…Mine?
The man froze visibly.
But the thought had barely formed before he repressed it ruthlessly.
Impossible, he told himself.
For the first time since he arrived at the tribunal, the Emperor's chest tightened.
But his expression remained perfectly sculpted from frost. He kept his uninterested demeanor even though his eyes refused to leave her, watching her movements curiously.
Seeing her outmaneuver the two older men, his lips curved faintly with amusement.
But he didn't let the matter drag further and decided to intervene.
There was something curious about the girl, and he no longer had any patience to put up with this charade.
"Bring it here," he said quietly.
His voice immediately sent a complete hush through the hall. Now that he spoke, no one dared be insolent anymore.
Lanz flinched but hurried forward. He reached out to snatch the medallion from Esme's hands, but before he could do so, the Emperor's voice rang out again,
"Let her bring it," he said, soft but absolute.
Everyone was taken aback.
They looked at Esme, then back at the Emperor in confusion. She was a prisoner, after all. How could she be allowed to go up to the Emperor?
Even Esme herself couldn't understand what was going on.
Lanz quickly recovered from his earlier shock. Although he had some arrogance, it was nothing to speak of in front of the Emperor.
He was like an anxious schoolboy, and seeing Esme standing there like a statue made him even more anxious.
"Go!" He shoved her forward, harder than necessary. "His Highness asked for you."
The shove was so hard that Esme pitched forward, nearly tumbling over. When she regained her balance, she threw him a glare which made the man a bit embarrassed.
Esme couldn't be bothered with him.
She didn't move and simply looked up at the man seated on the platform silently. His face was obscured and his expression unreadable; she couldn't tell what he was thinking.
For the first time, Esme hesitated.
Her heart thrashed once against her ribs. She could talk circles around the nobles, but this man… she couldn't afford one wrong word.
Not to mention she was still traumatized from his earlier order: Behead them.
If he insisted, no one could save them.
Everyone in the hall was nervous.
The Wynters fearful for their daughter, and the nobles afraid of incurring the Emperor's wrath accidentally.
But there were some who firmly believed the Emperor would not tolerate an insolent young lady like her. He must want to punish her himself.
This was especially true for the viscount.
When he saw that Esme was still dawdling, he spoke loudly, "Girl, are you disobeying the Emperor? Forget the matter of assassination — being insolent to the Emperor is treason. You probably don't want your head anymore."
He spoke such condemning words as though afraid the Emperor would not think it insolent of her himself. Esme's lips twitched as she heard it.
If it weren't for where they were, she'd have pulled a sack over the man's head and beaten him to a pulp.
But she didn't give him the satisfaction of a response and continued to look forward.
However, now that he brought it up, it would be insolent of her to keep dawdling.
She could only step forward toward the platform. Everyone's hearts were in their throats as they watched her take the medallion up to the Emperor.
Once she climbed up the stairs onto the platform, the man in military attire from earlier stepped forward to collect it from her.
Esme was delighted.
Anything to get away from this tense atmosphere.
But clearly, the Emperor saw through her little scheme. One gloved finger tapped once against the armrest, then stilled.
Before she could hand it over, his voice rang out again from behind the man, "Let her."
His action further shocked everyone present. It was one thing to take it up the podium, but to be in close proximity with the Emperor was unimaginable. What if she harbored ill intentions?
But none dared voice objections. Who didn't know how bad-tempered the Emperor was?
On a good day, he could be as easygoing as the neighbor next door. But on bad ones, anyone who offended him wouldn't escape unless they shed a piece of flesh.
They kept quiet for fear of provoking him.
The man in front of Esme didn't insist and returned to stand in the shadows. He seemed to be the Emperor's bodyguard.
Esme had run out of excuses.
The moment she stepped fully onto the platform, the air changed.
The Emperor's presence was not merely imposing; it felt alive. Like a vast creature coiled in the dark, watching her with glacial patience.
His aura pressed down on her like a tide of ice, the kind that made men kneel without thinking.
Esme's pulse flickered, but she did not bow her head.
Meanwhile, the man was watching her intently. His eyes narrowed the slightest bit at her reaction. Most people cracked under his aura. This girl merely stiffened… and held her ground.
How unexpected.
Esme managed to stay calm and approached him with the medallion. When she got within a safe distance, she presented the item courteously.
The man didn't take it immediately.
Instead, his eyes lingered on Esme. That fresh, pine-like scent brushed past his nose again, stronger and more pronounced this time.
He paused, almost imperceptibly, as though a breath had caught in his chest.
He was right.
The scent came from her.
Why? he wondered.
But his expression remained unreadable, none of the fluctuating emotions visible on his face.
Instead, he kept his gaze locked onto hers.
One second.
Two.
Three.
A strange moment stretched between them.
Then finally, he lowered his gaze to the medallion and took it.
When their hands touched, Esme stiffened slightly.
His touch was cold, almost startling enough to make her flinch.
But it was only a moment's distraction.
She forced the thought aside. She wanted to leave, partly because she didn't want the attention and partly because she needed to gather her thoughts.
He turned the medallion once, his face betraying no hint of his thoughts as he studied it seriously. As she had said earlier, it had no hint of wear or rust.
Interesting, he thought.
He lifted his head calmly and met Esme's eyes.
Her eyes were bright with no hint of fear or panic. What kind of training did the Wynters give to make a young lady this perceptive and courageous?
But he didn't show his curiosity.
Instead, he turned to look at the group of people below the platform.
"This is newly minted," he said coldly.
Lanz froze.
A ripple shot through the hall.
It was one thing for the girl to say it. But it was another for the Emperor to confirm it.
No one could speak for a long time. The nobles had conflicted emotions, while the Wynters were beginning to feel a faint hope that their heads would not be cut off anytime soon.
It was the Viscount of Cindermoor who spoke first.
He bowed low with a conflicted expression. "Your Majesty, she is merely spouting nonsense—"
The Emperor didn't let him finish. He cut in coldly, his tone harsh and threatening.
"If she's spouting nonsense, does that mean I am too?"
Cindermoor's smug expression collapsed. He looked like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over his head.
He instantly shut up.
Did he dare claim His Majesty was spouting nonsense?
Lanz didn't know what to say.
He fidgeted and bowed so low he nearly trembled.
"Your Majesty, I—I was only following procedure—"
"Improperly," the man retorted.
The word fell soft. The threat behind it was anything but.
"Your investigation," he continued, voice emotionless but chilling, "was influenced by the noise of others."
As he spoke, his gaze flickered to the group of nobles who had been running their mouths, especially the viscount.
Several nobles blanched. A few even stepped back, as if the Emperor's words had slapped them physically.
Meanwhile, Lanz dropped to his knees with fear. "Spare me, Your Majesty—"
The Emperor was unbothered by his scrabbling. He simply looked at him languidly.
"I am not sentencing you," he said mildly. "I am instructing you. Investigate again. And properly this time, without allowing external opinions to cloud your judgment."
He lifted his gaze slowly, sweeping the nobles with a glance so cold it melted every voice in their throats.
"After all, this concerns the Grand Dowager. Mistakes," he drawled, "cannot be afforded."
Several nobles trembled.
The message was clear:
"If you push this, you are opposing the Grand Dowager, not me."
Esme watched them shut up, astonished.
She had been ranting all this while and no one believed her. Yet when he spoke, they suddenly lost their voices.
No one dared speak afterward.
But clearly, the nobles were not satisfied. Their shrewd minds were already turning.
If the Emperor was showing this stance, then was he… trying to protect the Wynters?
After all, they were loyal to the late consort.
Several exchanged glances. If it was like that, then he couldn't blame them for what was to come next.
The Wynters had been accused of treason against the Grand Dowager. Could he afford to play favorites?
If they had such scheming thoughts, surely the man himself could also figure it out.
His lips curved faintly, almost imperceptibly, at their schemes.
The Wynters exhaled in relief.
But it was too early.
The Emperor leaned back into his throne.
"The sigil's origin may be unclear," he said, "but the Wynter family is not absolved."
Esme's faint hope snapped like a twig.
Silence suffocated the room and the Wynters felt the ground drop beneath them.
They immediately began to plead again:
"Your Majesty—"
"Your Majesty, please—!"
Seeing their loud cries disrupt the Emperor's speech, the man beside him stepped forward and bellowed,
"SILENCE!!!"
His voice was thunderous and immediately silenced everyone. The Wynters trembled and quickly hushed. Even Esme stiffened, then glanced at the man.
Not bad… he had quite some presence.
Only the Emperor was indifferent.
Once silence was restored, he continued,
"All Wynter men," he said, as if discussing the weather, "will be drafted to the northern border."
Gasps filled the tribunal.
The Wynter men stiffened in horror.
The northern border was practically a graveyard. What did His Majesty mean by sending them there?
Before the shock settled, the Emperor's gaze fell on Esme again.
Her stomach dropped.
No. She didn't want to hear the rest.
The man sensed her reaction. His lips curled with pleasure and he still proceeded to speak.
"For the girl," he said, voice unreadable.
He paused, his gaze locking onto Esme's, letting the tension steep.
Even the flames seemed to still.
"She will serve… in the palace."
The words didn't sink in immediately.
Esme froze.
Her mouth parted slightly. "Palace?"
The others were just as confused.
"…As what, Your Majesty?" a noble asked, voice trembling.
The Emperor's eyes never left Esme's.
"My personal attendant."
It was like a guillotine blade dropping.
The hall erupted in chaos again.
"Personal—?!"
"The Emperor—? A criminal's daughter?!"
"This is unacceptable!"
"Your Majesty, please reconsider!"
But the Emperor ignored them and simply rose to his feet.
The scent brushed him again when Esme lifted her head, her expression still shocked. His lungs tightened sharply.
He turned away before the feeling could deepen.
"Take them," he ordered.
Two groups of soldiers split — one to haul the Wynter men away, another toward Esme.
The moment their hands reached for her, the faint blue system interface flickered at the edges of her vision again.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Additional data acquired. Welcome Bonus remaining: 0.]