Chapter 417: Wench
These words seemed on the surface to neutrally remind the judge to refocus attention back onto the trial, but in reality, they completely favored the Crown Prince’s side. After all, Viscount Rostlin’s previous counterattack had relied entirely on the identity of that Inspector, once the latter’s neutrality was questioned, the former’s rebuttal immediately lost all ground.
After hearing this, Lucas’s eyes lost some of their irritation, and his azure gaze flickered with faint approval toward Astrid.
Although his younger sister had recently been acting increasingly self-willed, frequently taking actions far beyond his expectations and plans, and rarely coordinated with him in public, at this very moment, Astrid still stood firmly beside him.
In Lucas’s eyes, Alistair Valeria was their shared enemy. Unlike himself, who merely desires to possess the Empire’s most beautiful woman as his private concubine without harming her life, if Alistair ascended to power, Astrid, who had repeatedly ruined his plans, would certainly meet a tragic end, her fragrance fading into oblivion.
Any intelligent person knows which choice to make.
Upon hearing Astrid’s words, the judge nodded impassively, his gaze shifting toward Rostlin nearby.
"Princess Astrid speaks correctly. Since the Inspector’s neutrality is questionable, he cannot serve as a witness in this trial."
Although Lucas’s maneuver failed to completely crush Viscount Rostlin, this move had shifted public opinion toward the possibility that Rostlin indeed harbored secretly with held tax revenues.
In the judicial procedures of the Valeria Empire, the jury’s opinion was equally crucial, some might even call it the second most influential decision-making body after the judge. Once Rostlin exposed too many suspicious points, his chances of recovery will become increasingly slim.
The trial continued. Next, land survey reports appeared on the magical projection screen. The investigators had not only surveyed soil quality within Viscount Rostlin’s domain but also conducted climate studies and compared annual output data with neighboring regions.
"According to the above data, the rice yield per hectare in Viscount Rostlin’s territory is over twenty percent lower than that in Viscount Acksis’s adjacent lands. Based on the intelligence we currently have, the agricultural levels in both domains are extremely similar."
"Last year, the Empire enjoyed favorable weather, with no widespread droughts or floods. How does Viscount Rostlin explain this discrepancy?"
Faced with the judge’s inquiry, Rostlin fell silent for a moment.
"Your Honor, the aforementioned conditions appeared insufficiently to serve as concrete evidence for determining someone’s guilt."
"Perhaps these tenant farmers are lazy and gluttonous, unwilling to exert effort, idling their days away, thus causing the fertile fields to go to waste."
This was a common tactic among Valeria Empire nobles: shift blame onto others, thereby completely absolving themselves.
Nevertheless, one had to admit Rostlin’s argument held some truth. Annual output from a field rice depends not only on the land itself but even more on the tenant farmers responsible for sowing and harvesting.
"That does sound reasonable."
"Those lower-class tenant farmers are notoriously work-averse. Hanging them from windmills wouldn’t be a pity."
"I’ve heard Viscount Rostlin was furious about this matter before."
Upon hearing these words, whispers spread not only among the Second Prince’s faction but even among some nobles standing beside Astrid.
Listening to the low, chaotic murmurs around her, Astrid remained outwardly unmoved, her crimson eyes shimmering with subtle emotion. Once again, she marveled at why Lyra from the original novel couldn’t integrate into the noble circle, nor was she willing to try.
It truly reeked, almost nauseating. Arrogance, greed, innate and utterly baseless superiority, these traits seem etched into the code of most Imperial genetic nobles.
However, as the exalted Imperial Princess of the Valeria Empire, she probably had no moral standing to criticize them.
Astrid gave a self-mocking smile inwardly, gently grasping Amalia’s hand, watching the other’s smooth, delicate white-silk-clad calves sway slightly before the seat, like twin moons glowing with soft light.
"Your Honor, Viscount Rostlin’s words are not without merit," Alistair chimed in support at the right moment.
"If we’re merely reversing the process to reach a predetermined outcome, our perspective will inevitably carry preconceived bias."
............
Trials involving nobles were exponentially more difficult than those of commoners, let alone when Viscount Rostlin stood backed by the Second Prince Alistair. This trial was essentially an arena, only the two exalted princes were the true puppeteers behind the scenes.
Even neutral nobles with dull political senses began understanding something during the trial and began treading carefully. Such a large volume of damaging information against Viscount Rostlin couldn’t possibly have been gathered by the court or that new butler alone, the Crown Prince must have done extensive behind-the-scenes work.
As time passed, Lucas’s side continued failing to produce decisive evidence, while Alistair kept skillfully countering every move. Unnoticeable, the balance of victory quietly tilted toward the latter.
Seeing Lucas fall into disadvantage, Astrid fluttered her eyelashes slightly, her shapely legs gently swaying. The high heels’ back straps secure the soft, delicate black-silk-covered heels, revealing glimpses of fine-textured stockings and glossy leather with each movement.
Actually, convicting Viscount Rostlin was extremely simple, just confirm his fund movements or the missing portion of rice. But exactly this was the key evidence Lucas couldn’t obtain.
Could it be that Lucas is truly going to be outmatched by the Second Prince this time?
Glancing back at Lucas, the slender, blond man was continuously tapping his fingers against the armrest, his brows knitted with persistent irritation.
Still somewhat inadequate, Lucas Valeria.
While pondering, Astrid felt the warmth in her hand fading. She had just turned her head when she saw Amalia rising from her seat, moving gently closer, then sitting down on her lap.
Due to Amalia’s limited height, barely taller than the wide seat back, and because all other nobles were focused on the trial bench, no one noticed this petite girl’s action.
Although Amalia was clingy, she always knew how to distinguish priorities. This move clearly wasn’t merely seeking a hug.
Astrid wrapped her arms around Amalia’s waist, hands clasped in front of the girl’s skirt, her knees pressing against Amalia’s petticoat and thighs, letting her firm curves press against her own abdomen.
"Sister..."
Feeling Astrid’s breath brushing against her ear, Amalia lowered her voice.
"May I speak?"
"..."
Inhaling Amalia’s sweet, fragrant scent, Astrid pondered for several seconds before choosing to trust her.
"Of course."
According to prior speculation, Hibbort most likely knew of Amalia’s existence and intended to test her. Therefore, Astrid couldn’t let the latter remain completely hidden and unnoticed. Appropriately increasing Amalia’s exposure will also raise Hibbort’s estimation of this illegitimate daughter.
But under the current circumstances, what decision would Amalia make?
She had neither Lucas’s information network nor any favorable evidence. Moreover, throughout the entire trial, Alistair had already gained the upper hand.
A comeback seemed difficult.
On the other side, Amalia gazed at the judge on the stand, her back pressed against her sister’s soft, warm touch. Her bright red eyes flickered with indeterminate light.
"In other words, no one can guarantee the authenticity of that data."
Viscount Rostlin stood beneath the lights, his expression completely devoid of the tension he’d shown upon entering court.
"Or perhaps everyone simply prefers to believe the one-sided words of that lowly individual."
The sudden emergence of so much damaging intelligence clearly meant the Crown Prince had come well-prepared. Fortunately, Alistair had staunchly defended him throughout, and Lucas truly lacked sufficient evidence, convicting him was impossible.
Hearing Rostlin’s words, the judge seated high on the bench remained silent, only directing a solemn gaze toward the jury below.
Hibbort had chosen him as Royal Judge because he trusted him to uphold imperial justice. Given the current situation, lacking sufficient evidence, he truly couldn’t deliver a guilty verdict against Viscount Rostlin.
"Gentlemen, does anyone else have further opinions?"
The deep male voice echoed through the courtroom, causing even the candles in the corners to tremble slightly. Finance Minister Florence remained seated like a statue, as if his mere presence at the hearing was purely due to official obligation.
The noisy discussions below quickly quieted. Not a single person volunteered to speak. Rostlin’s peripheral vision caught the ripple-like fluctuations of the barrier surrounding his body; he believed victory was already his.
This contest will be their triumph.
"Your Honor."
At that moment, a clear, crisp female voice rang out from the jury bench, like a stone cast upon still water, sending ripples across the surface. Every gaze instantly turned toward the speaker.
A girl dressed in a pure black, puffed princess dress, with ink-black hair and crimson eyes, cold and aloof, sat on the lap of another equally beautiful silver-haired girl. She stared straight ahead at the judge, one slender, snow-white arm slightly raised, conspicuously visible among the crowd.
Behind her, the Empire’s most radiant Princess embraces the dark-haired girl’s waist with an intimate gesture, her cheek pressed against the girl’s earlobe, lips faintly pursed.
Two long, slender legs covered in delicate, sheer black stockings pressed closely against Amalia’s, hidden beneath the hooped princess dress, revealing only a small, tantalizingly textured section. Her deep, serene blood-colored eyes were half-lidded, as if everything was within calculation.
Astrid grasped Amalia’s other hand, like a puppeteer controlling a lovely doll. Her long, fair fingers gently caressed the back of Amalia’s hand. Her exquisite features drew closer, her pink lips disappearing into the dark hair, impossible to tell whether they were moving.
"Since there is no concrete, reliable evidence pointing to Viscount Rostlin’s tax evasion, perhaps we should reconsider and re-examine the previous trial procedures..."
Amalia spoke while straightening her back slightly, a flicker of shyness in her eyes, her body trembling faintly within Astrid’s embrace.
Feeling the slight tremble of the girl in her arms, Astrid blinked, tightening her arms both to comfort her and to obscure perception.
"The accusation being Viscount Rostlin’s butler, he should logically have access to partial receipts regarding grain taxes... Yet Viscount Rostlin clearly had no intention of entrusting such work to him..."
"In other words, regarding taxation, Viscount Rostlin dealt directly only with the Inspector, leaving significant room for misappropriation."
The cold, delicate girl speaks softly. Her patent leather heels carefully parted to avoid scratching her sister’s black-stockinged legs, the milk-white and night-black hues blending perfectly, enhancing a sense of harmonious beauty.
"As for the records, the tax amount Viscount Rostlin paid to the Emperor is indeed significantly lower than other lords’..."
"And the Inspector’s neutrality remains relatively questionable..."
Without presenting more conclusive evidence, Amalia simply reorganized and synthesized the useful information obtained during the trial, packaging them into a series of doubts and re-presenting them.
"Viscount Rostlin claims the butler, having refused his offer to raise his annual salary, harbored resentment and thus slandered him."
"But if it were merely petty grievances over wages, would daring to slander an Imperial noble truly be plausible?"
"The two exalted Princes and the Emperor’s most beloved Princess are all present here."
The same rhetoric Alistair had previously used, analyzing from motive that the Inspector couldn’t possibly collude with the Viscount to embezzle taxes. By the same logic, the butler’s possibility of slandering Rostlin out of personal vendetta was infinitesimal.
Then... could it possibly be the Crown Prince who instigated this?
Although Rostlin inwardly believed this possibility reached ninety percent, he couldn’t directly name or even hint at a higher mastermind before the judge. This trial was merely a proxy conflict between agents, he couldn’t risk escalating the matter, especially not by accusing a Prince.
Hearing Amalia’s words, Alistair frowned, his gaze sweeping over that snow-white, exquisite face. A flicker of familiarity passed through his mind, gone in an instant.
He certainly didn’t believe these words came from Livia Calliste, the ignorant, lowborn girl whose origins he didn’t even know, someone Astrid had picked up from who-knows-where. Even if she were exceptionally gifted and intelligent, she wouldn’t possibly have the courage to speak up in such a setting.
They were all Imperial nobles. Their mere presence alone could crush starving commoners.
Astrid had been so close to her just now, clearly, every word the girl spoke was under his dear sister’s instructions. She could have rebutted directly herself, yet chose this overly obvious indirect method.
’What a pretense, Wench.’
Muttering curses inwardly, Alistair watched Astrid bring her lips close to Amalia’s ear, so close it seemed she might kiss the earlobe.
And not only Alistair, other Imperial nobles, including Lucas, thought the same. Amalia’s slightly unnatural expression and voice, steady yet faintly trembling, reminded them all: the true voice behind the little girl was undoubtedly the silver-haired beside her.
But was that truly the case?
Feeling both legs restrained by Amalia, her fingers tightly clasped by the girl’s turned-over palm, Astrid rested her chin on her sister’s shoulder, continuing to half-close her eyes, waiting for what came next.