The courtroom felt suffocating as I stood before Master Herbert Norland, my wrists chafed raw from the iron shackles. King Theron Valerius sat watching from his elevated position, his expression unreadable as stone. The crowd behind me buzzed with anticipation—vultures waiting for the final blow.
I kept my chin high despite everything. They wouldn't see me break. Not now. Not ever.
"Lady Beatrix Beaumont," Master Norland intoned, his voice echoing through the hall, "or should I address you as Ida, your birth name?"
My spine stiffened at the sound of that name—a part of my past I'd buried long ago. "I am Lady Beatrix Beaumont," I insisted, my voice steadier than I felt.
Norland shuffled the papers before him, peering at me over his spectacles. "Your refusal to acknowledge your true identity speaks volumes about your character, madam."
"My character is not what's on trial here," I countered.
