Chapter 32
“It’s the child of a woman I was involved with before marriage,” Rickman said solemnly. “She was of lower status, and we faced strong opposition from my family. Sadly, she died giving birth to the baby. When I later met Agnès Everchen, she understood my situation. After our marriage, she agreed to let the world believe that she had given birth to the child.”
“Lady Agnès Everchen,” the priest said sternly, “is what Count Overhan says true?”
The courtroom buzzed like a storm of whispers.
The priest’s expression was serious, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity. It was a scandal that even he couldn’t help but find intriguing.
Since Rickman had revealed a shameful secret of his own accord, most of the onlookers seemed convinced it must be true.
Yet Agnès stood straight, her back perfectly upright. Her face was pale beneath her powder, but her voice was clear and unwavering.
“It is not true. Noah Overhan is my biological son, born from my own body. Count Rickman Overhan is lying because he doesn’t want to lose custody. What he is doing is dishonorable.”
“You’re the one without honor!” Rickman shouted furiously. “Why would you fight for custody of a child that isn’t even yours? If you had stayed quiet, I wouldn’t have revealed this. I was even willing to let you live as Noah’s mother until the day you died!”
“No, Priest,” Agnès said firmly. “I have nothing to be ashamed of. Noah Overhan is my son, and I have every right to claim custody.”
“Lady Agnès Everchen! How dare you be so shameless!”
Rickman’s roar filled the courtroom, but Agnès merely looked at him with disdain before stepping closer to the priest.
“Please, Priest,” she said, her tone steady. “You may investigate this matter as you see fit. I swear on my life that I gave birth to Noah Overhan myself.”
Rickman had always been a perfectionist. He would never have left a trace of doubt when forging Noah’s birth records.
If any evidence existed, it would be hidden deep in his private office—but Agnès knew he’d never reveal it.
Rickman was ranting that she was a liar, but Agnès suddenly realized something important: she knew him far better than he realized. Every word, every gesture he made confirmed it.
“There were many times,” she continued, “when I doubted whether Rickman Overhan even thought of Noah as his own son. He was never a kind father. He used Noah’s fear and anxiety to force him to study, and when he wanted to use the child as an excuse to make me return to him, he made a five-year-old learn swordsmanship.”
Her voice trembled slightly, but she took a deep breath and kept going.
“And he told me that the only way to stop this cruelty was for me to obey him completely. Tell me, Priest—how is that the behavior of a father? Of a husband?”
“Agnes Everchen! How dare you insult me and twist the bond between me and my son!”
Rickman’s face turned red with rage as he reached out toward her. If this hadn’t been a courtroom filled with witnesses, he might have struck her again.
But Agnès didn’t flinch.
“Priest,” she said, “please help me raise the child the goddess has entrusted to me safely and properly. I only want to help my son—who lost his voice because of his father’s cruelty—speak again, and grow into a fine man who serves the goddess and the Empire.”
Her hands were clasped together in a gesture of prayer as she looked around the courtroom.
“With the Duke of Basteron’s firm support, I can provide Noah with the best education and home possible. I am certain I can raise him far better than a man who uses illegal means to build his wealth and beats his servants every day.”
Her words rang through the courtroom, leaving silence in their wake.
The audience was divided. Some sided with her, some with Rickman. All eyes turned to the priest, waiting for his judgment.
At last, the priest furrowed his brow and shook his head.
“The two of you give such different accounts that we must determine which is true. We will also investigate Lady Agnès’s testimony regarding Count Overhan’s financial misconduct. Both of you will fully cooperate in the upcoming inquiry. Before the goddess, no lies must be spoken.”
Both Rickman and Agnès bowed formally, promising to obey.
As she lowered her head, Agnès couldn’t help thinking bitterly: To the goddess, perhaps we’re both liars.
But if the goddess truly loved the people of the Empire, surely she wouldn’t let Noah suffer forever.
***
After the trial, Agnès didn’t speak to anyone. She quietly accepted Dylan’s arm and climbed into the carriage.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
“I’m fine,” she replied automatically.
But she wasn’t. Her body trembled in his hold, betraying her words.
Embarrassed, she forced a small smile and corrected herself.
“I really am fine. I’m just worried about what Noah will think when he hears what happened today…”
Then she suddenly froze.
There was one more person who would be displeased to hear the truth.
Her eyes widened in realization as she turned toward Dylan.
She had been so consumed with worry for Noah that she hadn’t thought at all about how this revelation might affect Dylan.
Flustered, she started to kneel on the floor of the moving carriage to apologize—but just then, the coachman unknowingly set the horses in motion.
“—!”
The sudden movement threw her off balance, but Dylan caught her firmly in his arms.
“I understand what you’re trying to do,” he said calmly, “but please, sit down. Let’s talk properly.”
He guided her back to her seat, his hands steady and protective. His deep blue eyes burned with an intense, focused light as he held her gaze.
“You will soon be a duchess—and the only wife of a royal duke. I do not wish for my wife to kneel so easily. Not even before me.”
It was a statement filled with pride—his own kind of nobility.
Agnès realized how thoughtless she had been. A man with his level of pride would never want a wife who looked weak or servile, even if their marriage was only a contract.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.”
“That’s enough,” Dylan replied evenly. “I don’t believe you’re the kind of person to repeat the same mistake.”
He waited quietly, his eyes telling her to go on.
Every time he looked at her like that—patient but commanding—Agnès found herself both nervous and oddly at ease.
Rickman had hated when anyone but him spoke in a room. He called it “controlling the table,” as if silence were proof of power.
Dylan was the opposite. He rarely spoke, but his calm presence made others want to speak to him.
Even now, she could feel that silent encouragement.
Taking a breath, she began, steady but emotional.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. Noah… isn’t my biological son. But he’s still my son. I may not have given birth to him, but I raised him for five years. I know it must sound strange or selfish to you, but I wanted as few people as possible to know he wasn’t mine. Because if too many people knew…”
“Lady Agnès.”
Her words started to tumble out faster, her breathing uneven.
She wanted to explain everything, to apologize—but all she could think about was Noah.
If Noah found out she wasn’t his real mother, what would that do to him?
“Agnes!”
Dylan suddenly gripped her shoulders tightly.
For an instant, she thought she saw his eyes flash red. A chill ran down her spine—then, in the blink of an eye, the color was gone, leaving only the same calm blue.
“To me, it doesn’t matter whether Noah is your blood or not,” Dylan said firmly. “All I know is that you came to me and asked me to save him as part of our agreement.”
His voice was strong, almost scolding—but to Agnès, it sounded like comfort.
“If there’s any fault on your part,” he continued, “it’s that you didn’t share that information with me sooner. And my own fault is that I hadn’t yet earned enough of your trust for you to do so.”
