. Agnès might make a loving mother, but she’s no educator. She’s too soft. If she raises him alone, Noah will turn out just as weak as she is.”
Rickman ground his teeth in frustration.
“But still… it’s no wonder Agnès is confident. At this rate, I might really lose in court.”
“Then perhaps you could do this instead,” the butler said quietly. After sending out the other servants, he leaned close and whispered something.
When Rickman heard it, his face twisted in shock.
“That’s insane!”
“But, my lord, there’s no more certain method than this. Even the royal duke wouldn’t be able to overturn it.”
Rickman stared into the empty air for a long time, unable to deny it.
After a moment of silence, he covered his forehead, then suddenly gave a low, ugly laugh before straightening his expression.
“You’re right. What I need now is a sure way to win. Besides, I’d love to see that woman’s face when she loses everything. She sold herself to a monster—how miserable will she look when her little dream collapses?”
The thought pleased him. How foolish of her to believe she could ever be happy without him. Everything she valued—everything she thought brought her happiness—was something he had given her.
“Tell them I’ll attend the trial. I’ll make her realize that, in the end, she has nowhere to return but here.”
The butler bowed and left.
When Rickman was alone again, the room filled with an ominous, suffocating air—thick with the stench of greed from a man who loved nothing yet wanted to possess everything.
* * *
The custody trial between the House of Basteron and the House of Overhan had become the hottest gossip among nobles.
Though the spectators in court kept solemn faces, their whispers were nothing more than eager chatter.
“I heard Count Overhan is very strict with his son?”
“Strict? They say the boy’s so afraid of him that he became mute.”
“No matter how obedient a wife is, how could she bear to watch that if she loved her child? I mean, the Countess of Overhan—oh wait, what should we call her now? The future Duchess of Basteron?”
“She’s only his fiancée for now. Don’t you know the rumor? They say the Duke of Basteron isn’t even human, so he can’t have children.”
“Oh heavens, you don’t mean—?”
“Yes! Some say Lady Everchen only got close to him for his higher status. That boy—Overhan’s son—was just part of her dowry!”
“Shh! You shouldn’t say such dangerous things here.”
“But think about it. If the Duke of Basteron were a normal man, why would he marry a divorced woman? And even take her child to raise?”
“They say the Duke fell madly in love with her.”
“How naïve! Did you marry your husband for love?”
“What a thing to say!”
The whispers grew heated—until a priest entered the courtroom.
All trials in the empire were overseen by the temple, for people believed that those who served the gods would judge fairly.
In truth, the temple was the most conservative institution in the empire; they valued principles and order above all.
But that also meant Agnès’s side wasn’t necessarily favored—the temple often defended the sanctity of the family, and that could easily mean siding with the father.
Even so, when Agnès appeared, she looked perfectly calm. It was Rickman who couldn’t hide his agitation.
“Everyone, please be seated,” said the priest sternly.
Just as the proceedings were about to begin, Rickman stepped forward and bowed politely.
“Before the trial starts, Priest, there’s something important I must reveal.”
“Important? The trial hasn’t even begun.”
“This entire proceeding is meaningless, and I’d like to explain why.”
Rickman looked solemn, as if making a painful confession.
But compared to him, Agnès’s face turned pale in an instant.
She jumped to her feet. A terrible feeling seized her chest.
Surely… he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—say that.
“Rickman, keep your mouth shut.”
Her voice was sharp, colder than anyone had ever heard from her before.
But Rickman, sensing victory, gave a crooked smirk.
Turning back to the priest, he put on a sorrowful expression again.
“Priest, I understand my former wife, Agnès Everchen—soon to be Agnès Harkwitz—wants to raise Noah out of pure love, not malice. But as you know, compassionate women often make foolish choices.”
Some of the noblewomen in attendance frowned in disgust, but since the temple valued propriety over emotion, no one reprimanded him.
And when Rickman spoke next, even those women who’d been offended fell silent.
“Regardless of her affection, I cannot entrust my son to her. And no, this is not because I deny her role as a parent.”
“Count Overhan, please make yourself clear,” the priest said firmly. “Why do you claim this trial has no meaning? Are you saying Lady Everchen is unfit to raise the child? On what grounds?”
“Yes,” Rickman replied. “Because Agnès Everchen… is not Noah’s biological mother.”
The room froze.
Agnès clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood.
If she could have silenced him right then, she would have thrown herself at him—anything to stop him.
But she couldn’t. She had to think ahead.
As she struggled to stay composed, the priest continued questioning Rickman.
“Then who is the boy’s real mother? Are you admitting to having a mistress? You were married under the temple’s blessing—are you confessing adultery before a priest?”
“No,” Rickman said simply.
The spectators began murmuring loudly.
They were all hypocrites, Agnès thought bitterly.
Every one of them knew infidelity was rampant among the nobility, yet they still pretended to be shocked—pretended to be pure—while their whispers filled her ears like poison.
