The Noble Magistrate's Court was designed to make people feel small.

The ceilings were impossibly high, lost in shadow. The walls were paneled in dark, suffocating mahogany.

It smelled of beeswax and old grudges.

Marcus sat in the observation gallery. The wood bench was hard enough to bruise bone.

Beside him, Damien adjusted his collar. He looked bored, but his knee was bouncing.

"This is theater," Damien whispered. "Legally, they have nothing. They're hoping she cracks under the shame."

"She won't crack," Marcus said. He kept his eyes on the floor below.

The Ashwood family sat on the plaintiff's bench.

Richard's parents looked shrunken and gray.

They held hands, their eyes fixed on the floor. They looked like people who were just tired of hurting.

Behind them sat Richard's brother and sister.

They did not look tired. They looked hungry.

The brother checked his pocket watch every thirty seconds.

The sister stared at the defense table with the intensity of a vulture spotting a limp gazelle.

Then the heavy oak doors opened.

Seraphina entered.

She wore a dress of deep charcoal velvet. It was high-necked and severe, appropriate for mourning.

But it was tailored perfectly. It didn't hide her. It armored her.

She walked with the stride of a combat instructor. Her boots clicked rhythmically against the stone floor.

She didn't look at the gallery. She didn't look at the Ashwoods.

She walked to the defense table and sat down alone. She placed a single folder in front of her.

"All rise," the bailiff bellowed.

Magistrate Halloway entered. He was a man composed entirely of jowls and eyebrows. He looked like a bulldog wearing a wig.

He sat and banged his gavel. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

"We are here to hear the petition of the Ashwood family versus Lady Seraphina Ashwood," Halloway rumbled.

He peered over his spectacles.

"Proceed."

The Ashwood family representative was a thin man with a voice like tearing paper.

He paced in front of the Magistrate's bench. He gestured theatrically.

"This is not merely a matter of property, Your Honor," the representative said. "It is a matter of sanctity."

He turned to point a bony finger at Seraphina.

"The inheritance was conditional upon the widow maintaining the dignity of the Ashwood name. Maintaining the memory of the fallen hero."

He picked up a piece of parchment.

"We have witnesses," he announced.

The parade began.

First, a tea shop owner. He testified that Lady Seraphina had been seen laughing with a "strange man" for hours.

Next, a student. She nervously admitted that Professor Ashwood seemed "distracted" and "unusually happy" lately.

Finally, a minor noble who had attended the Royal Ball.

"She danced," the noble sniffed. "With Lord Aldridge. It was quite... spirited. Hardly the behavior of a grieving widow."

Marcus gripped the gallery railing. His knuckles turned white.

They were weaponizing her healing. Every smile he had helped her find was now evidence of a crime.

The representative circled back to the center of the room.

"Your Honor," he said softly. "Three years is a short time to forget a husband."

He paused for effect.

"Unless, of course, the attachment was never that strong to begin with."

A murmur rippled through the gallery. The noble spectators leaned in, eager for the scandal.

"Perhaps," the representative continued, his voice dripping with false sympathy, "Lady Seraphina was simply waiting for a better offer. A viscount's heir, perhaps?"

Seraphina didn't flinch. Her spine was steel.

But Marcus saw her hand tighten around the armrest of her chair. He saw the slight tremor in her jaw.

They weren't attacking her rights. They were attacking her love.

"They're baiting her," Damien whispered. "They want her to scream."

"She knows," Marcus said. "She's ready."

The representative finished with a flourish.

"We ask that the estate be returned to the family that truly honors Captain Richard Ashwood. Not the woman who uses his memory as a stepping stone."

He sat down. He looked smug. Richard's sister patted him on the arm.

Magistrate Halloway turned his heavy gaze to the defense table.

"Lady Seraphina," he rumbled. "Do you wish to speak?"

Seraphina stood up.

She didn't look at her folder. She didn't look at the representative.

She walked to the witness stand.

"I do, Your Honor."

Seraphina stood in the box. The light from the high windows caught the silver pin on her collar. It was the Ashwood crest.

She took a breath. It was deep and steady.

"I met Richard when I was nineteen," she began. Her voice was low, but it carried to every corner of the room.

"He stepped on my foot during a waltz. He apologized so profusely he knocked over a punch bowl."

A few people in the gallery chuckled. The Magistrate's eyebrows twitched.

"I began getting interested and eventually fell in love with him," Seraphina said.

"Not because he was graceful. But because he cared so much about making every little thing right."

She looked at Richard's parents. The mother looked up, tears in her eyes.

"We were married for two years," Seraphina continued. "Seven hundred and thirty days. I remember every one of them."

She turned to the Magistrate.

"The prosecution claims I have forgotten him. They claim my grief has expired."

She touched the silver pin.

"I grieve him when I wake up. I grieve him when I see a map he would have liked. I grieve him when I burn toast."

Her voice cracked. Just a little. A fissure in the stone.

"But the prosecution is right about one thing," she said. "I have started to smile again."

She looked up at the gallery. For a split second, her eyes met Marcus's.

"For three years, I thought honoring Richard meant dying with him," she said. "I thought I had to be a monument to his absence."

The room was deadly silent. Even the greedy brother had stopped checking his watch.

"But Richard was a soldier," Seraphina said. "He fought for life. He fought for the future."

She gripped the railing of the stand.

"Before he left for the last time, he told me something. He said, 'Phina, don't become a memorial.'"

Richard's mother let out a small sob. She buried her face in a handkerchief.

"I didn't listen," Seraphina admitted. "I became a statue. Cold. Frozen."

She straightened up. She looked formidable.

"But I am done being a statue, Your Honor. I am a living woman."

She swept her gaze across the room.

"Honoring a memory doesn't mean burying yourself alongside the coffin. It means living fully enough for both of you."

She turned to the Ashwood siblings. Her gaze was scorching.

"My husband left me his estate because he wanted me to be safe. He wanted me to have a life."

She turned back to the Magistrate.

"I intend to honor his wish. I intend to live. If that is a crime against his memory, then convict me."

She stepped down.

She walked back to her table.

The silence stretched. It was heavy and profound.

Nobody murmured. Nobody gossiped.

The Ashwood representative stood up to object, saw the look on the Magistrate's face, and slowly sat back down.

Magistrate Halloway didn't need to deliberate.

He shuffled his papers. He adjusted his glasses. He looked over them at the plaintiffs.

"The court finds the petition... distasteful," Halloway grumbled.

Richard's brother went pale.

"Inheritance law is clear," the Magistrate continued.

"There is no clause mandating perpetual misery. There is no legal requirement for a widow to wear sackcloth and ashes for the rest of her days."

He banged his gavel once. Softly.

"The conditions of the will have been met. Lady Seraphina has maintained the dignity of the Ashwood name far better than her accusers today."

He glared at the representative.

"Petition denied. Case dismissed with prejudice. Do not waste my time with this again."

The gavel came down hard. It was over.

The courtroom erupted into noise.

Richard's siblings looked furious. They began arguing with their lawyer immediately.

But Richard's parents stood up slowly.

The mother walked over to the defense table. Seraphina stood to meet her.

The older woman reached out. She took Seraphina's hands.

"He did say that," the mother whispered. "About the memorial. I remember."

"I'm sorry," Seraphina said softly.

"Don't be," the woman said. She glared at her other children over her shoulder. "You keep the house, Sera. You live in it."

She squeezed Seraphina's hands, then turned and walked away.

Seraphina stood there for a moment. She took a deep breath.

Then she gathered her folder and walked out.

Marcus met her in the courtyard.

The sun was blindingly bright after the gloom of the courtroom.

Seraphina was leaning against a stone pillar. She was shaking.

Marcus walked up to her. He didn't say congratulations. He didn't cheer.

He just stood there, blocking the sun from her eyes.

"You were incredible," Marcus said quietly.

Seraphina looked at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry.

"I was terrified," she admitted. "My knees were knocking together."

"Nobody saw," Marcus promised. "You looked like a queen."

She let out a long, shuddering sigh. The tension of weeks finally left her body.

"It's over," she said. "The house is mine. The past is... settled."

"And the future?" Marcus asked.

Seraphina looked at him.

The professional distance he had tried to maintain during their sessions was evaporating.

The adrenaline of the trial had burned it away.

She took a step closer.

"You helped me find those words," she said. "You helped me find... me."

"You did the work," Marcus deflected automatically. "I just asked the right questions."

Seraphina shook her head. A small, tired smile touched her lips.

"Stop being a consultant, Marcus."

She reached out. Her hand hovered near his.

"I answered the questions about Richard," she said softly. "I answered the questions about the past."

She looked down at the space between their hands. Then back up to his eyes.

"Keep asking them," she whispered. "Please."

"Asking what?" Marcus asked, his voice rough.

"Questions," she said. "About what I want. About who I am now."

Marcus looked at her hand. He wanted to take it. Every instinct in his body screamed to take it.

But the plan. The plot. The timeline.

He looked at her face. She was waiting. She wasn't pushing. She was just... there.

"I will," Marcus said.

It was a promise. It was a mistake. It was the only thing he could say.

Their fingers brushed. Just for a second. An electric jolt that went straight to his chest.

"Let's go," Seraphina said, pulling her hand back but keeping her eyes on him. "I think I finally have an appetite."

"Burned eggs?" Marcus joked weakly.

"Gods no," she laughed. "I was thinking steak. And maybe a very large glass of wine."

She turned and began to walk toward the gates.

Marcus watched her go. She walked lighter. The stone backpack was gone.

He checked his mental map of the plot. It was in tatters.

He checked his own heart. It was pounding.

And he... he just followed her like an idiot.

.

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A/N:

I know this chapter feels rushed because

- Firstly, I am not an expert in law

- Secondly, I didn't want to drag this part, cause I just had a feeling you guys will get bored and might dislike it

Anyways, If you are spending coins and reading this far, you must surely be liking the story. So please leave a review and drop some power stones.

Peace.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.