Her Majestic Battle Cry

Chapter 1085

Marjorie had been standing quietly outside the courtyard. When she saw Carissa emerge, she curtsied respectfully and walked her to the gate. She had heard everything from her spot outside.

“How is the girl doing now?” Marjorie asked softly as they walked.

“She’s staying at the workshop,” Carissa said with a faint sigh. “But she hasn’t given up on trying to end her own life.”

Marjorie fell silent for a moment before murmuring, “What a tragedy.”

At the gate, she stopped and added, “If there’s anything I can do to help the girl, please don’t hesitate to let me know, Your Grace.”

Carissa inclined her head. “Thank you, Madam Marjorie. I’ll remember that.”

Marjorie curtsied once more, watching as Carissa mounted her horse and rode away. She remained at the gate for a long while, lost in thought, until Trey’s parents approached. They fell to their knees and pleaded with her.

“Please, my lady, call for a physician to save Trey!”

Marjorie’s expression turned cold as she looked down at them. “Ask Lord Quinton to make that decision. This is not something I can handle.”

Trey’s mother grabbed at Marjorie’s skirt as she begged, “My lady, please have mercy! Trey is our only son! We can’t let our family line die off!” All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

A flicker of anger flashed in Marjorie’s eyes. “He brought this on himself. Who else can you blame?”

She tugged her skirt free from the woman’s grip and turned to leave, ignoring the wails that followed her. On her way back, she felt lightheaded and leaned against her maid, Thea,

for support.

“Madam Marjorie, are you truly going to leave it be? What if the servants grow disloyal?” Thea asked hesitantly, finding it strange.

Marjorie was known for her fairness and kindness toward the household staff. Part of it was her gentle nature, but another part was practicality–she understood the danger of alienating the estate’s lifelong servants, who could easily tarnish the Quinton family’s reputation if they turned against them.

Under normal circumstances, Marjorie would have balanced punishment with mercy. Now, she really didn’t care anymore, despite the fact that Trey and his parents had been in the household for many years and knew a lot of things which could lead to trouble if they ever had thoughts of betrayal.

This time, Marjorie simply frowned and shook her head. “I can’t get involved. How could I justify it to that young lady?”

Thea tried again, cautiously saying, “But that young lady’s dad intended to send her to Lord Quinton. He refused her, but eventually, she would have been offered to warm someone else’s bed. She is just… an object meant to be used.”

“Be quiet!” Marjorie snapped, her voice sharp with anger. “What the Whitley family chooses to do is none of our business. But Trey wronged Ms. Whitley, and that’s a fact. Why bother with what ifs? What matters is what’s happening right now. You say she’s an object -what about you? You’re a woman too. How could you speak such cold, heartless words?”

When she saw how angry Marjorie was, Thea fell silent immediately.

Marjorie’s heart sank. It was a painful truth–sometimes, men viewed women as objects. At times, even women themselves saw each other the same way.

On the same day that Trey was dealt with, Violet snuck into the Whitley family’s residence at night.

She had thought that a person with such a heartless and cruel nature would have a cunning, deceitful face, or at least be ugly and repulsive. She never expected Douglas to look so honest and sincere.

His skin was fair, with round eyes that gleamed with an innocent brightness and a bright gaze. When Violet entered, dressed in all black, his eyes showed a hint of surprise, making him seem utterly innocent.

For a moment, Violet even wondered if she had the wrong person. It wasn’t until one of his concubines shrieked his name that she realized this was indeed Douglas, the man who had used his daughter for his own gain.

Still, she asked, “Are you Douglas Whitley?”

At the sight of the gleaming sword in her hand, Douglas‘ expression shifted to fear.

“Guards! There’s an assassin!” he screamed.

Violet wasted no time. She kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him crashing to the ground. She leaped into the air, her foot landing with a sickening snap on his lower leg.

His cries echoed through the room, loud and desperate. As she stomped on his back, her heel digging into his spine, she could hear the bones break, the sound bringing her a twisted sense of satisfaction.

The concubine huddled in terror, trembling on the bed. The guards outside? Already dealt with.

No one would come.

Violet’s assault was brutal. She targeted his limbs, his back, and then, to finish, she struck his innocent–looking face over and over, landing more than a dozen slaps. Blood poured from his mouth, and soon, he was dizzy and unconscious.

Only then did Violet give him one final, contemptuous kick to the head before turning and walking away.