TKMLTE 91

CHAPTER 91

Translator: Rae

Click here to read the previous chapters (Chapter 17-90)

***

Please Play Along

"I need to know what this is about.”

Whitney couldn’t understand why investigators had come looking for her so early in the morning. Did they want her to testify as a witness at the trial scheduled for this afternoon?

"If I have to attend as a witness, I'll be there on time."

“Maurice, Louise Anne’s daughter, requests to see you, Your Grace.”

Whitney frowned at the investigator’s unexpected words. If she intended to beg for forgiveness now, it was far too late. Did she think that repenting before d*ath would somehow bring her peace?

However, Whitney dismissed even her own thoughts as fiction. That woman wasn’t someone who would ever repent for her sins.

To maintain her composure, she closed her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. Then, she turned to the investigator and asked.

“...Unless it’s to testify as a witness, why would I have any reason to meet her?”

“She refuses to cooperate unless you come, Your Grace. Judge Renoto has also requested your attendance.”

Even the judge is stepping in—do they want to grant her a pardon or something?

"I need to get ready to leave."

They were once family, after all. She should see her off for the last time.

***

Arriving in front of the courthouse, Whitney stepped down from the carriage. It seemed there was significant interest in the upcoming trial, as the crowd had already gathered.

Whitney ignored the gazes trailing behind her, unfurled her parasol to shield herself from the scorching sun, and stepped into the building.

‘I’m going to be on the front page of the newspaper again tomorrow.'

Having become quite the public figure, there was hardly anyone who didn’t recognize her. Following the investigator’s lead, she stepped inside. Whitney lightly fluttered her fan like a butterfly’s wings as her gaze swept over the corridor.

People who came in and out of the courtroom were busy whispering about her appearance.

Soon after entering the room, Whitney came face-to-face with Maurice, whose appearance had become pitiful. The once vibrant red hair that had been her signature had faded into a dull, brittle orange-brown. Yet, the only that remained truly hers—those violet eyes—still shimmered with an undying glint.

"Melissa, or should I call you Maurice?”

Seated primly in the hair, she offered a gentle smile. Her gaze, unwavering and steady, held a quiet confidence—almost as if she had nothing to fear.

"Sit down. Your head hurts standing like that."

“What do you want? You don’t even intend to apologize to me before you d*e.”

Maurice suddenly dropped her head and spoke in a sobbing voice.

“I…I was wrong about everything. I truly didn’t know anything. Whitney, you know, don’t you? You know how overbearing Mother was… Ever since I was child, I thought that was just how things were supposed to be.”

She covered her face with her hands and sobbed even harder. Whitney turned her head and spoke to the investigator. 

“I’m sorry, but I’d like to talk to my sister alone. Could you leave us alone?”

"Not for long."

"Ten minutes should be enough."

The investigator left the room. When they were left alone, Whitney leaned her head slightly toward Maurice.

"How long are you going to keep up this pathetic act?”

“...It seems your way of speaking has become quite crude in the time we’ve been apart, Whitney.”

"Do you think so compares to the life I've lived? So, what’s the real reason you asked to see me?"

"Everything was made up by Mother. So it's not me who should be punished, but my mother.”

"Do you really think so? You don’t show any remorse. You haven’t changed at all.”

“What is there for me to repent when I’ve done nothing wrong? Everything regarding the duchy’s business was solely Mother’s doing. And as for Madam Weston—what could I have possibly done at such a young age?”

Maurice tucked her hair behind her ear, blinking slowly. The tears welling in her eyes spilled over, rolling down her cheeks in delicate streams.

“Everyone listens to my story. The poor daughter who had no choice but to witness her cruel mother’s schemes. When I said I had been abused to the point where rational thought was impossible, their eyes softened. That’s the problem with nobles. They condescend, pretending to pity others with their self-righteousness—so isn’t it only natural that things like this happen?”

She was right. When they see those who are beneath them, they let their emotions take over under the guise of noblesse oblige, and in doing so, they make such mistakes.

Even from Morris’ unwaveringly confident demeanor, it was clear that she believed the trial would show her mercy. If her mother took all the blame, she intended to be seen as the pitiable daughter, reducing her sentences.

“All you have to do is say one word. That you were abused by Mother. Isn’t that the truth?”

Maurice scanned Whitney with his eyes and gritted his teeth.

“I just wanted to have what you have. Sharing a little wouldn’t change your status, so why don’t you show me the same generosity nobles always preach about?”

“Sister. I’m sorry, but I’m not like those nobles who grew up so gracefully—I don’t understand that kind of sentiment. You know, we were raised under the same mother’s care since childhood. How could someone like me possibly know the heart of a noble?”

Whitney folded her fan and placed it in front of her chin, smiling broadly.

“Time’s up. I’m going to leave now. Try your best to get away from this. And what awaits you. You’ll probably be happier staying here.”

She got up from her seat and looked down at Maurice with a cold stare.

Whatever happened, if she didn’t get what she deserved, Whitney intended to make Maurice’s life miserable by any means necessary.

***

Cheston stroked his chin. He couldn’t help but laugh—something interesting seemed to be happening.

One after another, they just couldn’t leave her alone. He had come to meet the judge on the day of the much-talked-about trial of the infamous mother and daughter who had shaken up Luowen, only to stumble upon an unexpected story.

“Are you saying they will end this case by merely exiling Maurice?”

“...For now, that is wheat we are considering. Louise Anne’s crime are undeniable, but there is a prevailing opinion that Maurice was too young to have the capability to actively  participate.”

“It’s a fact that she continued to assume a false identity even after reaching adulthood. Since when have nobles become so benevolent?”

"Louise Anne will be executed, but Maurice will be expelled at best."

“I wonder if soemone has interfered. The Weston Family will surely appeal, yet the judge dosn’t seem to care. If things continue like this, even m*rder won’t be met with fair punishment, and the nobles’ anxiety will only grow. Where do you think that will lead?”

He sank deeper into his chair and looked at the judge. The human body tends to be more honest than one might think—when lying, it always gives itself away. And for someone who should be least tainted by falsehood, even more so. Yet, Renoto was rather skilled at deception.

'It means it’t not his first or second time.’

Whoever was backing him had to be someone in an even higher position. This was a stark reminder to Cheston of just how far the queen’s influence extended.

“I assure you. If you fail to properly conclude this trial, you will be throwing  away the honor you have built up until now.”

"Your Highness, I am only making a fair and impartial judgment. Isn't that what everyone is saying? Have you not seen the public opinion, Your Highness? Even the nobles sympathize with Maurice, so it can’t be ignored.”

Presiding Judge Renoto’s tone had noticeably changed. It was amusing to see him falter in the face of Cheston’s threats.

“So, is that why you made the Duchess Regnant of Orléans, the victim, face the perpetrator?”

“...That was done because she said she had something to say for the last time.”

There was no need to listen any further. Sitting there felt like a waste of time. The judge was corrupt, and with the higher ranks rotten, there was no way the lower ones could remain clean.

Cheston said to Renoto.

“There are no second chances. You’ve got the queen helping you, so don’t let go of it until the end.”

Otherwise, they would plummet endlessly into the depths. Cheston intended to drag down everyone who had taken her hand. He would star by cutting off the queen’s hands and feet, one by one.

“That’s my gift.”

Cheston threw an envelope on the desk. Renoto’s face, which he had picked up, became increasingly contemplative. 

"Che, Your Highness Cheston!" “Your Highness!:”

The voice o Judge Renoto was heard from behind, but he did not spare any glance.

***

Her heart pounded loudly. Her eyes, tainted with fury, turned bloodshot, as if on the verge of tears. Whitney bit her lip 

"It's okay to go in now."

“What have you been talking about? Your complexion doesn’t look well, Your Grace.”

“I’m fine, so don’t worry about me. She said she’d receive a light sentence, get out, and make sure I d*e just like Father—run over by the carriage. But my dear sister wouldn’t really do that… would she? So, I suppose I’ll be fine.”

Whitney leaned against the wall, tears streaming down her face. She could see the investigator’s eys waver with uncertainty. Only then did she refuse his support, as if to say she was fine, and walked down the corridor.

‘She must have something to rely on.’

Whitney exhaled slowly, tightening her grip on the parasol. However, with so many eyes on her, she had to maintain a sorrowful expression.

 

If anyone so much as spoke to her, the tears clinging to her long eyelashes seemed as though they would fall at any moment, keeping others from approaching. Their lips twitched with the urge to ask, but instead, they simply whispered endless speculations from afar.

Why did the hallway feel so unbearably long? Whitney held her head high, maintaining her wounded expression as she made her way toward the exit.

At that moment, a force seized her hand, abruptly turning her body around.

"You seem to cry every time."

“…Your Highness? What brings you here?"

His hand gently wiped away her tears. Seeing the cracks form in his otherwise composed expression, Whitney sank into his embrace. Then, in a whisper only he could hear, she murmured softly.

"Please play along.”

Though no real tears fell, Whitney trembled in his embrace, sobbing as if she were a fragile child abandoned by her family. She wanted those who witnessed the scene to feel pity for her, to see only the wounded woman in her.

What she needed now was to act just as Maurice did—to put on an act.