Chapter 37
Albert Bouvier had never been reported to have laid a hand on his younger sister.
Marriott, who had been quietly observing him as if studying his reaction, rose from his seat, slid his hands into his pockets, and said,
“Then don’t worry. Miss Emilia has nothing to do with this incident.”
Julian was useful.
Marriott was certain of that.
“So am I.”
Emilia Tolin was Julian’s weakness.
“I have not the slightest intention of using her.”
She was the only card that could possibly make him betray Ober Tolin.
“So let’s exclude the innocent Emilia Tolin from this entirely.”
Marriott lifted his head and glanced at the clock resting on the shelf.
It was about time for it to arrive.
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he spoke cryptically.
“Shall we start a complicated calculation—only among those truly involved?”
“What…?”
Julian was frowning when someone knocked on the office door.
Putting his conversation with Marriott aside, Julian called for the person outside to come in.
A sharply disciplined city guard entered, saluted Julian, and then thrust forward the papers he was holding.
“Captain. The autopsy results for Lord Albert Bouvier’s son are in.”
“Tell me.”
Julian, preferring to hear a verbal report before looking at the documents, gave the order. The guard read aloud in a firm voice.
“Cause of death: alcohol intoxication.”
“…What?”
Julian was startled because Albert’s cause of death was completely unexpected.
Most people regarded the man’s demise as divine punishment dealt to a depraved libertine, but Julian thought differently.
He was convinced Marriott had killed Albert.
Unable to hide his confusion, Julian opened the autopsy report.
What is this? What kind of half-baked report is this supposed to be?
“No substances or traces that could have caused death—aside from alcohol—were found.”
Yes, that’s exactly what it said.
Even in this slapdash report.
Don’t tell me…
Julian lifted his gaze to look past the guard—straight at Marriott.
Marriott was watching him with a look that made it impossible not to suspect him.
Marriott Laurent bribed the coroner.
This was no wild guess on Julian’s part.
There was no way his sharp eyes would miss the evidence radiating from Marriott’s entire being.
“Case closed?”
Marriott casually shrugged.
“Then I’ll be going home.”
His attitude only doubled Julian’s certainty.
Julian thought he had finally caught the slippery eel by the tail.
He pulled a document from the drawer and began writing quickly with his quill.
While doing so, he issued instructions to the guard—words that were also a declaration of war aimed at Marriott.
“Go to the Minister of the Interior immediately and get authorization. Tell him the city guard’s coroner is suspected of being bribed by a certain individual, and that we request the Imperial Medical Institute, under the Ministry of the Interior, to conduct a second autopsy.”
Handing the document to the guard, Julian turned to look at Marriott, who was still standing in the office.
He wore a supremely confident expression.
“For now, you may go home. We’ll be in touch later.”
“As you wish.”
Leaving the office, Marriott let out a quiet laugh in the silent hallway of the city guard’s building.
Julian’s decision to order a second autopsy was exactly what Marriott had anticipated.
“Yes, that’s how you should react—if you’re a man of House Tolin.”
Everything was proceeding exactly as expected, exactly as planned.
Now that we’re at the starting line, there’s nothing left but to run.
Marriott’s gaze shifted toward the imperial palace visible through the window.
I will take it back. No matter what.
***
“Sounds like the Bouvier case is about to get big.”
“The Bouvier case? It already has a name?”
Albert Bouvier’s death had become quite the talk of the town.
There were simply too many intriguing elements to his demise.
Cecilia read aloud from the pamphlet she was holding.
It was one of those trendy mystery pamphlets of the day—filled with loosely written, sensational tales.
No one really believed them, but reading them was practically a requirement if you wanted to keep up with tea party chatter.
“The Duke of Laurent returns to Central after ten years. A debauched party with prostitutes, a mysterious death. The missing emerald ring of Baron Buel’s son. And one woman who remains a mystery.”
“Mm!”
That “mysterious woman” referred to Hera.
Not expecting anyone to take an interest in her existence, Hera spilled her tea onto her skirt.
That’s… about me.
Cecilia went on reading.
“According to this pamphlet, the late Albert Bouvier was cursed to death by a spurned lover. The emerald ring belonging to Baron Buel’s son was a very old antique, supposedly bought during a trip to the Mausela region—which, as you know, is said to be home to sorcerers.”
“Ah, I see.”
The story had started off ordinary enough but quickly veered into absurdity.
Hera, relieved, pretended to listen attentively.
“They say if you use that ring, you can place a curse. That night, the woman who appeared was Albert Bouvier’s former lover, and she supposedly stole the ring and cursed him right there. That’s why everyone fell asleep as if under a spell. The Duke of Laurent noticed her identity and threw her out—but who knows, maybe the duke ordered it all.”
“Do people believe this nonsense?”
“Of course not. It’s just for fun.”
“Oh…”
“If people actually believed this was true, there wouldn’t be any trial.”
“Trial?”
Realizing the pamphlet was nothing more than gossip, Hera smiled with relief.
But then her face hardened again—because of the mention of a trial.
Cecilia, looking displeased, spoke the name of the man she disliked.
“Yes. Duke Marriott Laurent is going to appear as a witness.”
***
So… here I am.
When you find yourself foolishly unprepared, who should scold you?
Hera had deliberately chosen plain clothing.
She wore a wide-brimmed hat to hide her face, though if anyone who knew her well saw her, it wouldn’t be much of a disguise.
She hadn’t told a soul she was going to the courthouse—not even the servants, and certainly not Cecilia.
The goal is simply not to be recognized. I can do this.
The area in front of the courthouse was more crowded than she expected, full of all sorts of people.
Blending into the crowd, her modest outfit allowed her to become just another anonymous figure.
Inside, she headed toward the courtroom for the Albert Bouvier trial—when she spotted Ober Tolin’s profile as he rounded a corner.
For him to show up at a trial where Marriott was to appear was not a good sign.
Even Hera, normally slow to sense such things, could read the situation clearly.
Just in case, she quieted her footsteps and followed in the direction Ober had gone.
“Did you prepare Julian’s side well?”
Just before she turned the corner, another voice reached her.
Hera stopped abruptly.
Ron Arista—the crown prince.
Not only Ober, but even the crown prince was interested in this trial.
Then Ober’s voice came.
“Of course. I never thought Duke Laurent, blinded by revenge, would handle things so sloppily. It’s to our advantage.”
Revenge?
Ober’s tone brimmed with confidence.
He was certain they could crush Marriott in this trial.
“Bouvier was a small fry among small fries. Not even a family that distinguished itself during the wolf hunt. So what made him so furious?”
Ron, however, seemed more contemplative.
He neither objected to Ober’s words nor echoed his confidence.
“Wasn’t it because of that incident in Mozheni? The one where Albert Bouvier killed the duke’s favored servant?”
Ron slowly nodded.
Yes, there was motive.
Marriott had plenty of reason to hate Albert.
“How petty.”
What nagged at him was the ten years Marriott had spent in Mozheni.
If, after all that humiliation, all he wanted was revenge on a meaningless libertine, Ron would find that very disappointing.
But everyone makes mistakes, and everyone is disappointing in some way.
Ron’s lingering habit of overestimating Marriott was proof he still thought of him as the crown prince.
It was time to break that humiliating habit.
Ron muttered like brushing off dust,
“That hot temper of yours will be the end of you, Marriott.”
At that, Hera stopped eavesdropping.
She had heard enough.
The two of them planned to paint Marriott as a murderer.
Hera hurried quietly toward the courtroom.
Could I help him? Could I really?
