Eira took a breath—calm, steady and unshaken. Then she stepped forward, her boots clicking softly against the polished marble, echoing through the vast chamber like a drumbeat of defiance.
"You want someone to blame," she said, her voice clear and unflinching, "for disrupting the so-called peace between the noble houses? Fine. But if you're looking for the source of the rot, you'll have to dig deeper than a twelve-year-old girl."
Her eyes shifted to Maximilian Voclain, meeting his with unwavering composure.
"Let's talk about Cecil White," she said. "Or as he was known in recent months—Cecil Voclain."
A sudden slam echoed through the chamber. Maximilian's fist struck the bench before him with such force that it startled even the more stoic elders. His face was flushed red, his knuckles white with fury.
"That name is a lie," he spat. "Cecil was never a Voclain."
"Oh, but he was," Eira replied, unbothered. "It doesn't matter how many times you try to bury it, or how loudly you shout it down. The truth has a way of surviving."
A heavy silence fell over the hearing chamber.
She turned to face the gathered lords and ladies, her voice rising to carry across the room. "Adrian Voclain and Olivia White were childhood friends. They both attended Beauxbâtons. Their relationship—let's call it what it was it was intimate and sexual which resulted in Cecil being born. And it lasted for years, right up until their mysterious deaths. Deaths no one ever truly explained."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the room like a sudden wind.
"I don't believe they died," Eira continued, casually brushing back a lock of her white hair. "I suspect they disappeared. Faked their deaths to vanish from the burden of legacy and family, to live alone, together. Somewhere far from the eyes of judgment."
"Enough!" Maximilian bellowed, slamming the bench again with both fists. "That is complete nonsense! Lies! My father died honorably fighting dark wizards—I buried his burned body with my own hands!"
Eira raised an eyebrow. "Burned? How interesting."
"You have no proof," he hissed. "No evidence. Only fairy tales. And besides—right after Elijah White's death, conveniently, the rumors about Cecil being an illegitimate child surfaced. How convenient, isn't it? I have no doubt you were behind it, to secure your own place in the White family. Cecil would have been a threat to your position."
Eira smiled—not with amusement, but with the calmness of someone who had anticipated every word.
"Incorrect again," she said coolly. "I was named heiress to the House of White long before my grandfather's death. Cecil was never considered. And even if he were, my father—Damien White—disowned him publicly years ago. Cecil had no legal standing to inherit anything."
Maximilian scoffed, but Eira stepped closer, her gaze sharp as a dagger.
"As for proof… oh, I have plenty." Her smile curled wider. "But tell me, why should I show it to you? You're not a judge. This hearing is a performance at best, and I don't answer to your ego."
She paused, tilting her head.
"Still, since you're his brother—oops, my mistake—half-brother," she said with theatrical innocence, "I'll be kind and share just one piece of proof."
Maximilian visibly flinched, his face twisted in rage at the mention of the word brother.
Eira's voice dropped, intimate now, as if she were recalling a fond memory.
"When the news of Cecil being a Voclain first leaked, someone came to me. She arrived at my family estate, stepped into the garden where I was sitting, and begged—yes, begged—me to deny the truth. To say it was all a lie. She was desperate to protect the reputation of her cheating husband… and her precious family's honor."
Eira turned toward Maximilian again, her voice slicing clean through the quiet. "You know her, don't you, Maxi?"
The room gasped. Maximilian staggered back a half-step, face pale, trembling with fury.
"Yes," Eira said, nodding solemnly. "It was your mother. René Voclain. She was the one who asked me to keep quiet about the scandal. I held my tongue—until more of the truth began surfacing on its own."
A storm of murmurs burst across the chamber. Wizards leaned toward one another, whispering. Some looked at Maximilian. Others looked away, uncomfortable.
"Lies!" Maximilian roared, his voice hoarse and wild. "Lies! My mother would never do such a thing! You're trying to humiliate my family!"
Eira shrugged. "Then why not ask her yourself? Have her testify, right here and now. Surely the truth should not fear a little sunlight."
"She's… not well," Maximilian snapped. "She cannot appear before the court."
Eira gave a slow, knowing nod. "How convenient."
Then, she turned slightly, her tone cooling once again into dismissive indifference. "There you go. The illusion shattered. The scandal uncovered. The accusations against me? Weak distractions. There's nothing left to waste my time on."
She stood in her position, smiling faintly as she was enjoying the reactions.
Maximilian was still shouting, voice raw, hands gripping the edge of the bench. "You are a liar! You disgrace everything the Voclain name stands for!"