The Nobles Could No Longer Laugh
The nobles seated in the military tribunal's gallery could no longer laugh.
They had come at first to watch someone else's divorce. Someone else's wife had taken a lover. Someone else's family heirloom had slipped into her paramour's hands. Someone else's house was being humiliated in open court. It made for fine entertainment. Nobles enjoyed that sort of spectacle—so long as it wasn't their own family on display.
But the mood had changed. After the judge's gavel fell, what lingered in the courtroom was no longer mere scandal. The words that settled coldly onto the floor were far heavier: preparation for treason. Private Army Operation. Referral to military court. Transfer of custody. The three wives did not understand at first.
The first wife shoved the soldiers away. "Wait. This is a divorce trial, isn't it?"
No one answered her.
The second wife gripped the railing of the defendant's box. "Contact my family. Once my father arrives, he'll explain everything."
The soldiers kept moving.
The third wife looked desperately at Tryon. "Counselor. Say something. This is ridiculous."
Tryon closed his eyes for a moment. He was a competent lawyer. That was why he understood. Whether something made sense and whether it could still be stopped were entirely different questions.
"We will contest this in military court," he said.
It was an honest statement. It also meant they could no longer fight here.
Only then did the three wives' faces begin to crumble. The soldiers approached. The first wife—no, the former first wife—screamed.
"I am the daughter-in-law of the Grand Duke of Valoa!"
I watched her. It was a pitiful thing to say. And far too late.
The Grand Duke gave no answer. His eldest son gave no answer. The second son and the third remained silent. Only Cecilia lowered her eyes, just a fraction.
One of the soldiers spoke in a cold voice. "You are no longer. You are the former daughter-in-law."
The soldiers lifted the three women to their feet. They were led from the courtroom. The nobles in the gallery parted to let them pass—the same people who had come to gawk at their destruction. Now they would not even meet their eyes.
I observed the scene in silence.
After the trial ended, the courthouse corridor felt strangely quiet. Divorce trials usually left the halls noisy. Who received how much. Who slept with whom. Which family had been shamed. Who could still remarry. Those conversations normally filled the air.
Today was different. People did not speak. Instead they looked at one another, and the same question sat in every pair of eyes: Is my house safe? Are the guards at my estate trustworthy? Would the imperial court view my family's knight order as legitimate, or as a private army?
Daughters-in-law. Butlers. Captains of the guard. When they exercised the authority of the family head in his place, where did legitimate delegation end and usurpation begin?
I could feel those questions spreading through the corridor like seeds. Planted, they would grow. Once they took root, they would be almost impossible to pull out.
The Grand Duke stepped beside me.
"Counselor."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Is this the end?"
"No."
The Grand Duke gazed out the courthouse window. The spires of the imperial palace were visible in the distance.
"There is still the military court. What will happen there?"
I considered my answer for a moment. "Their necks will likely remain attached."
The Grand Duke looked at me. "You intend to let them live?"
"Your Grace, the dead are no longer ugly. They no longer cry, nor age, nor beg."
"Dying would be better than living, then."
"More importantly, the imperial family will not want that."
"The imperial family?"
"They wish to send a warning to the nobility. A warning that even a noble family's mansion is not a tiny independent kingdom separate from the throne."
I spoke slowly. "The authority of a family head is delegated by the Emperor himself."
The Grand Duke's eyes deepened.
"And if one usurps that authority, even matters that occurred inside the inner chambers can drag a family before the military court."
The Grand Duke laughed lowly. It sounded closer to the scrape of iron than laughter.
"The imperial family is using our misfortune. And you knew it."
"Yes."
He studied me for a long time. "You saved our house, then turned our tragedy into a blade."
Cecilia caught her breath. I said nothing. There was no reason to lie, nor any need to confirm it.
The Grand Duke looked out the window again.
"It leaves a bad taste."
"It may."
"But you are not wrong."
"Thank you."
He was silent for a moment. "Does that blade point only toward the imperial family?"
The Grand Duke turned to me. "A blade moves according to who wields it."
He chewed on my words. "You're a madman."
"I hear that often."
"Now I understand why my daughter chose to trust you."
Cecilia's face flushed faintly. I pretended not to notice. Pretending not to notice is basic equipment for any lawyer.
The military tribunal convened the next day. It was fast. The imperial family clearly had no intention of waiting.
The imperial military court stood on the northern side of the palace. The building was not beautiful. The family law court featured white stone columns and blue glass windows. The imperial courtroom boasted golden emblems and red carpets. The military court was different. Gray stone. Black iron doors. Narrow windows. Thick walls. It was a building closer to command than to law.
I disliked it the moment I saw it. From a lawyer's perspective, military court was unpleasant. Arguments were possible, but the path those arguments could take was short. And short paths usually led to people's necks.
There were almost no noble spectators inside the courtroom. Instead there were uniforms. Imperial guards. Military officials. Inspectors. They had not come to see the three wives. They had come to witness the written verdict.
Today's judgment would reach every noble mansion in the capital—by copy, by rumor, by threat.
The three wives sat in the defendant's box. In a single day they had become different people. Their jewels were gone. Their dresses had been taken. There were no ornaments in their hair.
The eldest son's wife still held her back straight. The second wife kept rubbing her fingers together. The third wife's eyes were swollen. Tryon was not beside them. A military-appointed defense attorney I did not recognize sat in his place.
I was slightly surprised. Tryon stood in the corridor. He had not entered the courtroom. I approached him.
"Won't you go inside?"
He looked at me with a tired face.
"I have been dismissed."
"By the defendants?"
"By the defendants' families."
Typical noble behavior.
"They are cutting ties."
"Their position is that any actions taken after marriage have nothing to do with the main family."
"The family heirloom belongs to the husband's house, the mansion belongs to the husband's house, and hiring a wandering knight was the daughter-in-law's personal matter?"
"Precisely. Nobles protect their crest before their blood."
Tryon looked toward the courtroom doors.
"They still do not know."
"Know what?"
"That their families sent letters of disownment rather than petitions for mercy."
I was silent for a moment.
"You did not tell them?"
"I no longer have the right to speak."
He gave a bitter smile. "Their families dismissed me."
I looked at Tryon again. He was a good lawyer. An opponent, but a good one. That made it all the more bitter.
"This case is no longer about legal principle," I said.
"It was political from the beginning."
"Do you believe so?"
"Don't you?"
I did not answer.
Tryon spoke quietly. "In family court, Calix, you won. In military court, the imperial family will win."
"And the defendants?"
"They will live a long time." He paused. "A very long time."
Tryon turned away after those words. His back was straight. The retreating figure of a competent lawyer usually looked like that. Defeated, but not broken. Only then could he prepare for the next trial.
I entered the courtroom.
The military tribunal's proceedings were brief. Truly brief. Family court had already settled most of the facts. The military court did not bother to reexamine them at length.
The presiding judge was an old man in uniform. His eyes were cold. He looked at the defendants and asked.
"Did the defendants station externally armed personnel at Pearl Mansion without the approval of the Grand Duke of Valoa?"
The appointed defense attorney rose. "The defendants were not aware of the legal implications."
It was not a good answer. But it was the best available now.
The judge asked again. "Did you station them?"
The attorney closed his mouth.
The first wife spoke in a trembling voice. "They were simply guards for the party."
The judge recorded it. "The fact of stationing externally armed personnel is acknowledged."
The first wife's eyes widened. "No, that's not what I—"
"Did the defendants use the ancestral sword of the founding Grand Duke to perform a knighting ceremony?"
The third wife shook her head. "It was a joke."
The judge recorded it. "The formal act is acknowledged. Legal significance is denied."
The third wife fell silent.
Military court was terrifying. It stripped emotion from people's words and left only facts behind.
"Did an outsider who received that formal act block the entry of Cecilia Valoa, direct daughter of the Grand Duke of Valoa?"
This time no one answered.
The judge turned a page. "Petitions from the defendants' birth families have been submitted."
All three wives' faces changed at once. The first wife lifted her head.
"My father?"
The second wife's lips parted. The third wife's eyes were almost pleading.
The judge read without emotion. "The defendants' birth families state that this incident consists of independent actions taken by each defendant after their marriage, and that the main family provided no instructions, approval, or financial support."
Blood drained from the three women's faces.
"Furthermore, regarding this matter, the birth families assert no protective rights whatsoever and declare that if the defendants' actions have infringed upon imperial authority and the order of the empire, they will respect whatever disposition is made under imperial law."
The courtroom grew quiet.
Letters of disownment. Beautifully written in the noble style. Hidden within those sentences was a single meaning: We know nothing. Take those women. Do not touch our houses.
The first wife opened her mouth. No sound came out. The second wife collapsed where she stood. The third wife began to cry. This crying was different from yesterday's. Yesterday she had cried from fear. Today she cried because she knew she had been abandoned.
The defendants, having entered into marital relations with a noble house, bore the duty to respect the property, honor, and authority of the Grand Duke of Valoa.
Nevertheless, the defendants purchased hallucinogens in advance at Pearl Mansion, hired externally armed personnel with money, leaked the family heirloom, and used the founding Grand Duke's treasured sword to perform a knighting ceremony.
It is further acknowledged that an outsider who received said ceremony blocked the entry of a direct descendant of the Grand Duke of Valoa.
These acts cannot be viewed as mere marital infidelity or private scandal.
The defendants' actions constitute usurpation of the authority of the house head—delegated by the Emperor himself—and the private operation of armed forces, thereby infringing upon the internal order of a noble house. They are therefore guilty of preparation for treason and Private Army Operation.
However, concrete evidence that the defendants advanced to the stage of directly attacking the imperial palace or imperial bloodline is insufficient. The court takes into consideration that the acts originated from hedonism and personal deviation, and that no organized conspiracy with their birth families has been confirmed.
Therefore, the noble status of the defendants as wives, their marital status with the Valoa family, and all protective rights within the house are revoked.
All marital assets in the defendants' names, profits related to the incident, jewelry, and remaining property according to payment records are confiscated for victim restitution and fines.
The defendants are sentenced to lifelong exile on Norden Island in the outer seas of the empire.
Residence on Norden Island shall be designated by the military administration. The defendants may not leave the island without permission. All correspondence shall be subject to censorship. Social activities, use of titles, use of noble crests, inheritance claims, and remarriage claims are prohibited.
Annual survival confirmation and repentance reports must be submitted.
The sentence shall be executed immediately.
The first wife understood first.
"An island...?" she murmured. "You are saying I must go to an island?"
The second wife stared blankly at her hand. The hand that no longer wore any jeweled rings. A hand that now held nothing.
The third wife stopped crying. Her face had lost even the strength to weep.
In my mind I recalled another name. Saint Helena. The people of this world did not know it. Like Napoleon, they were being sent to an island. Of course, these women were not emperors. They were not war heroes. They would not remain in history books. That made it all the more miserable.
In the middle of the ocean. A windswept island. Waves, cliffs, and censored letters. No titles, no jewels, no balls, and no birth families that would move on their behalf.
They would not die. They would simply wake up every morning and confirm that they were still alive. It was an extremely long punishment.
The military court had sentenced them to it. The imperial family had not killed the noblewomen. They had kept them alive—more usefully.