Episode 19
1284 Words
Thorns Beneath the Crown
The courtroom inside the Royal Palace was not built for justice — it was built for spectacle. Marble walls shimmered with torchlight. Velvet drapes hung heavy like the silence of nobles perched along tiered balconies. The gallery was filled with lords, ladies, and observers who clutched their pearls tighter than their purses.
Hyacinth walked in by Edger’s side, hand in his. Neither wore their house colors — instead, they both dressed in muted navy and silver, as if mourning something not yet lost.
At the head of the court sat the Queen, flanked by six advisors.
When they entered, the murmurs began.
“Duke Hemsworth?”
“I thought the title was stripped.”
“Look at her… such arrogance.”
“She’s the one who opened the vaults.”
“The Marwood girl, no less…”
The Queen raised a single hand, and silence crashed down like a gavel.
“The court is now in session,” she said, her voice both regal and worn. “The matter before us: the reclamation of the Hemsworth title and the legitimacy of its heir — Duke Edger Thompson.”
Hyacinth’s pulse fluttered, but she held her chin high. For all their silks and powdered faces, these people lived on gossip. But she carried truth.
And truth was heavier than all of them.
The trial began with documents: estate records, letters from stewards, ancestral titles traced back by the Crown’s historians. Edger remained silent while his family name was dissected in front of strangers who once dined with him.
But the court was not content with documents.
“What of your father’s crimes?” asked Lord Stanton. “The allegations of abuse. The sealed charges. The reason the Hemsworth name was abandoned.”
“I was a boy,” Edger replied quietly. “But I was there. I lived it.”
Hyacinth turned to look at him.
“My father ruled our estate like a tyrant. He believed affection was weakness. My brother and I were trained like soldiers. My mother — she did nothing to stop it. Whether out of fear or choice, I still don’t know.”
Whispers erupted.
Edger’s jaw tightened. “When he died, the estate passed to me. But I refused the name because I hated what it stood for. Until now.”
“And now?” the Queen asked, arching a brow.
“Now, I see that hiding from legacy only lets liars write it for you.”
Hyacinth’s fingers gripped the hem of her gown. She had never admired him more.
The trial adjourned for recess.
Outside, rain drizzled lightly over the palace’s granite steps. Patricia met Hyacinth at the carriage with a pale face.
“My lady… you must come quickly. A letter was left at the estate… and a man tried to follow the courier.”
Hyacinth’s heart dropped.
She opened the envelope. Inside: a single pressed marwood blossom, dried and brittle.
No ink. No signature. Just a thorn beneath beauty.
She recognized the meaning instantly — the Marwood flower of silence. A family emblem used in their secret communications.
Hyacinth folded the note and slid it into her glove. “Someone wants me to stop asking questions.”
“Will you?” Patricia whispered.
“No.”
That evening, while Edger remained at the palace to meet privately with his solicitor, Hyacinth returned to the estate and summoned an old maid named Elsie — a woman who had once served her mother during her brief return to Hemsworth years ago.
Elsie trembled as she poured the tea. “I swore I’d never speak of it again…”
Hyacinth leaned forward. “Please. I found out she was a Marwood. She was hiding something.”
The old woman nodded. “Your mother, Lady Annelise… she was supposed to marry into power. But she fled. They called her disloyal, reckless… but she was frightened, my lady. They’d planned to use her marriage to broker a war deal with the southern provinces. She found out. Refused. And disappeared.”
“A war deal?” Hyacinth gasped. “She was a pawn.”
Elsie nodded. “You were born with their blood. And that makes you a danger, my lady. Especially now… if the Marwoods rise again through you, they’ll have everything they lost.”
Hyacinth’s mind reeled. She wasn’t just a duchess. She was a key to a dormant political power.
And now that she was visible, someone was trying to snuff her out.
The next day, the second phase of the trial began — this time, focusing on political integrity. Edger stood before a panel of nobles, many of whom had once benefitted from the Hemsworth downfall.
One accused him of treasonous ambitions.
Another implied the duchess had “coaxed him” into power-hungry restoration.
Hyacinth stepped forward before the Queen could even motion for her.
“With all respect, your Majesty, I would like to speak.”
“You’re not on trial, Duchess.”
“No, but I carry the burden of this legacy too. And it is time I do something with it.”
Gasps.
Hyacinth turned to the court. “I am the daughter of Annelise Marwood. That is not shameful. That is truth. And if that truth disturbs you, then perhaps it is because your power thrives on silence.”
Her voice never shook.
“I married Edger for reasons none of you were invited to know. But what I’ve come to understand… is that loving him also means standing with him. Even when the world turns cold.”
Silence. Stillness. Shock.
Even Edger looked stunned.
The Queen’s eyes softened, just barely. “Continue, Duchess.”
“I was told I was dangerous. Because of the blood I carry. Because of what I might remember, or what I might awaken. But I have remembered. And I have awakened. And I will not go back to sleep.”
The Queen stood. Her robes swept the dais like a storm.
“You speak as your mother once did,” she said quietly. “And like her, you may find yourself cornered by old enemies. Are you prepared to live with that weight?”
Hyacinth glanced at Edger. At the people whispering. At her own hands — clenched, resolved.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I carry it willingly.”
That night, at the estate, lightning split the sky over the garden terrace.
Edger found her there, soaked from the rain, eyes fixed on the distant hills.
He approached from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“I never wanted you to fight my battles,” he said softly.
“And yet,” she murmured, leaning into him, “you’ve made them my own.”
He pressed his forehead against hers. “You’ve done what no one else ever dared.”
“What?”
“Loved me… while I was still in ruins.”
She pulled back enough to look into his eyes. “You’re not in ruins, Edger. You’re just unfinished.”
And there, in the rain, beneath the shadow of scandal and legacy, they kissed — not for pleasure, but for survival.
But the shadows were not yet done with them.
In the early hours before dawn, a scream echoed through the hallway.
Patricia burst into Hyacinth’s room, eyes wide.
“There’s blood… near the stables. A warning, your Grace.”
Hyacinth threw on her robe and ran, heart in her throat.
On the stone near the stable wall, carved in black soot, was a single message:
“Stay out of what doesn’t belong to you.”
And next to it — a drawing.
Of her mother.
Crossed out in red.
- Writer
