There was a sharp knock on the grand wooden doors, echoing through the hallway of the manor. The servants, startled from their evening duties, hurried to answer. As the doors creaked open, three royal guards, dressed in immaculate uniforms, and a stern police officer stepped inside. Their demeanor was serious, their eyes scanning the room for any sign of resistance.
In the parlor, Lord Frances stood anxiously, his hands trembling as he clutched the edge of the record device. He took a deep breath and began to explain everything—his voice steady despite the tension. The device captured every word, every confession and detail of the events that had transpired. The air was thick with apprehension as the guards listened intently, occasionally exchanging glances with the police officer.
Once
