Episode 39

The music filled the ballroom with deceptive beauty, but the night was growing darker with each passing moment. As Gabriel and Lilian glided effortlessly across the dance floor, their movements sealed a silent promise of what was to come. Meanwhile, Whitaker ascended the steps toward the King, who had been watching everything with sharp attention.

The monarch, a man whose presence commanded the room without the need for words, had already recognized that this ball was far more than a mere celebration. Subtle whispers between nobles. Unspoken alliances shifting like chess pieces across the board. But he already knew.

Because hours before, Gabriel Sinclair had sent him a letter.

And tonight, nothing would happen that the King had not already considered.

A palpable tension spread through the ballroom, an expectant hush settling over the guests as Whitaker approached the throne.

"Your Majesty," he began, his tone respectful, measured. "Allow me to express my concern. It seems that some gentlemen in this room have forgotten the proper respect for the laws that govern our society."

The King set his wine glass down, his gaze assessing Whitaker with quiet scrutiny. "Laws, Lord Whitaker?"

Whitaker inclined his head just slightly, feigning humility. "I am referring to Lord Sinclair, Your Majesty. I believe everyone in this room can witness that he has been actively working to discredit me and interfere with an already accepted engagement. Naturally, this raises questions about his true intentions."

The monarch did not respond immediately. His gaze swept across the ballroom before settling on Gabriel, who now stood beside Lilian. The young earl met the King’s stare without hesitation. Then, the King straightened and spoke, his voice cutting through the silence of the hall.

"Lord Sinclair. I believe you have something you wish to say to me?"

A deep hush fell over the room. Gabriel cast a brief glance at Lilian before stepping forward. "Indeed, Your Majesty," he answered, offering a respectful bow.

Whitaker folded his arms, a cold, disdainful smile curving his lips. "I’m curious to hear what excuse he has for his behaviour tonight."

Gabriel did not acknowledge him. His focus remained on the King.

"My actions tonight, Your Majesty, were not reckless. They were necessary."

The murmurs in the ballroom intensified. The orchestra fell silent, and the attention of every noble in the room converged on the center of the hall.

The King lifted his chin slightly. "Then enlighten us."

Gabriel gestured discreetly to one of the attendants, who promptly stepped forward with a sealed envelope. With deliberate steps, Gabriel advanced toward the monarch and presented him with the documents.

"Here lies the true face of Lord Whitaker."

Whitaker remained still, but a flicker of unease flashed through his gaze.

The King broke the seal, unfolded the papers, and examined them in silence. His once-neutral expression darkened as he read. And when he finally lifted his eyes again, his voice rang out like a sentence passed in court.

"Lord Whitaker, I must ask if you wish to respond to the accusations presented here."

A visible tension ran through Whitaker’s body. "Accusations?" His voice remained calm, but there was a rigid sharpness to his words.

The King placed the documents down on the table beside him.

"Accumulated debts. Fraud. Extortion… And, most damning of all, human trafficking and the sale of strategic information on British trade routes. Treason against the Crown."

A shockwave rippled through the ballroom. Gasps of disbelief. Outraged whispers.

Whitaker maintained his facade of composure, but the subtle clench of his fingers betrayed the tension coiling within him.

"Your Majesty, these accusations are absurd." His tone remained even, though the strain was evident. "This is nothing more than the desperate ploy of a man seeking to take what is rightfully mine."

He gestured toward the gathered guests, attempting to reclaim control. "Lord Sinclair envies my position, my engagement to Lady Lilian. There is not a single shred of real proof in these documents."

Gabriel stepped forward, his voice steady, unyielding. "The evidence has been verified, and I have witnesses willing to testify before Your Majesty."

From the side of the ballroom, the Duke of Cavendish crossed his arms, his sharp eyes fixed on Whitaker. For years, he had believed he knew this man well. Now, he saw the truth—what Lilian had seen long before him.

The King raised a hand, and the murmuring ceased at once.

"Lord Whitaker," he said, his tone low but absolute, "until these allegations are thoroughly investigated, your title and privileges are hereby suspended."

The room shuddered with shock. Whitaker opened his mouth, but the King’s piercing stare silenced him.