If Love Comes, You Happen to Love Me

"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.

"Right!" Simon replied eagerly, dressed in a blue robe that wrapped around him like a cloak. He was tall and slender, following closely behind me, just as he used to do back home.

When we arrived at the High Court of Justice, the Chief Justice, who previously wouldn't have spared us a glance, came rushing out to greet us with a beaming smile. "Your Grace, what a surprise! You should have given me a heads-up. I would have sent someone to welcome you!"

I looked at the man beaming with false friendliness and couldn't help but scoff inwardly.

When you have no power, they ignore you, but once you hold influence, they scramble to ingratiate themselves.

Simon, however, maintained a serious facade, and his refusal to back down was evident. With a sly grin that narrowed his charming eyes, he quipped, "Lord Warrick, you're too kind. I'm not sure I can come back again after being sent away the last time!"

I followed closely behind, stifling a laugh at his boldness.

In front of me, Simon transformed from the obedient boy I knew at home into a little tyrant, wielding his sharp tongue like a weapon.

The moment he spoke, Lord Warrick's face twisted as if he had bitten into something sour. Yet, he could do nothing but force a smile. "Your Grace, you jest! It was merely a misunderstanding, and those under my command have been dealt with accordingly."

Hearing that, Simon scoffed, striding past him without a backward glance.

I followed, amused by his confidence.

With the title of heir, it seemed Simon's word was law, and Lord Warrick bent over backward to accommodate him.

After all, the current king was the Duke of Avon's brother, and he held a great deal of respect for the Duke. When word of Simon's tragic fate reached the throne, he was met with nothing but favor.

We entered the High Court of Justice without a hitch, but I soon realized things weren't as easy as I had hoped.

My father's case had been buried long ago, and finding any details now would be nearly impossible. Even if we asked Lord Warrick, he might not provide any truth.

Our best course of action was to search the prison where my father had been held for clues.

I exchanged a glance with Simon, who stepped closer and raised his voice intentionally. "Oh dear, I almost forgot why we came! It's about Eliza's father! Lord Warrick, would it be possible for us to visit the cell where my father was kept? Lady Eliza lost her father here, and visiting the place would ease her troubled heart."

We had a silent agreement, able to read each other's thoughts with just a look.

Lord Warrick's expression changed, uncertainty creeping in as his gaze flicked between us. He quickly donned a polite smile. "Your Grace, you shouldn't concern yourself with such a place. It's cold and unwelcoming. You're far too precious to enter a place like that."

His words carried a clear refusal.

I nodded along, noticing Simon's brow furrowed in confusion, though he was wise enough not to voice it.

Lord Warrick appeared relieved, but before he could fully exhale, I spoke up. "Then, Your Grace, I'll go on my own. You wait here for me."

Turning to Lord Warrick, I added, "Can we go now, my lord?"

His square face twitched, and he stole a glance at Simon's icy stare, trembling slightly. He seemed to reconsider his position. "Of course, I'll have someone escort you immediately, my lady."

The servant leading us was a humble lackey from the High Court, now respectful and deferential, far removed from his previous arrogance.

Once we reached the prison, he dutifully opened an empty cell, explaining that it was where my father had been held.

I followed his gesture, my gaze settling on the cold, empty space. The straw on the ground still bore remnants of blood.

I couldn't tell if it was my father's or someone else's.

My expression dimmed. "I see. You can go now; I'll find my way out."

The servant hesitated, but perhaps fearing Simon's influence, he didn't dare disobey me and retreated quietly.

The cell was dim, with only the occasional crackle from the brazier breaking the silence.

I didn't push the door open but spoke quietly, "Aren't you coming out?"