***
The Duke's question, "Is that correct?", was a blade held to my throat in the deafening silence of the Great Hall.
Every eye was on me. A hundred pairs of eyes, all belonging to the servants I was about to condemn. They were terrified. They were hateful. They were... waiting.
And next to me, a silent mountain of ice and shadow, the Duke was also waiting.
This was not a question. It was a command. He had already seen the evidence. He had seen the spoiled gruel I had cleaned, the fire I had built, the bread I had stolen, and the child who chose my stolen comfort. He knew the answer.
He just wanted to know if I had the spine to say it in front of the lions.
[CRITICAL SCENARIO: The Public Judgment!] [Objective: Testify!] [...All other options have been removed. This is the only path.]
The System, for once, was stating the obvious.
I looked away from the Duke, my heart hammering a painful, bruised rhythm. I turned my head and looked, for the first time, directly at the Head Cook.
She was a large, formidable woman, built like a battleaxe. But now... she was just a trembling, terrified, pale old woman. Her eyes, which had been so full of rage and disdain in the kitchen, were now wide, wet, and pleading. She was shaking her head, a tiny, frantic "no, no, no" movement, begging me with her eyes to stay silent.
She would not have done the same for me.
I looked back at the Duke. My voice was a dry, rasping thing, but in the absolute silence, it was as clear as a gunshot.
"Yes, Your Grace."
A sound... a terrible, choked, hiss... came from the Head Cook. A gasp rippled through the assembled staff. I had done it. I had declared war.
The Duke's face remained an impassive, beautiful, terrifying mask of ice. "Elaborate."
He wasn't just going to let me off with a "yes?" He wanted the details. He wanted the truth. He was a man of facts, a creature of pure, cold logic.
I took a shaky breath, the smell of soot and old cheese on my own clothes filling my nose. "I... I went to the kitchens. I begged her for food for the young master. I told her the gruel was spoiled. I told her the room was freezing."
My gaze, with a new, cold, desperate bravery, flicked back to the Cook.
"She... she called him... 'it.' And 'the little monster.' She said... she said, 'I won't have your filth in my kitchen.' And she... she threw me out."
I had said it. I had repeated her words, her exact words, in this hallowed, silent hall.
The Head Cook, who had been pale, turned a deep, mottled purple. The lie—the silent, pleading lie in her eyes—was gone, replaced by the sheer, animal terror of a cornered, rabid animal.
"NO!" she shrieked, her voice a cracked, raw thing that echoed in the vast hall. "NO, SHE'S LYING! The... the wretch is lying! She's... she's... insane! She's just a thief, a vagrant!"
She fell, her knees hitting the black marble floor with a crack. She scrambled forward, her hands clasped, tears of pure terror and rage now streaming down her face.
"My Lord! My Lord Duke, please!" she wailed, her voice breaking. "I have served this house for twenty years! Twenty! I served your father! Would you believe... would you believe this... this... garbage-girl... over me?!"
She was on the floor, groveling, weeping, her entire defense boiling down to: I am important, and she is trash.
It was a bold, idiotic, and ultimately fatal gamble.
Because Zander Voronoff did not look at the wailing, groveling woman at his feet.
He looked... at me.
His cold, obsidian eyes were unreadable. He just... held my gaze. The entire room, the weeping cook, the terrified staff... it all faded away, until it was just him and me, in this silent, cold void.
"Governess," he said, his voice a low, terrifyingly calm murmur.
I flinched.
"Did you, or did you not," he continued, "break the lock on my storage closet with an iron pole?"
My blood ran cold. My mind stalled. What... what did that have to do with this?
"I... Yes, Your Grace," I stammered, my voice a whisper.
"And did you, or did you not," he purred, his gaze like a physical weight, "steal bread from my kitchens?"
He was being precise. I had confessed to him that I stole the bread.
"Yes, Your Grace. I... I stole the bread."
"And the cheese? The apple?"
My mind flashed back. "The... the Head Cook threw them at me, Your Grace. When she... when she threw me out."
"I see," he said, his voice flat. "So she did give them to you. As an act of... dismissal." He turned his gaze, which was somehow colder, back to the wailing cook. "How generous."
"And," he continued, his voice so quiet, "did you, or did you not, light an unauthorized fire in a room that was not your own?"
"Yes... Your Grace."
He was not questioning my guilt. He was... he was confirming it in front of everyone. The staff, who had been holding their breath, let out a tiny, collective sigh. Aha! They were thinking. The criminal is the girl, after all!
The Head Cook, hearing this, let out a sobbing, triumphant laugh. "You see?! You see, my lord?! She... she admits it! She's the one! She's a deranged criminal! Punish her!"
Zander Voronoff did not look at her. His gaze was still locked on me. He held it for one, two, three more impossible, agonizing seconds.
And then... he turned his head. He looked down, from his great, towering height, at the sniveling, weeping, victorious-for-one-second woman on the floor.
"Governess Elara," he said, his voice a blade of pure, sharp ice, "has just confessed, without hesitation, to three acts of high insubordination and theft. She, this 'garbage-girl,' has looked me in the eye and told me the truth."
The Cook's sobbing laugh died, her mouth falling open.
"And you," Zander's voice dropped, becoming a lethal, quiet hiss. "You, who have served this house for twenty years... you, who stand accused of one thing... have done nothing but lie to my face."
The color drained from the Head Cook's face. She looked, in that second, like a corpse.
"The food you denied... the 'monster' you insulted..." the Duke continued, his voice devoid of all emotion, "was my brother's son. My blood. The future of this house. And you... You chose to starve him. And then, you chose to lie about it."
He paused, letting the finality of his words sink in.
"I," Zander Voronoff stated, as a simple, cold, incontrovertible fact, "do not suffer liars."
He looked away from her, his gaze sweeping to the two, black-clad, silver-armored guards who stood by the main door.
"Guards," he said, his voice rising, just enough to be a clear command.
"Take her."
The Head Cook let out a sound. A sound I will never, ever forget—a high-pitched, thin, animal scream of pure, abject terror.
"NO! NO, PLEASE! MY LORD! I'll... I'll... I'll BE BETTER! I'll FEED HIM! PLEASE! DON'T... DON'T... NOT THE DUNGEONS! PLEASE, NOT THE DUNGEONS!"
The two guards, their faces grim and impassive, strode forward. They did not hesitate. They each grabbed one of her arms, their gauntlets clanking, and hauled her to her feet as if she were a sack of rotten potatoes.
"You are dismissed, Head Cook," Zander said, his voice flat, turning his back to her. "You will not be taken to the dungeons. That... is a mercy."
The cook, realizing she was not being executed, did not seem relieved.
"You will be escorted from this castle now," the Duke continued, his back to her. "You will take nothing. No severance. No... 'reputation.' You will leave this territory by nightfall. If you are ever seen in Voronoff lands again... I will permit the dungeons."
It was an execution of a different kind. A social, financial, complete execution. He was not killing her. He was erasing her.
"NO!" she shrieked, as the guards began to drag her, her heels scraping on the marble. "NO, YOU CAN'T! I HAVE NOWHERE TO GO! IT'S... IT'S COLD! YOU... YOU... YOU BASTARD! AND YOU! YOU..."
Her wild, hate-filled eyes found me.
"YOU! YOU... YOU LITTLE WHORE! YOU DID THIS! YOU... YOU CURSED, FILTHY—!"
Her voice was cut off as the guards dragged her through the massive archway and out of the Great Hall. Her screams echoed, fainter and fainter, until they were finally, finally, gone.
The silence that fell... was absolute. It was a tomb.
Every servant in the room was staring at the floor. Their faces were pale, their bodies trembling. They had just seen a twenty-year veteran of the household... erased.
[Objective: 'Testify' - COMPLETE.] [System... 'Fear' stat... (Household Staff) +80] [Reputation (Household Staff): -50] [ 'Testify' - COMPLETE.] [System... 'Fear' stat... (Household Staff) +80] [Reputation (Household Staff): -50] [Reputation (Zander Voronoff): 2 / 100]
I... I got another point? My mind was reeling. I was so tired. I felt sick.
I looked at the Duke. He was still standing there, his back to the door, his face a mask of cold, impassive stone. The trial... it wasn't over.
This was just the first domino.
Zander Voronoff's cold, obsidian gaze... lifted from the empty doorway. It swept, slowly, methodically, over the rows of terrified maids.
He was hunting.
"The Head Cook... was not alone," he said, his voice a quiet, conversational murmur.
A ripple of pure terror went through the staff.
His gaze continued... scanning... until it landed... on a girl in the back row. A girl who was trying to hide behind a larger footman. A girl who was shaking so hard she was vibrating.
A girl I recognized.
Eliza. The maid who had woken me. The one who had first called Kaelen a 'little monster.'
The Duke's gaze stopped. It locked onto her.
How did he know? I wondered, my mind racing, a new, cold dread filling me. All this time... did he know? Was he... aware?
"Maid," he said. "Eliza... is it?"
The girl let out a tiny, pathetic squeak. She was frozen, her eyes wide with terror.
"Step forward."
(End of Chapter 9)
***
(Author's Note)[System Reward: Luxury Living Unlocked!]
Elara finally has a room that doesn't smell like damp stone, and she's finally scrubbed the "soot-gremlin" layers off. 🧼
But being right next door to the Ice Duke? That's like living next to a beautiful, high-functioning volcano—one wrong move and—poof.
Feeding the System with Power Stones helps keep Elara's survival rate above 2.3%! Every bit of energy helps. 💎
See you next #TickyTockTuesday for the System Upgrade!
👉 SCENARIO POLL! (Tap the paragraph to vote):
Zander moved Elara to the room right next to his. What is his real motivation for keeping her so close?
A) "Keep your enemies closer." (The "Constant Surveillance" route)
B) He actually trusts her now. (The "Unexpected Ally" route)
C) He wants her available for Kaelen 24/7. (The "Workhorse" route)
D) He's... starting to like having her around? (The "Slow Burn" route)
E) It was the only room with a working lock. (The "Pragmatic" route)