CHAPTER 319: THE WITCH IN COURT-I

Carriages arrived three hours early, long before court was set to begin. One by one, guests poured through the castle gates, yet unlike the usual spectacle of silks and jeweled fabrics, every man and woman wore black.

Today was no celebration. Today, they would witness with their own eyes whether the Crown’s bloodline would end with Cassius.

Clusters of ministers had begun to gather outside the court doors, their presence closely watched by the guests who had arrived as silent judges, eager spectators in a play too grim for fanfare. Whispers flowed between velvet sleeves and behind gloved hands, had the ministers reached a verdict? Would Cassius finally fall?

Helena, fully aware of the many eyes on her, clicked her tongue. She extended a gloved hand, and Paul quickly offered her a thin cigarette. John followed, striking a match to light it.

"I despise being the center of attention," Helena muttered, breathing in before exhaling a thin stream of smoke. "How the Crown Prince has endured it all these years, I’ll never know."

Paul glanced behind him and let out a low chuckle. "He was born different from the rest of us, after all."

Just then, Minister Rueben appeared, flanked by four others. Paul’s smile widened, but not from joy. Rather, it was a well practiced mask for the bitterness stirring beneath the surface.

The ministers offered the trio a curt nod, which they returned with equal restraint, before disappearing into the castle together.

"Oh dear," John murmured from Helena’s side. "It looks like more are leaning toward Queen Morgana’s side than ours."

Helena scoffed, tapping the ash from her cigarette. "Why do you think they’ve turned to her so quickly?"

"Considering how she hadn’t shown any promising feature of becoming a Queen, it is quite odd for them to suddenly turn against the crown prince, even if it is due to the woman who they all have called her as a witch," John added, whispering to the two as more guests arrived. "Now suddenly they act as if she’s the kingdom’s salvation."

He slipped his glasses into his pocket with a sigh. "Even Sir Farfetch... I thought if anyone would stay loyal to Cassius, it would be him. He’s always claimed to value pure noble blood above all. But apparently even that wasn’t reason enough to remain."

"Maybe," Paul said, his crimson eyes settling on Helena, "they had no choice but to follow Morgana."

His smile curled wider. "Am I right, Helena?"

Helena turned to meet his gaze, her eyes creasing into a pleasant, practiced smile. But before she could speak, John raised a brow.

"You mean she blackmailed them into obedience?" he asked. "But most of them have been loyal for years, surely there’s nothing she could use against them."

"Oh, John," Helena muttered with a half-laugh. "So innocent. It’s almost refreshing."

She flicked the ash from her cigarette. "Loyalty doesn’t mean spotless virtue. Even the most faithful make compromises, small sins here and there, usually to protect their families... or line their pockets."

"Take Farfetch, for example," she continued. "He’s always claimed to value honor and tradition, but I’ve heard whispers that he’s been raising taxes only in the lands he governs. Odd, isn’t it? Especially since his region hasn’t seen a drought or war in years."

"Coincidentally," Paul added, almost too casually, "his wife is expecting."

John’s eyes widened, his face paling slightly. He looked between them, clearly rattled. "You’re saying Morgana threatened his family?"

Paul tilted his head, lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m not saying anything. But people tend to fold quickly when the things they love are put at stake."

Helena took one last drag from her cigarette, exhaled slowly, and said, "It’s not about loyalty anymore, John. It’s about survival."

"What do you mean- his wife, Mrs Farfetch is already at the age of sixty. For her to become pregnant... and her family is wealthy isn’t she?" John stared at the two for answers but they looked at him back with a grin, making him to question why he was the only one who had not heard of this informations at all and began to reflect on his bad habit of hating gossips.

"So you don’t know yet," sighed Helena as she explained in haste, "The woman he had gotten pregnant is his mistress. For her, he could do anything and that includes begging his rightful wife for a divorce even if it means that his wife would take half of his wealth. It didn’t help that Farfetch already have a terrible spending habit or that his young wife is actually quite materialistic and couldn’t live far from luxuries. They burn through the money as easy as it is to breathe."

Shocked, John could only stare at them with his eyes unblinking.

"But that’s only a small sin.."

"Enough to have his title stripped," Paul said as they stepped into the castle halls. "And Farfetch, already neck deep in debt, wouldn’t dare risk that. Silly man," he added with a chiding shake of his head. "I always knew Morgana was clever, but I didn’t expect her to have so many ministers tucked neatly beneath her wing. Perhaps she didn’t just use their pasts against them—"

"—but their families, too," Helena finished with a nod, her tone darkening. "Some of them are weak, Paul. One threat to their children or wives, and they’d fold faster than a gambler with empty pockets."

"No wonder they all looked so ashamed," Paul mused.

Then he stopped abruptly.

His gaze landed on a woman in a soft green dress standing across the corridor.

She was slender, her figure graceful but fragile-looking, and her eyes, an almost translucent shade of green, shimmered like glass under the sunlight that filtered through the tall windows.

Unlike most vampires with their pallid, corpse like complexion, she looked vividly alive. Her fair skin held a natural flush, and her cheeks were touched with a healthy rose. There was a strange softness in her features, delicate, almost doll like, that drew stares from every passing guest.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Is she a princess from the human kingdoms?"

"Why is a human here?"

"Could she be here for Cassius?"

"How absurd..."

But Paul’s eyes narrowed with recognition. He knew instantly.

That was the girl, the slave, he had seen once in rags. Scrubbed clean and dressed like porcelain, she was transformed. The same striking face, now unveiled.

"That’s the witch?" he asked under his breath.

John turned as well, his brows knitting. "Ah, that’s the one His Highness kept close... The slave girl. So she’s

the one they thought was a witch?"

Helena chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Not thought, John. Is. I saw it with my own eyes, same as the others, though you two ran home before the show ended."

She folded her arms, her expression sharp with memory. "She was stabbed, right here." She tapped her chest. "A sword. Straight through. She pulled it out herself. Should have died... and yet, she didn’t. She screamed, yes, but didn’t fall. Didn’t bleed out. And now here she is standing like nothing ever happened."

"That’s quite an amazing feat," muttered John with admiration while Paul stared at her.

"But only surviving from a stab doesn’t make her a witch, correct? The witches I have heard in stories could do a lot of things, things that they call as magic," then tapping his elbow he hummed, "Maybe she could do more than just surviving death? If that’s the case, how interesting."

Arabella, well aware of the murmurs circling her like smoke, turned her head slightly. Her eyes, a cool and unreadable shade of green, swept across the crowd until they settled on the trio: Helena, Paul, and John, who had not made the slightest effort to hide their conversation.

With calm composure, she began to walk toward them.

The hem of her pale green gown whispered against the marble floors, her steps unhurried, her posture poised. Though she had no crown, no entourage, no gilded fanfare, there was something undeniably regal about the way she moved. The crowd shifted subtly as she passed, giving her space like waves parting for something sacred or dangerous.

Renard followed quietly behind her, dressed in a formal uniform reserved for court witnesses. In his gloved hand, he carried a sealed envelope, its crimson wax glinting faintly under the chandeliers.

Arabella stopped a few feet from the trio. Her expression was serene, her voice clear but not loud when she spoke.

"You must be Lady Helena, Sir John, and Sir Paul. My name is Arabella, as you might have heard before."

Helena smiled. It seemed that though it was from afar, somehow Arabella had heard their conversation and knew that they had been talking about her.

"You have quite the sharp hearing, like a vampire," said Helena and she returned the woman’s words with a smile.

"How charming. You’ve gained quite the audience today."

Paul studied her more closely now, his curiosity no longer masked. "You look different from before."

"I was dressed to serve before," Arabella replied evenly. "Now, I am here to speak."

Before another word could be exchanged, Renard stepped forward and offered the envelope to Paul. "This is from His Highness, Crown Prince Cassius," he announced solemnly. "He instructed me to deliver it only to someone who would be at the center of today’s decision making."

Paul’s brows lifted slightly in surprise, but he took the letter without hesitation. "Interesting," he murmured, running a finger over the wax seal, which bore the sigil of the royal family. He didn’t open it just yet, instead tucking it into the inner pocket of his coat.

"I suggest you read it before the court begins," Renard said but Arabella stared at the letter with curiosity which was noticed by Helena.

After all she didn’t know what was written in it too...