Chapter 73

“You are right. One must eat to think properly. Um, excuse me.”

When Elwin gestured to order their morning meal, the innkeeper approached the table. He lingered, his gaze snagging on the black silk over Leon’s eye, and he tilted his head in overt confusion.

“Young Master, did you call for me? And if I might ask, was this gentleman wearing that patch yesterday as well? Hmm.”

“If one stares too intently at the light, one’s eyes are bound to suffer. I am always—”

Anticipating some absurd quip about Elwin’s beauty, Elwin jabbed Leon sharply in the side with his elbow. The innkeeper, entirely oblivious to the tension, continued to scrutinize Leon’s features, muttering with escalating bewilderment, “I have a nagging feeling I have seen that face somewhere before.”

Leon pivoted, diverting the conversation with fluid, effortless grace, showing no flicker of alarm. “Innkeeper, our young lord is quite distressed by his hunger. Will breakfast take much longer to prepare?”

Upon hearing that his distinguished guest was starving, the innkeeper’s internal gears ground to a halt. He startled, bowing low before dashing toward the kitchen. “Please, just a moment! I shall bring your meal out as quick as lightning.”

The promise was no mere boast, for a decadent spread soon graced their table. Beyond the standard fare of bread, marmalade, eggs, and rich black tea, they were served thick slices of bacon and fresh fruit—luxuries conspicuously absent from the other tables. Leon tore a piece of rye bread in two and chuckled.

“It seems that wherever I go in the company of Sir Elwin, we receive exceptional treatment.”

“That is entirely thanks to you.”

Elwin’s reply was not merely a polite deflection. The preferential treatment stemmed directly from the articles Leon had orchestrated. The man who had propelled Elwin into the world’s spotlight was, with heavy irony, currently shielding his own features behind an eyepatch and a low-brimmed hat.

“Did you hear?” Leon asked. “They say the preliminary hearing is set for this afternoon. We ought to depart for the courthouse at the appropriate time.”

“So I heard. It will be a day of battle. I shall stand firmly at your side.”

Elwin hesitated, his expression softening with concern. “Will you be all right? You appeared quite distressed at the constabulary yesterday; you need not force yourself to attend if it is too much.”

Leon had been so visibly haunted by the constabulary that Elwin feared he might succumb to a fainting spell in court. In response to the gentle inquiry, Leon offered a radiant smile.

“Ah, that matter. I pondered it at length last night. But since you asked me to place my trust in you, I believe I shall attempt to be brave.”

“…What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that a man who has prepared himself to cast aside his mask has nothing left to fear.”

Elwin hovered on the verge of clarifying that what Leon wore was a simple eyepatch rather than a mask, but he bit his tongue, assuming Leon was speaking in metaphors. It seemed Leon intended to drop his facade today.

It was a reveal Elwin had long awaited, but…

Surely he does not intend to drop the charade today of all days? He cannot possibly mean to incite a disturbance in the middle of a hearing. Surely not.

Though his suspicion deepened, Elwin refrained from pressing further, clinging to the hope that Leon possessed at least a modicum of common sense. He had no inkling that Leon was constructing a performance far beyond his wildest imagination.

By the time they finished their meal, the street outside the inn had transformed into a cacophony of murmurs. A crowd had gathered to catch a glimpse of Elwin, and the glint of notebooks and predatory eyes confirmed that the press was among them.

“Young Master, the carriage has arrived, though it is waiting on the far side of the building. There are simply too many people clogging this alleyway. Might I suggest you exit through the rear?”

Elwin, already drained by the mere sight of the throng through the curtains, nodded his approval. “That would be for the best. I regret that my presence has become such a nuisance to your business.”

“A nuisance? Not at all! This is magnificent publicity. There was even a piece in the morning paper naming our inn as your place of residence.”

The innkeeper, beaming with reflected glory, ushered them toward the back exit. Though the alley was quieter than the main street, a handful of reporters were already lying in wait. As Elwin stepped into the light, they swarmed, raining questions down upon him.

“Sir Elwin! How are you holding up before the preliminary hearing?”

The shout drew the rest of the pack from the front of the building. Elwin, entirely unaccustomed to such frantic aggression, froze, paralyzed by indecision. Before the crowd could surge, Leon stepped in, wrapping an arm around Elwin’s shoulders and using his free hand to carve a path through the wall of bodies.

“Please, just one word, Sir Elwin! The gentleman accompanying you—wait. Is that…?”

By the time they reached the hired carriage, the reporters were faltering, their relentless questions dying into confused murmurs as they retreated. Leon saw Elwin safely into the cabin before turning back to the press.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press. As you are well aware, the preliminary hearing for Dwight Percival Hollingsworth will commence shortly at the Northern Magistrates’ Court. Should you wish to hear more of the truth, I suggest you meet us there.”

With that pronouncement, Leon pulled off his hat, revealing his face, and offered the stunned reporters a mocking, sharp salute.

“Uhh…!”

Whatever they had expected, this was not it. The reporters blinked in catatonic silence. Leon did not wait for a response, ducking into the carriage and slamming the door shut. Elwin stared at him, bewildered, but Leon merely smiled with a knowing, enigmatic flair.

As the carriage rattled toward the Northern Magistrates’ Court, the stunned reporters began scrambling into their own waiting transport, desperate to give chase. Elwin glanced out the rear window, his blood running cold.

“Look at them. They are following us all the way to the courthouse. How can this be?”

“Why are you surprised? There will be even more waiting for us at our destination.”

“Surely not.”

Elwin’s disbelief was absolute, yet ten minutes later, as they drew up to the Northern Magistrates’ Court, he found his caution justified; the gates were swamped by a sea of spectators and ink-stained reporters.

The moment Elwin stepped from the carriage, a surging throng descended upon him. Spectators craned their necks to glimpse his features, while others shoved toward the front, their applause and shouts of encouragement echoing against the cobblestones.

Though grateful for the fervent display, Elwin felt the tide of the crowd threatening to sweep him away; should he lose his footing, he knew he would never reach the courthouse doors. Having suffered a sleepless night, his physical stamina was brittle, and he found himself nearly suffocated by the press of bodies.

He likely would have fainted or missed his appointed time had Leon not intervened, expertly cleaving a path through the throng to forge a way forward. Yet, upon reaching the heavy iron gates, their progress was halted by the guard, who delivered a disheartening report.

“What? You mean to say the public gallery is already at capacity?”

“Indeed, sir. The intensity of public interest has been overwhelming,” the guard replied, gesturing toward the interior. “For noble spectators, we might offer space in the second-floor balcony, but…”

The balcony was far too detached from the bench. For Elwin, who hoped to plead his case directly to the magistrate should an opening arise, such a distance was entirely unacceptable. As Elwin’s brow furrowed in distress, Leon, standing close at his side, hesitated before speaking.

“In that case, I might be able to…”

Leon reached for the back of his head, his hands poised to remove his eyepatch. Before he could act, however, a man burst from the courthouse entrance, calling out to Elwin.

“Young Master Elwin! A spectator in the front row has volunteered to surrender their seat! Please, come inside at once!”

“Oh, that is wonderful news! Certainly, the man at the heart of this matter belongs in the gallery rather than among the mere observers!”

“Young Master, make haste! Follow me!”

They were absolute strangers to him, yet they treated him with a familiarity born of the newspapers’ recent coverage. They clearly harbored goodwill toward his cause. Elwin offered a brief, sincere expression of gratitude before stepping into the cool dimness of the building. Leon, meanwhile, awkwardly lowered his hands, abandoned his plan, and fell into step behind him.

The preliminary hearing room was a vision of austerity. A deep, crimson carpet spanned the marble floor, and the stone walls were adorned with the royal crest alongside the standards of the court. The bench loomed high, designed to intimidate all who entered. Even the most raucous spectators had been hushed into respectful murmurs by the gravity of the architecture.

A large portion of the gallery appeared to be occupied by reporters rather than casual observers. They were already frantic, their quills scratching across parchment as they filled notebooks with dense, methodical accounts. Some cast curious, appraising glances toward Elwin, pausing occasionally to sketch his profile.

As the clock struck two in the afternoon, the tension in the room thickened into something palpable.

“All rise,” the bailiff intoned. “The presiding magistrate is entering.”