As her laughter finally faded, the silence that followed felt even louder. Eira straightened herself, the echoes still lingering like ghosts in the grand courtroom.
Maximilian Voclain’s hand curled around the armrest of his high-backed seat, his knuckles whitening with restraint. His voice was as cold as the marble beneath their feet.
"What is the aning of this, Lady White?" he asked, the title sliding off his tongue with disdain. "Do you take this hearing as a joke? Or is this your idea of showing disrespect to the noble blood gathered here today?"
Eira lifted her eyes and t his gaze—unshaken, unimpressed.
"A joke you say?" she repeated. "To begin with, this entire hearing is a joke. I don’t see any Ministry officials present. No judges. No due process. All I see is a gathering of noble families—so not even French. Foreigners, watching from the shadows, whispering behind closed fans, pretending this parade of arrogance is law."
Gasps rippled through the chamber. Maximilian’s jaw clenched.
"You do not decide who presides here," he snapped. "That is not your concern. The judgnt lies with the Twelve—"
"Oh, but it is my concern," Eira cut in sharply, her voice rising over the noise. "Because it shows just how broken this system is. How weak your Ministry has beco. You’ve allowed yourselves to be puppeteered by old families who confuse influence for authority. There’s no law here. No governance. Just self-appointed tyrants draped in tradition, specially you Maximilian."
"Enough," Maximilian barked. "You will address as ’Judge’ Voclain. You will not speak to in this manner."
"No," Eira said, her tone now laced with quiet disgust. "I won’t. I won’t call you that. Because you’re not a judge. You’re just a man sitting in a stolen chair."
The chamber buzzed with unrest. Faces twisted in confusion, anger, and reluctant fascination.
"I never imagined the French magical community could fall so low," she continued. "So desperate to cling to the illusion of order that you abandon every shred of dignity to satisfy a vendetta. Today, you’ve made a joke not of , but of yourselves. Of your laws. Of your Ministry."
Maximilian’s sneer returned. "So you are mocking us."
"I’m not the one who turned a courtroom into a stage for nobles to air their bruised egos," she replied coolly.
"You forget your place. This hearing is about you, Lady White," he hissed. "You are the accused. Do not twist this with speeches about governance or honor."
"I forget nothing," Eira said. "But since you brought it up—if this is truly about , then let’s speak about the accusations."
Maximilian shook his head. "There is no need. The verdict has already been declared. This court is adjourned—"
"No," Eira snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. "This is not over. I will speak."
She turned then, facing the grand gallery of pureblood families seated in the tiered rows above. "I dare any of you to leave this chamber before hearing what I have to say. Go on. Walk out. But I promise you this—you will regret it."
A hush fell over the room. The boldness of her defiance struck sothing raw.
Maximilian’s face darkened. "Is that a threat?"
Whispers rose like a tide behind her—outraged murmurs of "She’s just a child," "She mocks the court," "This is blasphemy."
But Eira didn’t flinch. Her voice lowered, steady and slow, as if daring each word to be carved into stone.
"No. Not a threat. A warning. You brought here to humiliate the na of White. You dragged before these strangers without even the dignity of an official summons, without giving a chance to defend myself. You pronounced your verdict before you ever let speak. You think that makes you powerful?"
She turned back to Maximilian, her eyes colder than winter. "It makes you pathetic."
A tremble went through his hand again—barely visible, but not to her.
"Speak then," he muttered, fury barely contained. "Say whatever it is you think will save you. But I assure you, Lady White, it will not change the decision made today. The Twelve have spoken. The Ministry will follow."
From across the chamber, Isabella Voclain—the French Minister of Magic, and Eira’s aunt—sat unmoving, her face a marble mask. She said nothing. Not a single word. Her silence was heavier than judgnt.
Eira nodded slowly.
"Then listen closely," she said. "Because this will be the only ti I explain myself to you."
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