Eira turned slowly, letting her voice carry across the vast chamber, measured and unwavering.
"You brought me here to humiliate me. To drag the White family's name through the mud. And to pass judgment without due process. You gave me no time to prepare, no right to defend myself, and no courtesy due to the head of an established magical house." She paused, gaze sweeping across the courtroom, letting her words sink into the silence. "And yet here I stand—not begging, not broken… and certainly not finished."
A hush fell over the gallery. Dozens of eyes watched her now—not with ridicule, but with something far closer to attention.
Eira lifted her chin. "You want to talk about conflict? Then let's talk about it."
Maximilian leaned forward, his voice tight with irritation. "There is no need. The court has already judged—"
"No, no, no," Eira said sharply. "You said I could speak. And I will. And you will listen."
There was a tremble in Maximilian's hand as it rested on the bench, his jaw tightening—but he said nothing.
"Let's go back," Eira continued coldly. "I'm accused of being the root of the feud between the Trévér and Voclain families. But we all know that conflict was ignited long before I was even born. Roman Trévér's death? Tragic. Unquestionably. But who really knows what happened that night in the Trévér villa?"
She let that hang in the air a beat too long.
"And now, conveniently, I am accused of being the reason for all the unrest in France. Typical. The moment something goes wrong, the first to be blamed is always the outsider. The foreigner. The one who doesn't fit into your fragile image of perfection."
Gasps and murmurs stirred across the hall, but Eira pressed on, voice firm.
"That's what you do here, isn't it? Blame others. Blame the British. Blame the powerful White family. Blame me. You point your fingers outward so you never have to look inward."
Maximilian sneered. "Please spare us the lecture, girl. You know nothing of who we are."
"Oh, there it is," Eira said with a smile. "That good old French noble arrogance. Still choking the truth like ivy around a dead tree."
A few of the noble families in the gallery stiffened at the remark, but she didn't waver.
"Let's talk about this feud you've decided to pin on me. The truth is, the conflict between the Trévér and Voclain families is ancient. Petty. Drenched in blood and pride. And frankly—" she shrugged "—far beneath my interest , I actually don't even bother to pay attention to these petty little vendetta between two insignificant families ."
Maximilian opened his mouth to interject, but she held up a hand.
"No. You spoke. I listened. Now it's my turn."
He sank back, glowering.
"The truth is, the flames only reignited when Roman Trévér and Cecil Voclain—" she said his name deliberately, watching the flicker of rage across Maximilian's face, "—were found dead in the Trévér villa."
"Cecil was not a Voclain!" Maximilian roared.
Eira didn't even blink. "We'll get to that part. Be patient."
She turned slightly, addressing the room again.
"The deaths of Roman and Cecil sparked chaos. The Trévérs attacked Voclain-owned shops and properties. Innocent people were harmed and brutally killed . And yes, even my hotel—registered in the White family's name—was burned to the ground. But did I retaliate? No. I didn't press charges. I didn't seek vengeance. Why? Because I assumed—naively—that they were grieving their dead son. That grief had blinded them."
From the Trévér side of the room, Alina Trévér's fingers twitched, though her face remained a composed mask. Charles Trévér started to speak, but Eira silenced him with a glance.
"And yet," she continued, "the true murderer of those two young men? Still unknown. Still at large. Still not apprehended by the French Ministry. So perhaps instead of interrogating me, you should question your own Ministry's competence."
She turned back to Maximilian. "I, at least, still respect the authority of the Ministry of Magic. Which is more than I can say for you. You've tossed aside the law like a worn-out cloak."
Maximilian's face reddened. "You dare—"
But Eira cut him off again. "And now, let's speak about your evidence. You parade a handful of merchants who claimed they were bribed by the White family to sabotage Trévér trade in the Americas. Do you really expect anyone to believe that? That we, one of the oldest magical families in whole Europe , would sully our name by conspiring with common smugglers?"
She sighed, loud and theatrical. "The accusation itself is laughable. If you were trying to fabricate evidence, at least make the effort to make it believable. A few paid liars claiming they 'ran into' a White family member and were offered gold to ruin Trévér shipments?" She scoffed. "It's such a poor performance, I'm almost offended."
Maximilian scowled. "Their testimonies are recorded. Verified."
"Verified how?" Eira shot back. "No Veritaserum. No certified oath. No Ministry oversight. If this were a real hearing, the accused would face the truth under spellbound testimony, and the witnesses would be properly examined. But you didn't want truth. You wanted theatre."
She looked around at the gathered nobles.
"And you all sat here, applauding this farce. Letting it happen. You allowed this chamber to be turned into a circus. But I promise you this—"
Her voice dropped.
"—you will not silence me. And when the real Ministry wakes up from this delusion you've wrapped around it, the consequences will not be mine to bear."
Silence fell like a blade.
For a long moment, no one moved. Then Maximilian, red with fury, leaned forward with barely restrained rage.
"Are you finished?" he asked, voice trembling.
Eira gave a small, cold smile.
"Oh, not even close."