Chapter 17

Henry, with a polite tone, showed Robert Turove the arrest warrant. As Robert’s eyes skimmed over the letters, veins flared in his eyes. At Henry’s signal, Dan and Martin each grabbed one of Robert’s arms and led him out. They expected him to cause a scene, but surprisingly, Robert did not utter a word or make any move, even as he was locked up in the detention cell.

That night, he had sat across from his brother, drinking. His brother, already quite drunk, rambled on with pointless nagging. Even so, Robert merely smiled like a fool.

The poison vial hidden in his coat felt ice-cold, heavy like lead. His hands trembled. His greedy eyes swept over the luxurious decorations in the room.

If he succeeded, all of this would be his.

He imagined himself as “Baron Turove.” Just the thought sent a thrill coursing through his entire body. He’d be able to reenter high society, and no one would ever look down on him again. With this much capital, he’d never lose at gambling again, and his wealth would only grow, day by day…

His brother always pretended to care about him, but in truth, he saw Robert as a fool, a useless man. His sister-in-law always smiled kindly when they met, yet subtly mocked him with her words. In his mind’s eye, he saw them both laughing, ridiculing him behind his back.

His cold hand clenched tightly. Just then, his brother, flushed from the alcohol, leaned heavily back in his chair, exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes. Robert quickly pulled out the vial and poured the poison into his brother’s glass. His hand shook so much that some powder spilled around the rim of the cup. The poison fizzed and dissolved into the liquid with soft bubbling.

He hastily wiped the table around the glass, trying to clean up the spilled powder. On his hand, the fine dust shimmered faintly in the light. Just then, his brother opened his eyes. Robert smiled awkwardly and raised his own glass with his free hand. His brother, unsuspecting, lifted the poisoned glass.

Robert watched without blinking as his brother drained the glass completely. He was certain—no one would ever suspect him. That signet ring he had left with the commoner gave him a slight unease, but once everything was over, he’d simply go and retrieve it quietly… He looked into his brother’s glazed eyes and swallowed his own drink. A burning heat rose from his stomach, shaking his chest with intensity.

* * *

Robert Turove was ultimately found guilty and imprisoned in Irremang Prison. At first, he fervently claimed in court that he had been falsely accused, but when the judges didn’t believe a word he said, he eventually broke down and screamed that he had killed the Baron.

As Robert shouted insults about his brother, his mother, seated in the gallery, fainted on the spot. Not far away, Lucy stood trembling, her face pale. Sir Lau caught her as she swayed, holding her firmly. Lucy bowed her head in devastation, the veil over her face quivering faintly. Her lips twisted into a shape, just like they had during her husband’s autopsy.

A few days after the trial ended, Lucy received imperial approval from the Emperor of the Essenharne Empire, officially inheriting her husband’s title and all his wealth. Now, she was young, beautiful, and extremely rich—a widow.

Ordinarily, such title and wealth would have attracted a relentless flood of suitors, but in her case, things were different. During the trial, there had been talk of salvarsan and syphilis. People still looked at her with curious eyes and wanted to speak with her, but that was all. Whether that was a good or bad thing, it was hard to say.

After the trial, Lucy politely declined countless party invitations and never stepped outside the estate. She turned away all guests who came to visit in person. After several weeks, the once burning social interest in her began to cool.

Charlotte visited Lucy exactly one month after the trial’s conclusion. The tightly shut doors of the Turove estate opened easily at the mention of her name. This time, the servants led her not to a bedroom but to the drawing room.

“Charlotte!”

Lucy beamed the moment she saw her. She wore a soft green dress, her hair braided to one side. Her red hair sparkled under the lights, swaying like a rose kissed with morning dew.

“What brings you here without a word?”

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Charlotte’s answer made Lucy giggle. A blush bloomed on her pale cheeks, and seeing her looking so healthy, Charlotte smiled and took a seat as well.

A maid entered, setting tea and sweets on the table before quietly leaving. Charlotte’s face stiffened slightly at the sight of the table overflowing with plates.

“Who’s supposed to eat all this?”

“Me!”

Lucy laughed as she grabbed a cookie.

“I make a lot and share it with the staff if there’s leftovers.”

Charlotte nodded and picked up a cookie too. It crumbled in her mouth, filling it with a rich, nutty flavor. As she brushed the crumbs from her fingers, she noticed Lucy doing the same and chuckled.

Soon, however, Charlotte’s smile faded. Her lips parted, and her face grew stiff. The cookie seemed to dry out all the moisture in her mouth, leaving a scratchy feeling. Thirsty, she hurriedly drank her tea.

There was a reason Charlotte had come today. She needed to ask her friend something—before putting the whole case behind her. The more she thought about it, the more something nagged at her. She wanted to get it off her chest, to feel at ease again.

“Actually… I wanted to ask you something.”

Charlotte’s voice trembled slightly, though Lucy didn’t seem to notice and nodded cheerfully. Charlotte gripped her teacup tightly, her trembling hands making the tea ripple like waves.

“It’s just that, well, um… The apothecary owner, Bisset, said something…”

Charlotte stumbled over her words. She wasn’t sure how, or in what way, she should say this.

“Apparently… whenever Sir Lau came to buy medicine, he always paid right away, but strangely, a few months ago he started buying on credit… And, well… the key evidence in the trial was Robert Turove’s signet ring, right? And that ring… the apothecary said Robert gave it when asked to settle his debt…”

Did you plan that?

She couldn’t ask outright, so Charlotte kept circling around the point. Lucy stared at her for a moment, then smiled and set down her cup.

“No hidden meaning, it’s just… well, you know…”

“Yes.”

“Huh?”

Charlotte looked at her friend in confusion. Lucy nodded, calm and matter-of-fact.

“What…?”

In response to Charlotte’s question, Lucy replied clearly, as if sealing the truth:

“I killed my husband.”

She smiled, as if a weight had lifted. Charlotte couldn’t say a word. What could she possibly say to this?

“Oh, not by my own hand, of course. As you know, it was Robert who gave him the poison.”

“Then, then…”

“I used him. That idiot was so easy to manipulate.”

Lucy leaned back deeply into the sofa, utterly at ease. She was surrounded by her favorite food, in a place that now fully belonged to her. No nagging husband to scold her about weight or restrict her eating, no annoying brother-in-law to bother her, no maid sneaking glances at her. This was now her kingdom.

She’d first met her husband at a ball. On the surface, he was the perfect match. Though the second son, unable to inherit his family’s title and fortune, he was highly capable, had built his own successful business, and had been granted a title directly from the Emperor. Handsome, polite—he seemed the perfect gentleman.

When he asked her to dance, Lucy thought, “He’ll do.” She enjoyed the envious looks from others, the proud gaze from her father. The man was attentive, wealthy, and his eyes sparkled when he looked at her.

After a few dates, he presented a diamond ring with the words, “I don’t want to lose you.” It was during dinner at her house, with her whole family present. The proposal came quickly, too quickly, but she couldn’t refuse. Her father’s eyes were full of expectation, and she herself hadn’t found any reason to dislike him.

Wedding preparations proceeded smoothly. The Baron bought whatever ring, dress, or arrangement she wished. Whatever idea she gave, he agreed without hesitation. She thought she’d chosen well—a man who respected her wishes.

But on the wedding day, she wore a different dress and a different ring. When she protested, the Baron only said, “My mother wanted this.” The things she had chosen were at home, he said, and she should be satisfied with that.

It was a textbook wedding—and not one of her choices had been honored. It was grand and beautiful, yet she couldn’t enjoy a moment of it. A sense of dread gripped her, a feeling something was very wrong. That dread only grew when, during the final vow and kiss, the Baron squeezed her wrist so tightly it felt like it might break.