Translator: Nox

Chapter 79

“Lord Preston, what is your reaction to the court’s decision? Please, just a statement!”

“The public believed the outcome was a foregone conclusion. How does it feel to have overturned the odds at the very last second?”

“Did you truly expect to emerge victorious against His Majesty?”

“This trial has been unprecedented from the start. Was this dramatic conclusion part of your original strategy, My Lord?”

“Please! Just one comment!”

The moment Windsor stepped beyond the courthouse doors, a swarm of reporters descended upon him like angry hornets. Though guards scrambled to form a defensive line, their human wall was barely enough to restrain the frenzied press.

Their desperation was understandable. A legal battle pitting the King against the Marquess of Preston was the story of the century, and the climax had been nothing short of a cinematic twist.

It was a breathtaking, eleventh-hour triumph.

To anyone sitting in that courtroom, the reversal had been electric. Furthermore, the testimony Benjamin had delivered would soon be immortalized in print, every heartbreaking syllable recorded for the masses.

By evening, citizens would be huddling around street vendors, devouring the latest editions and dissecting every detail. The newspapers had secured enough material to last for weeks.

“Lord Preston, please! A single word!”

The crush of the crowd made forward progress nearly impossible. Evan was the first to ground his heels, and Windsor, following a few paces behind, was forced to halt as well.

Watching the chaos from the safety of the Preston carriage, Jacqueline let her mind drift back to the moment the verdict was read.

—"This court hereby appoints Marquess Windsor Preston as the sole legal guardian of Benjamin Preston.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The judge’s final pronouncement had been met with a deafening roar of applause from the gallery—a chaotic symphony of relief and celebration.

Someone in the back had even let out a piercing whistle of joy. The judge had hammered his gavel, shouting for order and reminding the room that the session wasn’t technically over, but the excitement was a wildfire that couldn’t be contained.

Several journalists had already sprinted for the exits to beat their deadlines. Shaking his head at the rowdy scene, the judge had been forced to read the final legalities over a low hum of persistent chatter.

Jacqueline had sat there, eyes wide, as the weight of the words sank in. As the tension of the harrowing week finally snapped, hot tears began to track down her cheeks.

The suffocating mantle of guilt she had carried was gone. More importantly, Windsor and Benjamin would stay together. The world, which had felt so skewed and cruel, had finally righted itself.

At long last.

Pressing her lips together to stifle a sob, Jacqueline had turned toward Windsor. Her heart was full as she whispered his name.

—"My Lord Preston.”

That single address was heavy with everything she couldn’t say: her gratitude, her apologies, and her sheer, overwhelming happiness.

But then—

—"Please head back without me. Take the rear exit to the carriage while I draw the attention of the main gates.”

Jacqueline, who had been weeping into her hands, went rigid at his clipped, pragmatic tone. The bubble of sentimentality burst instantly, and her tears vanished as if scorched away.

She stared at him, her mouth agape with indignation.

—"Truly? You chose right now to say something so… clinical?”

—"Move quickly. If the press catches sight of you, they will be relentless. I won’t have you harassed, Miss Somerset.”

She had blinked at him, stunned into silence. Even in the heat of his greatest victory, his first instinct had been her protection. Softening, Jacqueline could only give a small, resigned nod.

—"I understand.”

Back in the present, Jacqueline watched Windsor through the carriage window. Even lost in a sea of people, he was impossible to miss.

It wasn’t just his height or the striking, chiseled perfection of his features that drew the eye. It was something deeper—the simple fact that, to her, he was the only person who ever truly mattered in a crowd.

Suddenly, Evan stepped into the fray, positioning himself in front of Windsor and Roman.

“I am Evan Knox, legal counsel for the Marquess. Please, direct your inquiries to me.”

The reporters pivoted instantly. Evan was a fascinating story in his own right—a figure nearly as magnetic as the Marquess himself.

The questions began to fly like arrows.

“Mr. Knox, you just defeated Cloud Law Firm. Given that your father owns that firm, would you characterize this as a personal victory over him? How does it feel to best your own father?”

“There are whispers that you’ve severed ties with Cloud. Do you intend to stay in the legal field? Is this the birth of your own private practice?”

Evan met the barrage with a relaxed, easygoing grin.

“One at a time, please. Regarding my father—he is a professional; he understands that a lawyer’s first duty is to his client. As for my future in law? The answer is simple: I’m retiring.”

“Retiring? You’re quitting?”

The press corps was baffled. Why would a man who had just dismantled the most powerful law firm in the country—a feat thought impossible—walk away now? Every noble in the kingdom would be clamoring to pay a king’s ransom for his services.

“Indeed. This was a unique case. I’ve recently launched a publishing house and intend to focus all my energy there. I hope you’ll show the same enthusiasm for our upcoming titles.”

Despite his shameless plug, the reporters weren’t interested in books. They moved on immediately.

“You stood alone against four veteran attorneys. Did you ever actually believe you could win?”

Evan arched an eyebrow, looking slightly miffed that his marketing attempt had fallen flat.

“I had my doubts. We were fortunate. It seems Justice decided to smile on us today.”

“Many say the turning point was the appearance of Miss Somerset and young Master Benjamin. Do you agree?”

“Wholeheartedly. I am in awe of the bravery shown by Miss Jacqueline Somerset and Master Benjamin. Without their resolve, the outcome would have been very different.”

Evan was the perfect interviewee—polite, humble, and far more talkative than the stoic Windsor. The press was fully captivated.

“We heard the opposition tried to bribe Miss Somerset. Do you think that was Parker O’Brien’s desperate move, or was it ordered by the King?”

Evan paused. His playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp gravity.

“I only learned of Mr. O’Brien’s visit to Southfield this morning. I find his attempt to buy a witness’s silence abhorrent—though, of course, Miss Somerset’s integrity is beyond reproach. As for the King’s involvement…”

He trailed off, his gaze shifting past the crowd.

“Why not ask the source? They’ve just arrived.”

The reporters spun around. The King’s legal team was approaching, their expressions sour and defeated, as if they had been forced to swallow bile.

A large portion of the crowd abandoned Windsor to swarm the losing side. With the pressure relieved, the guards finally managed to clear a path. The remaining journalists trailed after Windsor’s retreating form, shouting final, desperate pleas.

“Lord Preston, just one comment!”

“Do you have a message for His Majesty?”

Windsor stopped. He turned slowly, his cold gaze landing on the reporter who had mentioned the King.

Squaring his shoulders, he spoke with a voice that was deep, resonant, and perfectly controlled.

“Regardless of today’s ruling, His Majesty remains Benjamin’s grandfather. The court has seen fit to grant him visitation, and I intend to honor that. I will act as the bridge between the King and my nephew from this day forward.”

With that final word, Windsor climbed into the carriage and pulled away. The reporters were left speechless; they had expected a declaration of war, not a diplomatic olive branch.

The surrounding nobles, who had been watching the spectacle from a respectful distance, finally began to disperse toward their own coaches.

The air was thick with their excited whispers.

“I’ve never witnessed a trial so high-stakes. Absolutely thrilling.”

“I would have bet my estate on the King winning. What a turnaround! I’ll be raising a glass to Lord Preston tonight.”

“How will His Majesty take this? Has he canceled his upcoming appearances?”

“I heard there won’t be any royal functions for some time. He’ll likely stay out of the public eye until the scandal dies down.”

Their voices faded into the warm, early summer air. Those who had entered the courthouse at the crack of dawn now looked up to see the sun dipping toward the horizon, exhausted but exhilarated.

---

The moon sat high in the velvet sky, casting a pale, silver glow through the bedroom window. The room was draped in shadows, illuminated only by that ghostly light.

Windsor sat in the stillness, his mind a silent theater replaying every moment of the trial.

If he were being honest with himself, he wouldn’t give his own performance a high grade. Until Jacqueline and Benjamin arrived, he had been cornered.

He had anticipated Parker O’Brien’s witnesses and his line of reasoning, yet he had lacked the leverage to stop the momentum. He had been dancing to O’Brien’s tune, and the case had been slipping through his fingers.

Until they walked through those doors.

Jacqueline had shattered the King’s narrative, but it was Benjamin who had delivered the final, killing blow.

The boy’s voice, small but steady, echoed in Windsor’s memory.

—"Please, I want to live with my Uncle. I’m begging you.”

Windsor had never truly considered that the child had a preference. He had assumed Benjamin was a pawn being moved by the adults in his life.

But the boy understood more than anyone realized. He had his own heart, his own will.

A new weight settled on Windsor’s shoulders. It wasn’t a burden he resented; it was the solemn weight of a man who realized he had been granted a child’s absolute trust. He had to be worthy of it.

He was a man who lived by logic, never letting his pulse dictate his path.

“Tomorrow, the real work begins,” he murmured to the empty room.

He stood to head for the bed but froze mid-motion. The sound of soft footsteps echoed in the corridor. He knew that gait instantly.

He frowned slightly, his eyes fixing on the heavy oak door.

The footsteps didn’t pass by. Instead, they lingered, pacing back and forth in a rhythmic, hesitant dance just outside his room.