Chapter 1735: Chapter 1735

The conversation in the study continued. Chocolate’s tail tapped rhythmically against the back of Jenkins’s hand as Queen Isabella challenged the view Miss Windsor had just presented—that Jenkins was a king, not a bureaucrat.

“And is that answer based on your feelings or your reason?” the Queen inquired.

“On reason, of course,” Miss Windsor replied with perfect composure.

That’s a lie... hmm? Jenkins thought, the realization of what that meant dawning on him. His face tightened, and a wave of uncertainty washed over him before he remembered he was still holding Sigrid’s hand. She, in turn, held his tightly, giving him no chance to pull away.

“If you believe it to be reason, then continue to act upon it. Jessica, though you did not grow up by my side, I know you better than you think. But sometimes... effort does not always yield reward.”

Jenkins was certain he understood the hidden meaning in her words, and he noticed that everyone seemed to be studying his expression. He had no experience with such situations and had no idea how he was supposed to react, so he decided to speak up himself.

“This is not for you to concern yourself with. And given your current position, you have no right to say such things to us.”

He couldn’t comprehend how she, after committing such evil and implicating innocent lives, could so calmly offer them “guidance” as if she were a wise elder. He didn’t understand. Did Queen Isabella feel not even a shred of remorse toward the three of them? To Jenkins, such guilt was something any normal person would feel.

“We’ll leave it at that for today,” he declared. “While the Church will certainly not demand your life for a life, please remember this: seven innocent people died because of you, and Sigrid nearly lost her life as well.”

Sensing from Jenkins’s tone that he wished to take his leave, Miss Windsor and Sigrid also rose to their feet. But before he could scoop up the cat from the back of the chair, the old woman spoke again. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on novel·fire·net

“I almost forgot... Jenkins, happy birthday.”

A sudden fire ignited in his chest, though Jenkins couldn’t pinpoint the source of his anger. He could only nod to acknowledge her words, but then she produced a long, slender wooden box from beneath the coffee table.

The blood-red box was crafted from fine materials with exquisite artistry. Jenkins could see brass clasps on its eight long edges. The top surface was adorned with the masterfully carved figure of a kitten, so lifelike it bore a striking resemblance to Chocolate.

The box was tied with a colorful ribbon, clearly intended as a gift. Recalling that both ladies had refused the old woman’s offer of inheritance, Jenkins felt he couldn’t lose face and resolved not to reach for it. But to his surprise, Miss Windsor gave him a gentle nudge, while Sigrid squeezed the hand she held, a silent command for him not to just stand there.

A muscle twitched at the corner of Jenkins’s mouth. He understood that no matter how displeased he was, some things simply had to be accepted. She was the nation’s beloved Queen, adored by her people, a monarch who had ruled the Fidektri Kingdom for nearly fifty years. The crucial transfer of power to come was still deeply connected to her. Even as a Saint with the Church’s backing, if he truly wanted a peaceful and orderly transition, the Church’s authority and his own strength were not enough.

The Church and he could certainly suppress a nation by force, but what would be the point? Especially after he had just learned of a very interesting sort of transaction.

Besides, even if he laid all his cards on the table and revealed his every identity to Queen Isabella, it wouldn’t be enough to intimidate her. This world was not a theocracy. For a fleeting moment, Jenkins thought that a theocracy wouldn’t be so bad, but then he realized that was only his perspective from his current position. The peculiar system they had now, a peaceful coexistence of divine and royal power, was the best option.

“So, I have to accept this gift,” he reasoned internally. “It shows that I am angry, but I don’t want to burn this bridge completely.”

His face a stony mask, he took the box, but offered no thanks.

The three of them turned to depart, but at that moment, they heard Queen Isabella call out Sigrid Capet’s name.

“I am truly sorry,” the old woman said once more.

Jenkins thought he heard the young woman beside him let out a cold snort. No one acknowledged the apology as they left the study together.

According to the information Jenkins had received, the Church did not intend to deal with Queen Isabella’s involvement with the Tree House organization harshly. The very next day, the first of July, she would be permitted to return to the Tri-King Summit.

It was deeply unfair. If a powerless commoner had collaborated with an illegal organization and murdered seven innocent people, their fate would not have been nearly so simple.

But Queen Isabella was right—the world was often unfair. Even if most people felt her punishment did not match her crimes, she would ultimately not receive the justice she deserved.

Still, enough people would remember what had happened. Perhaps that memory would give rise to new variables in the future.

As the three of them left the residence, their moods were somber. It was half past three in the afternoon. Jenkins had accomplished his main task for the day. Aside from picking up Alexia and Dolores in the evening, his schedule was clear.

Seeing his companions were not in high spirits, he spontaneously invited them for a stroll around the city. But Jenkins had overestimated his skills at choosing recreational activities. Once Miss Windsor and Sigrid agreed, he had no idea where they should actually go.

He then remembered that he still needed to book tickets for his family to see a play that evening, so he had the carriage take them to the theater. They managed to buy tickets for the evening performance, but the theater was closed for the day.

He then wracked his brain and recalled being invited to a concert by Hathaway, but that club required a membership to enter. He couldn’t invite guests on his own.

“I know a club here in Nolan. Why don’t we go and sit for a while? It’s getting quite hot, and there’s no need to stay outdoors,” Miss Windsor suggested.

Jenkins glanced at Sigrid. She didn’t object, so he agreed.

Before she became familiar with Jenkins, Miss Windsor’s primary sphere of activity had been Bel Diran, the true center of power and politics in the Fidektri Kingdom. She only visited Nolan occasionally, so the “familiar” club she mentioned was, in fact, one she owned herself.

The club, whose name meant “The Golden Rose,” had been established by Miss Windsor as a place for Nolan’s noblewomen to gather and socialize. Compared to the ladies’ clubs Jenkins had visited multiple times with Hathaway and Briny, Miss Windsor’s establishment was more of a high-end networking venue than a place for casual relaxation.

She led Jenkins and Sigrid into her private room. The entire wall opposite the door was a single, seamless pane of glass—a curtain wall. Jenkins had never expected to encounter such an architectural style in this era.

The room’s interior was simple. The walls were painted a gentle, warm yellow, adorned with modest landscape oil paintings. To the left stood a semicircular solid wood desk, larger than a single bed, its surface neatly arranged with books, an inkwell, a pen stand, and other stationery.

A red mat lay at the entrance, followed by an expensive knit carpet. To the right was a set of sofas and a matching coffee table. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and brass gas lamps were fixed high on the walls.

“You don’t seem very surprised by this,” Miss Windsor remarked, noticing that Jenkins had given the glass wall a calm glance before turning his interest to the paintings.

“Surprised? Oh, yes, surprised. I’ve never seen a wall before... But this faces the street, and we’re only on the third floor. Aren’t you worried about being seen from outside?”

Without resorting to supernatural powers, true one-way glass did not exist in this era.

“Normally, the curtains are drawn. It seemed like a wonderful idea when I was paying for it, but I only recognized the problem after it was built,” Miss Windsor said with a slight frown. She had the servants outside come in, draw the curtains, and instructed them not to disturb the three of them.

The room immediately grew dim. The curtains were a yellow, floral-printed fabric, which tinted the sunlight that managed to pierce the city’s gray mist an even deeper shade of ochre.

The three of them sat on the sofa. The gas lamps on the wall had been lit, so the lighting was adequate. Jenkins opened the gift box in front of them. Inside lay an exceptionally exquisite seal. The handle was carved in the shape of a crouching kitten, and the base bore the design of the family crest he had received with his viscount title.

Of course, the seal was an ordinary object, possessing no supernatural power, but it was cast from solid silver. It was a single, seamless piece, with no visible joints or welds. As a work of art alone, it was priceless.

“You don’t have a personal seal yet, do you?” Sigrid asked from beside him.

Jenkins understood her meaning at once. He tucked the seal back into the box.

“I won’t be using this as a seal. Besides, I have no occasion to use one. I believe a handwritten signature is more formal.”

His action clearly won the approval of both ladies.