Chapter 176: Last resort
Misty Kilmer had once walked through palaces with the assurance of someone who believed influence could be stitched into a hemline or secured through whispered favors. She had kissed the rings of power and pretended they belonged to her. But today, she sat in shackles. Beige fabric, state-issued and too stiff, clung to her arms. Her wrists ached from the cuffs. Her throat itched from silence.
And every eye in the courtroom was watching her fall.
Christian’s army of lawyers had turned paperwork into weapons, each affidavit and certified copy a blow to her name, her dealings, and her carefully cultivated illusion of control. Words like "forgery," "coercion," and "contractual fraud" were thrown across the chamber with clinical precision, and Misty couldn’t find her footing in any of it.
She had built her empire out of half-truths and borrowed favors. She had promised her son as a commodity, not a child. And now?
Now Lucas had vanished from her control, reborn under the silk-and-gold protection of House Fitzgeralt and that ruthless woman, Serathine.
She glanced across the chamber. The boy seated up front, perfectly composed, radiant with power, was unmistakably Lucas. Or so she believed. And he didn’t flinch as they dragged her name through the dirt.
He had changed.
He no longer needed her. Worse, he had outgrown the shame she used to weaponize.
The fear twisted into something hotter. Pettier.
If they wanted to bury her, she would make sure they’d choke on the dirt.
When the justiciar asked if she had anything to say, Misty’s voice rang out before she could reconsider.
"If this court wants the full truth, perhaps it should ask the Emperor why he never claimed his son."