The hall was completely silent.
Esme's calm declaration—
"This is not ours."
—hung in the air like a spark in a powder keg.
And then, the chamber erupted.
"Blasphemy!"
"Still lying even at the gallows?"
"Is this how the Wynters raise their daughters? Shameless!"
Dozens of nobles spoke over one another, dislike spilling from their tongues. They had all gathered here to make the Wynters pay for their crime. How dare a little girl like her try to intervene with such a measly excuse?
But Esme didn't falter under their tirade.
Though her hands were tied and her hair disheveled from rough handling, Esme stood straight. Her eyes were bright and unafraid, making her look more like a drawn blade than a condemned noble lady.
Then, a sharp laugh came from amidst them and someone stepped out.
It was the noble who had actively pushed the Emperor into the spotlight earlier. Esme's eyes narrowed instantly. He seemed rather shrewd; she couldn't afford to be careless.
"Eh?" The man scoffed as he approached her. "The Wynters have truly exceeded my expectations tonight."
The disdain in his eyes and tone was apparent, and his lips curled with the unrestrained delight of a man who believed he had already won.
Esme did not like that look.
"Oh?" She frowned. "Do you care to enlighten us, My Lord?"
Her words were polite, but her tone was filled with unmistakable disdain.
The noble was displeased. He was the Viscount of Cindermoor. How dare a girl from a fallen family like hers give him that kind of look?
"An insolent son," the Viscount retorted sharply, his gaze sweeping over every single one of them arrogantly before landing on the patriarch who had now managed to crawl back up from the floor. "A hapless old man and a lying girl. The Wynter House is surely admirable!"
The faces of the Wynter family members immediately changed.
It was one thing to insult the children, but how could he say that about the patriarch too? A murmur rippled through them in disagreement, but before anyone could speak, Esme interrupted once more:
"Lies?" She suddenly chuckled, her lips curling faintly. "I simply said this is not ours. How did you come to the conclusion that it was a lie?"
The Viscount would not lose to her either. He drawled, stepping forward with a smirk that showed far too many teeth, "Are you now claiming your family cannot recognize its own insignia? How convenient."
A few nobles laughed under their breath at those words, fanning his arrogance, but none stepped up as boldly as he did.
Esme remained composed.
She lifted her chin. "Convenient? For whom?"
Her voice was sharp enough to slice through silk.
She knew she couldn't keep quiet like the rest of the Wynters were doing. If one did not nip such an accusation in the bud, then they could only wait to lose their heads.
The man blinked, taken aback.
Esme didn't let him get a word in.
"You came here waving a crest you clearly don't understand," she continued calmly, her gaze moving to Inspector Lanz this time, "and expected us to kneel in awe?" She narrowed her eyes slightly. "If you wanted to impress the court, at least learn what you're flaunting."
That look was enough to send the already impatient officer over the edge.
He trudged forward, his steps heavy and intimidating to the entire family on trial. But Esme was strangely calm. Even she was surprised by it.
"Everyone knows that this is your family's sigil. It's a moon crest," he retorted. "Are you taking us all for fools?"
Clearly, his words resonated with everyone else, and the nobles nodded in agreement, exchanging glances with one another.
The Wynters exchanged resigned looks. No one could deny the crest matched theirs.
Someone moved to pull Esme back lest she be humiliated by these older men who clearly had no scruples arguing with a young lady like her.
But Esme did not flinch.
She held the medallion steady in her hands.
The torches flickered, casting a sharp glint over the gold.
Her voice was soft but firm, resonating across the entire tribunal.
"Did I say the moon crest is not ours?" Esme chuckled, tilting her head.
The nobles were instantly confused. One minute she was saying it wasn't theirs, and the next she was saying the opposite.
Inspector Lanz was impatient. "Why don't you stop messing around and get back there? Playing tricks like these will only get you killed faster."
That statement sounded funny to Esme.
"Does it matter whether we're killed faster or not?" she retorted. "Since we're being beheaded either way, you might as well listen."
The man could not retort.
Esme was satisfied.
This time, she spoke clearly:
"This sigil is newly forged."
The hall fell silent.
All eyes were watching the young lady intently.
She was only about eighteen but rather eloquent. Everyone couldn't help but listen.
Esme didn't care what they thought of her. Her main goal was simply to escape being beheaded for no reason.
She continued to speak calmly:
"Three years ago, after the purge, our sigil mines were seized and sealed. The crests left in our possession have long since tarnished.
"But this—" she lifted it higher, "—is new."
Her words dropped like stones into a still lake, sending ripples through the hall.
As though Esme feared they didn't grasp her words fully, she repeated, "Only our mines can produce these. Since they were seized, no new sigils could possibly exist."
A murmur spread among the nobles.
At first, they didn't want to believe her. But her reasoning was sound.
"That's true… their mines were seized…"
"Could someone have planted it?"
"Nonsense! She's trying to wriggle free—"
It was chaotic. Even the Viscount who had been rebuked earlier peeked at it and couldn't deny that it was clean and spotless.
Everyone instantly turned their eyes to Inspector Lanz in question. The man swallowed hard, his face twisting defensively.
"Nonsense!" he barked. "It doesn't matter if it's new or old. It was found at the scene! That alone proves their guilt!"
Esme regarded him steadily.
"Thirteen families camped closer to Her Highness's tent. We were stationed on the far west wing, furthest from the site," she said. "Yet none of them were investigated. Only us. Why is that?"
A few nobles stiffened, because she was right. The Wynters had been on the far western wing of the camp at the time. Investigating them first made no logical sense.
Tension thickened like smoke in the tribunal.
Lanz paled. But he still wanted to struggle and clenched his fists. "If you didn't hire the assassins, then how did they get your family's crest?"
His words seemed to put some sense into the Viscount too. He quickly added with a haughty tone, "Your family had the motive to do it. You must have held a grudge for what happened to you. How dare you try to take it out on the Grand Dowager?"
His support instantly gave Lanz some backing, and he quickly waved his hand for the soldiers to drag them out. Any more delay and he could end up being blamed.
But would Esme simply let them cut off all their heads so indiscriminately?
She quickly stepped forward, her eyes bright and filled with a determination that didn't quite fit her petite frame.
"Is that how an imperial investigator thinks?" she scoffed. "I could flip this over too."
Everyone listened carefully, unknowingly forgetting that they had earlier looked down on her for being young.
"What if our family was framed?" she began. "Everyone knows that our family fell from the ranks three years ago. Perhaps someone simply needed the perfect scapegoat. If we wanted to assassinate Her Highness—pardon my language—would we be daft enough to show the assassins our family crest?"
Those words instantly resonated in the minds of everyone present. They all fell silent, speechless. The logic was airtight and no one could refute it.
Esme saw their expressions and her lips curled faintly.
Good, she got them.
Meanwhile, no one noticed, but the Emperor had stiffened where he sat.
He had been listening silently, but the moment she stepped forward to speak to the inspector, closer to him, his sense of smell pricked faintly, involuntarily.
His gaze immediately locked onto her.
"A scent—?"
He inhaled again before he could stop himself.
It was a clean, crisp fragrance. Like pine needles crushed under fresh snow drifting toward him. It was faint, unfamiliar… yet impossibly familiar in a way that jolted his senses, stirring something primal inside him.
His fingers curled once on the armrest. A small, controlled movement, just enough to steady the sudden spike in his pulse.
A single thought rose, unbidden and forbidden:
Mine.