The clang of iron echoed down the hallway as the guards dragged the door open.
"Lady D'Aubigny," one of them barked. "It's time."
My stomach twisted hard. Time. For a second, my knees almost gave out. This was it—the moment that decided whether I walked out alive or burned like in the damn book.
I swallowed the fear clawing up my throat. Get it together, I am Laetitia now
It's now or never—To do or to die.
I forced my chin up, trying to ignore how cold my hands felt in the chains.
If I crumbled now, I'd already be dead
They shackled my wrists again, the chains biting into my skin, and escorted me through the long corridor that smelled like mold and despair. The torchlight flickered across the damp walls, casting misshapen shadows that followed me like ghosts.
So this was how they treated nobles now. Even if Laetitia wasn't dripping in gold or power, she was still a D'Aubigny — daughter of a Count, born into a name that held nobility.
In the real world—the one I came from—nobles back in these eras were treated like delicate porcelain. Even prisoners of high birth got better food, better clothes, sometimes even sympathy. But inside this damn novel? They treated Laetitia like she was already dead. Like her name meant nothing.
In the novel, this was the moment before Laetitia's execution. The author described her as "weeping, unkempt, and trembling as she faced her final judgment."
Truly unfortunate woman. That wasn't happening this time. I'm scared— Yes but I need to fight.
I straightened my back as the court hall loomed ahead—a grand building of white marble and gold, the very image of sanctity and justice. Inside, it reeked of hypocrisy.
The guards shoved open the massive double doors, and the murmurs inside silenced immediately.
Hundreds of eyes turned to me. Nobles in jeweled tight waisted gowns and stiff collars sat along the benches, their faces twisted in disdain. My so-called family sat among them—stiff-backed, cold, their gazes flicking toward me only to turn away as if ashamed to be related. My mother looked like she'd swallowed something sour and my father wouldn't even look at me.
If they wanted to pretend they didn't know me, fine. They weren't my family. I had no attachments, and I didn't need validation from the characters in this damn novel who'd already written Laetitia's death. I wasn't her, and I wasn't going to be affected by their behavior.
My only concern was to clear her name—and stay alive.
"Lady Laetitia D'Aubigny," the judge's voice boomed, thick with disdain. "You stand accused of the murder of Count Maugrot. Do you have anything to say before His Majesty delivers judgment?"
I looked up at the high dais where the King sat. His golden crown glinting beneath the chandeliers. His expression was unreadable. Cold, distant. And beside him, in all her golden perfection, sat her.
Princess Serenelle.
The novel's golden, angelic protagonist.
Her molten golden hair fell over her shoulders contrasting Laetitia's jet black hair, her skin glowing with that soft, almost holy light. Eyes blue as the ocean and appeared crystal. The novel had described her as "a beauty so divine she made saints look jealous."
And yes, she was exactly that. Beautiful, radiant, breathtaking.
But I wasn't fooled, not anymore. I remembered what came later—her hypocrisy, her part in Laetitia's ruin.
My eyes narrowed, my expression hardening. Our gazes locked—and though she smiled sweetly, I saw her mask falter just a little. In a split second, it twisted into a sinister smirk that made me hate her.
Let's see if you can keep that smirk until the end, Princess.
The judge continued reading the so-called charges, his words dripping with disgust.
He called me a vile temptress, a traitor to nobility, a disgrace to womanhood.
My fists clenched inside my chains. If I hadn't been in front of the King, I would've laughed. These men loved nothing more than to humiliate women when they couldn't control them.
Finally, the King leaned forward, his cold gaze locking onto mine.
"Lady D'Aubigny," he said, his tone calm but cutting. "You have one chance to defend yourself. If you have any proof of your innocence, present it now."
A hush fell across the court. Even the air seemed to pause.
I took a deep breath and stepped forward. "I do, Your Majesty," I said clearly, my voice steady. "But first, I request that all the maids who served at Count Maugrot's banquet that night be brought before the court."
A ripple of murmurs swept through the nobles.
One of the judges slammed his hand on the desk. "Outrageous! You insult the court's time, Lady D'Aubigny! The verdict is nearly sealed, and you request maids?"
I turned my head slowly toward him, I was startled but I remained composed and calm as I speak. "With all due respect, Your Honor," I said, "I am accused of murder through poison. The servants who handled the wine are important witnesses. Unless, of course, you prefer we execute people without confirming basic facts?"
The judge's face reddened. "You dare—!"
"I dare," I cut him off, my voice firm. "Because my life is at stake. And because truth does not bow to noble convenience."
The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy.The moment they left my mouth, I felt the tension ripple through the court like a snapped string. I knew I'd just crossed a line — interrupting a judge, in front of nobles, was practically begging for another charge.
But what else could I do? Stay quiet and die politely?
No. If they wanted a desperate woman, I'd give them one—a woman desperate for justice, not mercy.
The room went silent.
The King's eyes studied me, unreadable. Then, without a word, he raised one gloved hand — a simple gesture. His close adviser bowed and left through a side door.
A moment later, I dipped my head slightly, the medieval equivalent of a curtsey.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
The King gave no response, but his silence was permission enough.
I continued, my tone firm. "I also request that the royal physician examine Count Maugrot's body once more," I said. "There are details that may have been overlooked—details that can identify what poison was used and how it was delivered."
That was when Julian Maugrot finally stood.
He was exactly as the novel had painted him "Charming, with that easy smile that could melt anyone's heart and lower their guard. His light brown hair, and his posture screamed confidence," almost noble. But beneath that polished surface, his light brown eyes gleamed like a blade hidden in silk — sharp, cold, and calculating. The kind of man who smiled as he pushed you off the edge.
He stepped forward, pretending outrage. "How dare you!" he snapped. "You insult my father's memory by desecrating his corpse? You're desperate, Lady D'Aubigny. Everyone knows the poison was in the goblet you handed him!"
I gave a slow, mocking smile. "Then you won't mind proving it."
"What?" he spat.
I reached into the folds of my dress, where I'd hidden something since that night — the glove. His glove.
The courtroom dramatically gasped as I held it up.
"This," I said evenly, "belongs to Lord Julian Maugrot. When the Count collapsed, I panicked and grabbed him for help. In the struggle, his glove ended up in my hand. I kept it because I never had the chance to return it since I was immediately accused and dragged away."
The glove was originally snatched when Laetitia reached out—not to defend herself, but to seek help and support. In the chaos, Julian shoved her down, and she accidentally grabbed his gloves—an item that now serves as crucial evidence in my hands.
Julian's face went pale, then red. "You expect us to believe that ridiculous—"
"Silence," the King snapped. Everyone fell quiet, eyes darting toward the annoyed elder man seated on the throne.
"Continue," he ordered firmly, his gaze fixed on me, cold and impatient.
I swallowed hard and went on. "If the Count was poisoned, then the toxin would have lingered on whatever it touched — the goblet, his lips, and the hands of the person who poured it."
I raised the glove for all to see. "If this glove carries the same trace scent as the body, then it proves I was framed." Gasps erupted again. Even the judges exchanged looks.
The royal physician — an older man with kind eyes — stood hesitantly. "If His Majesty allows, I can test this," he said. "There are… still ways to detect such things, even now."
The King gestured his assent.
Julian stammered, "Th-This is absurd—!"
"No," I said coldly and look at him sharply. "What's absurd is thinking you could pin this on me and walk away clean."
The tension in the room thickened.
Minutes passed like hours as the physician hurried out with the evidence. In the meantime, my next move was already set in motion.
The doors opened again. A line of maids entered — trembling, wide-eyed, still in their uniforms. The whispers from the nobles began immediately.
They were lined up not too far from me — close enough that I could study each face. My gaze moved from one to another until it landed on a young girl with freckles, her hands twisting her apron nervously.
Got you.
I stepped closer, eyes locked on hers. Her eyes unfocused but it was the same eyes I remembered from that night.
"Your name?" I asked softly.
"C-Claire, my lady," she whispered.
I smiled—not sweetly, but enough to disarm her. "Claire. That's a pretty name. You worked for the Maugrots, yes?"
"Yes, my lady. I—I serve wine and help clean after the banquets."
"Good," I said, nodding slowly. "I remember you. You were careful with the glasses. Very professional."
"You are not the one conducting this questioning," the judge snapped, his tone sharp enough to slice the silence.
I turned my head slightly, calm. "With respect, Your Honor, this question is necessary."
The judge frowned, ready to retort, but the King himself leaned forward on his throne, eyes narrowing. "Necessary?" he echoed, irritation threading through his voice. "You stand accused of poisoning a noble, and you think you may question the witnesses yourself?"
I bowed my head just enough to show deference—but not submission. "I do, Your Majesty."
He gestured impatiently. "Then get to your point. Quickly."
I faced the maid again.
"Claire," I said softly, careful with my tone. "I know this must be frightening. But I need you to think back carefully to that night. The Count's banquet—do you remember what you were assigned to do?"
She swallowed, her small hands twisting in front of her apron tightly. "I was… I was to serve the wine, my lady. From the silver tray near the dais."
"Relax," I said, tilting my head. "You're not on trial. I am. Tell me… You were near the dais. Who else was with you?"
She blinked rapidly, as if trying to recall. "Uh, the other maids… two of them left to bring more bottles from the cellar. Only I and Lord Julian were near the wine table then."
The courtroom stirred—small gasps, murmurs from the nobles seated behind me. I didn't react.
"Julian Maugrot," I repeated quietly. "The Count's son."
"Yes, my lady."
The King watched in silence, unreadable. The judge looked irritated—but intrigued."
"Tell me exactly what happened," I said, keeping my voice smooth. "Start from when you entered the hall."