After that, we were taken to the Duke of Avon's estate and given rooms in the finest part of the house, surrounded by servants. We now lived lives of luxury, all because of Simon's assumed identity.
"...I understand." Perhaps recalling everything we had been through, Simon's resolve faltered. Even the most righteous boy could bend under such weight. His gaze fell, voice quiet, "Eliza, what do we do now?"
I studied the boy sitting across from me. His spirit dampened. My fingers tightened slightly. "First, we find out who framed our father."
From the moment we were beaten, insulted, and falsely accused, I swore to myself:
Honor, integrity, justice—what good were these things if I couldn't protect my family? If I couldn't even protect myself?
In a world where life was as fleeting as a gust of wind, justice belonged to those in power. If I couldn't grasp it from below, I would climb until I could take it for myself.
"Let's go to the High Court of Justice," I said softly, glancing at the young man beside me.
In recent days, news of the Duke of Avon reclaiming his rightful heir had spread throughout London, and no one dared to look down on Simon and me anymore.