Chapter 31
Walter, who had been lost in thought for a moment, suddenly rose to his feet without warning.
“Take me to Grace.”
“But, my lord, the young lady insisted that since this is a matter of the inner castle, you mustn’t act hastily. If you wait just a little—”
“Whether I wait or not, that’s my decision.”
“……”
“If you care at all about what happens to your mistress, then stop arguing and lead the way.”
Though his face showed no emotion, a fierce and stormy energy rolled off him like crashing waves. His command to lead the way was not a request. Even if Jessie refused, it was clear Walter would track Grace down himself regardless.
And indeed—Jessie hesitated only briefly, but Walter immediately turned and ordered Joseph.
“Find Grace, Joseph.”
“Yes, sir!”
As the two men strode out of the room, Jessie finally broke into a run. She, too, could not bear the thought of abandoning Grace.
“I’ll lead you.”
Her movements were swift, almost as if flying, as she guided Walter. But just as the door where Grace had been taken came into view, Walter’s sharp ears caught the sound of a sharp, commanding voice.
“Take that one to the dungeons as well, and bring me the woman who came with her!”
“On your feet!!”
The dungeon.
A heat surged in Walter’s chest. He surged ahead of Jessie, throwing open the door before the soldiers and maids could react.
The air sucked inward as the door swung wide, whipping his hair around. But Walter didn’t feel the wind in his hair. His senses were fixed only on one thing within the chaos of the room.
Seeing the maids roughly gripping Grace’s arms, he felt an overwhelming urge to strike them down on the spot. Instead, he ground out his words through clenched teeth:
“Hands off.”
The sudden appearance of Walter turned the room into chaos, as though a fire had broken out. The maids jerked away from Grace as though they had touched a hot stove, while Flora froze in shock before being pulled to her feet by her mother, the Countess of Rewen. The noblewomen scrambled to bow to Walter in greeting.
Amidst the disorder, Walter stood like an unmoving island, his eyes fixed solely on Grace. It was then that the Marchioness cleared her throat to regain attention.
As both Walter and Grace turned toward her, the Marchioness straightened her back and arched her brows. Her expression was that of an adult scolding a mischievous child.
“My lord.”
Her tone carried the same air. Casting a sharp glance toward Jessie, she continued.
“I was about to explain the matter to you personally. It was I who permitted this young woman to be brought here, in order to resolve disputes within the inner castle, in accordance with Richmond’s custom. I beg your understanding.”
Every word out of the Marchioness’s mouth grated on Walter, but one word in particular he repeated with scorn.
“Custom?”
“Yes. Precisely so.”
Custom—something repeated over time until it hardens into tradition.
But what is precedent, and who decides how long it must be repeated before becoming tradition? In truth, isn’t custom nothing more than a way for those in power to manipulate the rules by cloaking their will in the guise of time-honored practice?
And yet she dared to speak as if it were the highest law. Walter let out a bitter laugh as his gaze swept over the arrangement of the chairs in the room.
“So that’s why this arrangement looked familiar. It’s the same formation that the late Empress Isabella used when interrogating noblewomen. Tell me, when did Her Majesty Isabella’s methods become Richmond’s customs?”
“……”
“Did the Grand Dame instruct you? That since it was the Empress’s way, it ought to be adopted here as well?”
The audacity of the young duke left the noblewomen rigid with fear. They dared not move, only rolling their eyes nervously toward the Marchioness. Among them, mentioning Lady Eliza’s name was taboo.
But that was only their rule.
The moment Walter invoked that name, the Marchioness felt a stabbing pain in her chest. She forced her breath to steady.
“I was mediating disputes among the ladies of the castle. Unfortunately, the young woman you brought with you was accused of causing strife with her maids.”
“Strife?”
“With deepest apologies, my lord, but her maids claimed they were locked up, beaten, and even threatened with death by her. Such things must never occur within Richmond Castle.”
Walter crossed his arms and stared intently at the two maids.
“Locked up, beaten, threatened with death… And when exactly did this happen?”
“My lord, this is a matter for the inner castle—”
“Whether it concerns the inner castle or not, I will decide after hearing it.”
Cutting the Marchioness off, Walter fixed his gaze on the maids and asked again.
“Answer. When did this occur?”
The Marchioness clenched her fists and signaled the maids with her eyes. Their mouths went dry, but they spoke cautiously.
“Last night, after we had delivered her supper.”
“Do you remember where you were taken?”
“Somewhere inside the main keep… near the first floor… but we don’t recall exactly…”
“It was a pitch-dark room, with no light at all!”
“Inside Richmond Castle’s main keep, in a pitch-dark room—you’re certain?”
The maids quickly nodded, eager to affirm.
“Yes, my lord! Every word is the truth!”
Flora, who had been clinging to her mother, rushed forward with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“My lord! These girls are precious to me. They would never lie. Please, believe them. Sob sob.”
She looked up at him, weeping like a child. She thought surely he would waver, since once, he had cared for her.
But Walter wasn’t even looking at her. Instead, he had Joseph place a chair before the maids. Walter sat down leisurely.
The instant he alone sat, ownership of the room shifted.
A heavy current, like the deep slow tides of the abyss, swirled around him. Then, silent as a rising tide, it flooded the room and swallowed all within.
The maids trembled visibly. The Countess of Rewen, sensing instinctively that this was no place to linger, pulled Flora away to the safety of the other noblewomen.
Walter, now firmly in control, leaned back in the chair and gave a calm command.
“Joseph. Bring me the security chief of the castle.”
The Marchioness flinched at the thunderous order.
“Summon the security chief? Now?!”
Walter answered with a cold, mocking smile.
“I do believe the maids. But Grace was with me all last night. Especially after supper.”
“But their testimony—”
“They don’t even remember where they were supposedly taken. They claim it was a pitch-dark room in this very keep. How can they be certain the one they saw was Grace?”
“That is why I sought to take a neutral stance and—”
“The very idea of ‘two sides’ is the mistake here.”
Walter’s voice cut her off like a blade. Then, he lowered it, delivering a warning to one who had forgotten her place.
“I am not the one who proves. I am the one who judges, Emily Rinco.”
“……”
“And if you truly doubt Grace’s maid, then ask Sir Rexton, who was standing guard in the corridor the entire time.”
Immediately, Joseph, ever steadfast, gave his testimony.
“My lord! I stood guard the entire night. I did see the two maids bring her supper, but the young lady and her maid did not once leave their chambers afterward!”
Walter glanced at the Marchioness as if to say, You hear that? Then he signaled to Joseph.
“Bring the security chief. He will answer for this.”
“At once, my lord!!”
At that, the Countess of Rewen stepped forward, panic on her face. For the castle’s security chief was none other than her husband.
“My lord, summoning him so abruptly—surely this is unnecessary.”
But her words only stoked the flames. The young duke turned to her, incredulous, and spat out each word as though crushing it.
“In the very keep where I reside, such a thing occurs—and you say it is nothing?”
“That is…”
Walter turned away, no longer willing to listen, and spoke to the trembling maids.
“You will be called again soon to uncover the truth of this matter. Until then, rest and recover your strength.”
With that, he rose and extended his hand to Grace. She looked at him—this man who had wielded the very sword she had given him—and then gently placed her hand in his. His large, steady hand immediately closed around hers.
As she walked out with him, Grace met the eyes of the Marchioness.
Her gaze was like a deep, bottomless swamp.
