The Swordswoman’s Revenge Story After Rebirth

Chapter 384: No Tribute

Clark had barely stepped into the courtyard when he was met with the sound of Harlan’s anguished wails. His heart clenched, and he rushed forward, only to be struck by the sight of the white silk noose hanging from the beam. The stark contrast against the dimly lit room was almost blinding.

Slowly, he turned his gaze and saw Geoffrey lying lifeless on the bed. Harlan was kneeling beside him, weeping bitterly, while Peyton stood to the side, his face heavy with sorrow.

“Father… Father!” Clark stumbled forward, his breath hitching in disbelief. Just this morning, he had come to pay his respects, and Geoffrey had been fine.

“How could this happen? How—how could this happen?” Clark sobbed as he fell to his knees.

Peyton pulled him up and spoke in a solemn voice. “Clark, change your clothes and come with me to the palace.”

“Peyton, what happened to my father?” Clark asked, his grief raw and uncontained.

“There is no time for questions now. I will explain on the way.” Peyton cast one last sorrowful glance at Geoffrey and muttered, “Do not worry. The promise I made to you—I will fulfill it. I will do everything in my power to protect Isolde.”

Clark was stunned. “Isolde? What happened to Isolde?”

He had been in the inner courtyard all day, unaware of the storm that had unfolded beyond its walls.

Peyton sighed deeply. “Come. Change your clothes first. I will have the carriage prepared.”

The previous day, the King had sent word to Thelma that he would dine with her that evening. Even with the upheaval caused by Isolde’s actions, though enraged, he still kept his word.

As soon as he entered the hall, Thelma noticed his displeased expression. She said nothing at first, merely instructing the servants to prepare a cup of coffee for him. Only after he had sipped his drink in silence did she finally speak.

“What’s the matter? You finally find time to dine with me, yet you sit here scowling.”

The King had never been one to hide things from Thelma. He exhaled sharply. “I know you think highly of Isolde, but that girl is neither loyal nor filial. She is undeserving of such favor.”

“What has she done?” Thelma asked, cradling her coffee, though her eyes held a knowing gleam.

She was well aware of Isolde’s predicament. The moment Isolde had failed to return home for her grandmother’s funeral, she had known trouble would come. She simply hadn’t expected Arthur to be the one to report her.

“Arthur accused her of being unfilial. Even after her grandmother passed, she refused to return and perform mourning rites. I ordered her to pay her respects at the grave, yet she defied my decree.” The King’s touch darkened. “Defying an imperial edict—such treachery cannot be overlooked.”

If she still wished to protect the girl, he could show leniency. If she said nothing, then Isolde would face her punishment.

Thelma took a slow sip of coffee before saying indifferently, “Defying an imperial order is a grave offense. She was foolish.”

The King narrowed his eyes slightly. She had acknowledged Isolde’s crime but had said nothing of her supposed lack of filial piety. He found it strange.

However, Thelma did not seem keen on prolonging the discussion. Instead, she changed the subject. “Ashley is due to enter the palace soon. Why don’t you issue an edict inviting Finnian to Argentum as well?”

The King frowned. “I have sent for him numerous times, yet he refuses to come. If I were to issue an imperial decree, it would only force his hand. I do not care to do such things.”

Thelma smiled. “If you truly wish to see him, I could arrange it.”

“That is too much trouble for you.” The King quickly dismissed the idea.

“Very well, we will speak of it another time.” Thelma set her cup down.

At that moment, Judith entered, smiling. “The meal is ready, Your Majesty, Your Grace.”

“Good. I’m actually starving,” the King remarked. “I had breakfast this morning, but I was too enraged to eat at noon.” He patted his stomach and chuckled.

Thelma shot him a look of fond amusement. “A King is bound to face anger every day. If you skip meals every time you’re upset, aren’t you just punishing yourself? You mustn’t do this again.”

“Yes, Mother.”

They took their seats and began their meal.

Halfway through, Thelma casually remarked, “Next month marks the anniversary of Callum’s death. I wish to offer tribute. Will you accompany me?”

The King froze, his expression hardening. “Mother, why would you honor him? He was a traitor who tried to seize my throne. I was merciful enough to grant him a complete burial. You know how much I despise him. Why would you suggest this?”

Thelma gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Because he was your Callum. Whatever he did, he is gone now. The past should be laid to rest.”

The King studied Thelma, confusion flickering in his gaze. Mother has always despised traitors. Why now, after all these years, does she wish to pay tribute?

“Forget it. I was merely speaking my thoughts,” Thelma said with a serene smile. “Eat.”

But the King had lost his appetite.

It had been his first battle for survival. The memory of it was scarred into his soul.

“I have no appetite. I should return.” Thelma set down her chopsticks and spoke calmly. “If you’re done, you should go as well.”

The King hesitated, then asked, “Did you mean something by your words earlier?”

Thelma smiled faintly. “Figure it out yourself.”

Then she turned away. “Judith, see the King out.”

The King studied her for a long moment before murmuring, “I take my leave.”

Upon returning to his chambers, he brooded over their conversation before summoning his Chief Eunuch. “Issue a decree. Have Doug investigate whether there was any discord between Isolde and her grandmother before her passing.”

The eunuch bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Just as he stepped outside, another eunuch, Heath Christian, entered, bowing deeply. “Your Majesty, Lord Peyton requests an audience.”

The King frowned. “At this hour? What does he want?”

“He has brought Mr. Langley with him,” Heath reported.

The King’s expression darkened slightly. A Langley? If Peyton has brought one to the palace, who else could it be but Geoffrey? Did he truly have the nerve to plead for his daughter after failing to raise her properly?

“Summon them.”

Moments later, Peyton and Clark entered the hall, bowing deeply.

“Your Majesty,” Peyton spoke, his voice choked with grief. “We are not here to plead for Isolde. I come bearing Geoffrey’s final request.”

The King stiffened. “Final request?”

Peyton took a deep breath. “Your Majesty, Geoffrey has passed.”

The King’s eyes widened. “What?”

“He took his own life,” Peyton said grimly.

Shock rippled through the King. “Why?”

Peyton held out the memorial. “This letter… will explain.”

“Bring it here.”

And now, he was gone. The King’s heart clenched as he unrolled the letter, bracing himself for its contents.