How To End This Marriage-Chapter 158: The Accusation of the Knight

"Your Highness," a guard informed the Crown Prince, "someone is at the palace entrance, demanding to see you."

"Is there a problem?" the Crown Prince inquired.

"Yes, Your Highness," the guard replied. "The man insists on entering despite our attempts to stop him. He possesses exceptional strength, overpowering the guards."

"He wishes to meet you in an audience with all the higher authorities, including the Duke, Duchess, and Princess," the guard continued. "Did he mention his reason for seeking an audience?"

"No, Your Highness," the guard admitted. "He only repeats his desire to speak before everyone."

The Crown Prince rose from his throne. "Very well, allow him in and summon the authorities for the audience." He strode towards the audience hall and took his seat, surrounded by the court.

"Your Highness, is this audience necessary?" a Minister inquired.

"Indeed," the Crown Prince declared. "Someone has arrived with a message he desires to share publicly."

"May we inquire about his identity?" the Minister asked.

"I’m afraid I don’t know," the Crown Prince admitted. "When the individual arrives, we’ll hear their reasons firsthand." He spoke with a firm, yet courteous, tone, asserting his authority.

"Your Highness, the man seeking the audience has arrived," a guard announced, pushing forward an elderly man. Despite his age, resembling the Emperor in years, his arms bore the mark of a seasoned knight.

"You may leave," the Crown Prince said, then turned to the old man. "Tell us, what brings you here? Why the public audience, the demand for the presence of the court? Do you fear our disapproval?"

Startled by the directness, the old man replied, "Yes, Your Highness! I fear your rejection, even imprisonment or execution, for what I have to say."

"Execution?" the Crown Prince echoed, his brows furrowing. "Why do you believe such a harsh response is warranted?"

"The gravity of my message necessitated this audience, Your Highness," the old man explained, adding to the air of mystery. "Now, may I speak, with the assurance that your word will not be broken?"

"A Minister rose, his voice sharp. "Such audacity! You disrespect the Crown Prince!"

Unfazed, the old man repeated, "I seek only what I deserve from the Royal Family. Your Highness, will you hear me out?"

The Crown Prince, maintaining his composure, replied, "Yes, speak your truth. I will hear you and weigh your words carefully before reaching a conclusion. I will not break my promise."

"As you’ve given your word," the old man stated, "I shall speak my wish. I want my daughter back."

A gasp rippled through the court. "Your daughter?" the Crown Prince echoed, bewildered. "Do we know her?"

The old man smiled enigmatically. "Indeed, Your Highness. You know her quite well. In fact, she recently joined your household."

"Is he referring to the Princess?" a Minister whispered.

"Yes," another confirmed. "She arrived at the palace not long ago."

"And as she’s the only one who fits your description," a third chimed in, "it must be her."

Murmurs of speculation filled the hall. The Crown Prince, however, frowned deeply, clenching his fists on the throne’s armrests.

"Riddles?" he growled. "There are no riddles here. I want my daughter back," the old man insisted. "The daughter I lost years ago. Knowing she’s alive filled me with such joy, and I’ve come to reclaim her."

"Who are you speaking of?" the Crown Prince pressed, his voice laced with suspicion.

"Your Highness," the old man declared, his voice gaining strength, "I speak of the Princess!"

The Crown Prince shot to his feet, outrage boiling in his chest. "What nonsense is this? Do you dare mock the Royal Family? What kind of conspiracy are you weaving?" He bellowed, and knights swiftly surrounded the old man, swords glinting dangerously at his throat.

"Mockery is far from my mind," the old man countered, his eyes unwavering. "I know my place. It’s why I left the palace long ago, leaving behind the love of my life, who chose power and riches over my love. But I never knew she kept our child hidden from me all these years."

The Duke stepped forward, his glare icy. "You dare besmirch the memory of the late Empress? Such audacity! Shame a dead woman who can no longer defend herself?"

"I seek no shame," the old man retorted. "I only want my daughter. After years of searching, I’ve finally entered the palace again to retrieve my precious jewel. Had the Empress lived, I would have come sooner."

"But why didn’t you try to find out about her death?" the Duke challenged.

"Because she was a cruel woman," the old man spat. "Power was her only desire. She left me after a single sunrise, pushing me away as the sun rose. Perhaps she feared the truth would come out with the child’s birth. Maybe she even tried to kill our daughter, but a maid saved her."

The Duke scoffed. "This sounds like a fantastical tale."

"No tale, Your Highness," the old man pleaded, turning back to the Crown Prince. "You promised to grant my wish. Return my daughter to me. Give me back what she stole."

A murmur of agreement spread through the crowd. "He might be telling the truth!" someone whispered. "No man would speak of his daughter like that if it wasn’t true."

"So the Empress Jessica was truly such a woman?" another gasped. "I can’t believe it! She painted such a pure image, and now..."

The whispers swirled, creating a maelstrom of doubt and intrigue. The Crown Prince stood frozen, caught between his duty to protect his family and the unsettling weight of the old man’s words.

"Silence!" the Crown Prince boomed, his voice echoing through the hall. "I will not tolerate such accusations against the late Empress! Anyone can fabricate such claims. How can you expect me to believe a stranger’s words without proof?"

"Precisely why I’ve brought a witness, Your Highness," the old man countered calmly. "Someone who can vouch for my presence in the palace."

With a flourish, he beckoned towards the entrance. A knight, still clad in the royal uniform, strode into the hall.

"You!" the Crown Prince exclaimed, disbelief coloring his voice. "You served in the palace?"

"Indeed, Your Highness," the knight confirmed, bowing his head respectfully. "And I recall Sir... er... (name, if provided), serving faithfully as the late Empress’s personal knight."

A tense silence descended upon the room. The Crown Prince gripped the throne’s armrests, knuckles white with suppressed anger.

"This is preposterous!" he finally declared. "This cannot be true."

"Yet, you promised to grant any wish, Your Highness," the old man reminded him, his voice unwavering. "Will you now deny justice to your own kin?"

Before the Crown Prince could respond, a sharp voice cut through the air. Princess Sylvia, eyes blazing with indignation, emerged from the crowd.

"Enough!" she commanded, her gaze fixed on the old man. "You mock the royal family with your baseless accusations. Who are you to claim kinship with me?"

The old man flinched but reached towards her pleadingly. "My daughter," he rasped, "it’s me, your father."

Sylvia remained unmoved. "Father? Prove it," she challenged, her voice laced with doubt. "And until then, maintain your distance. My mother’s memory deserves respect, even if you don’t."

Her words echoed in the stunned silence. The old man stammered, "P-princess... the maid... she took you... your mother wanted..."

"The maid?" Sylvia interrupted, her brow raised. "You claim a maid saved me from my own mother, yet you have no idea what happened to her? No details, no investigation? Your story crumbles with every inconsistency."

A flicker of fear crossed the old man’s face. Sylvia pressed on, her voice growing colder. "Do you think the maid, whoever she was, wouldn’t have told me the truth? Do you think she’d raise me, teach me, love me, without revealing my origins? Your claims are hollow, riddled with contradictions."

"Brainwashed..." the old man mumbled, grasping at straws.

"By whom?" Sylvia scoffed. "The ghost of a maid you invented? The very maid who supposedly whisked me away to safety? Come now, your fabrication unravels with every thread."

The tension in the room crackled like lightning. The once confident old man now stood exposed, his accusations dangling precariously in the air.

"Perhaps I misspoke," the old man admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "Age has a way of playing tricks on memory, and I fear some things have grown hazy."

"Very well," Princess Sylvia conceded, her eyes narrowed. "But for a man of your alleged age, you possess remarkable strength, easily overpowering the royal guards."

The old man flinched, a flicker of shame crossing his face. "Perhaps," he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper.

"And yet," Sylvia continued, her tone mocking, "your memory seems selective. You recall my mother, claim me as your daughter, even remember my imminent birth. But such precision doesn’t quite gel with your supposed forgetfulness, does it?"

He looked up, his eyes pleading. "How could I forget the one I love, my child?"