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... o freeze everyone in the room.

The Marquis, who had been silent in shock, finally asked in a slow voice, “Are you sure?”

“…Yes.”

The scholars behind the secretary nodded with determined expressions.

“We stake all our honors on it, Your Grace.”

Then, they began to list the reasons why the script was fake, one by one.

The Marquis hung his head low.

He wanted to shout at them, “What do you know?”

It wasn’t because of his honour or prid ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

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Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

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