Aeron's voice echoed in the stunned silence like a stone tossed into still water.
"Y-Yeah, she is my promised!" he repeated, his voice louder this time—steadier, though still strained.
He swallowed hard.
"I-I mean… we've… been engaged… for a while now. It was kept quiet due to… circumstances."
His gaze flickered across the crowd—noblemen, merchants, curious commoners, and the ever-watchful eyes of the Redhart Brotherhood's enforcers cloaked in black. He avoided Livia and Emilia's burning stares as if they might set him aflame with just their fury.
He couldn't look at them.
Not now.
Especially not now.
"She—Vivienne—belongs to me. You… you can't just… separate us."
His voice cracked slightly on the last word, his hands trembling at his sides. His gaze darted once more toward the crowd, as if hoping that certain someone would step forward, someone who was supposed to be here, someone who asked him to do all of these.
But...
'Where the hell is he?' Aeron cursed inwardly.
Across from him, Thaddeus remained where he stood, one hand lazily tucked into the pocket of his crimson doublet, the other casually adjusting a golden ring on his finger.
His smile didn't waver.
He didn't speak to Aeron. Not a single word.
Instead, with the gentlest of turns, he faced Vivienne—his emerald eyes narrowing ever so slightly in a display of serene curiosity. His voice, smooth as velvet and sweet as nectar, spilled into the air.
"Lady Vivienne," he said, tone dipped in sympathy and subtle sorrow, "is what this young man says… true?"
He tilted his head slightly, offering her the kind of smile that was almost too kind—almost.
"H-Huh?" Vivienne froze.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Her thoughts churned like a whirlpool, drowning her.
'He said… promised? Engaged? But we only met today… What is going on? Is he trying to help me? Why would he? How did he even—'
Was he lying to protect her?
Was this his way of giving her a way out?
A gesture of kindness, perhaps…?
But…
She had already made her decision. Her heart ached, but it had been settled.
'Even if this is an act… my family will be safe. I must do this.'
She took a deep breath, steadying the tremble in her chest, turning slowly back toward Thaddeus.
Her voice began to form—
"I…"
But then—
"No, my lady! You can't!"
The cry cut through the tension like a lightning strike, jolting every head in the square toward its source.
Vivienne's eyes widened, spinning toward the voice.
"L-Lenora?"
Her maid stood at the edge of the crowd, her cheeks flushed, her hands trembling, her voice trembling with desperate conviction.
"You can't go with him!" Lenora shouted. "He doesn't love you! He doesn't care for you—not truly! He's just… he's just using you!"
The gathered onlookers gasped, scandal rising like steam from boiling water.
Emilia blinked, stunned. Livia covered her mouth.
For a moment, Vivienne just stared, shocked into silence.
Behind Thaddeus, one of the black-cloaked men—a tall, unkempt figure with a lazy slouch and a jagged scar across his cheek—licked his lips as his eyes locked onto Lenora.
"Bold little maid…" he muttered, an ugly glint in his eye.
Thaddeus's lips twitched—but only for the briefest heartbeat, before the mask of perfect nobility slid back into place.
He blinked slowly, then sighed, almost mournfully, as if the weight of the world had just pressed onto his elegant shoulders.
"I see…" he said gently, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "I did not expect such… hostility."
He stepped forward by a single measured pace, his voice softer now—almost hurt.
"Is that what you truly think of me, Lady Vivienne? That I would harm you? That I would use you?" His emerald eyes shimmered with wounded light. "After all I've offered… my protection, my resources, my genuine care…"
Vivienne's mouth opened again, but she couldn't find the words.
"I… I…"
"What?"
"...S-Sorry, please forgive her. S-She didn't mean it like that," she finally managed, voice small, her eyes flickering toward Lenora. "She was just worried. She always worries too much. She… misspoke."
"M-My lady-!" Lenora's face crumpled, but she didn't say another word.
Thaddeus gave her a gentle nod, though the air around him seemed to grow colder.
"I understand," he said softly. "Words spoken from fear often carry barbs that wound the innocent. It is not uncommon for servants to project their own anxieties onto those they serve."
He looked at Vivienne again.
The hurt expression remained—but this time, it felt more like a test than a plea.
He tilted his head, his next words sliding like silk and steel.
"Do they speak for you?" he asked.
His tone never rose. Never flared.
"Or will you speak for yourself?"
"I... I..."
Vivienne gulped, her throat tight.
Her eyes darted across the sea of faces, lingering for a heartbeat on Aeron—his desperate, trembling form—and then shifted to Lenora, whose tear-filled eyes pleaded for something Vivienne could no longer give.
Her heart thudded painfully.
This was it.
Her choice.
Her burden.
"...I..." she whispered, barely audible, her voice cracking under the weight of it all.
A moment passed.
Then—clearer, firmer this time:
"I... I agree."
A hush fell, the very air seeming to still.
Thaddeus's smile widened—not in mockery, but in triumph. And something else. Something dangerously close to joy.
He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of gratitude—or possession.
"Then it shall be so," he said, his voice rich with satisfaction, laced with unspoken promises. "You honor me, my lady."
Behind him, Emilia stared in disbelief, her lips parting slightly. Livia stood frozen, her gaze locked on Vivienne, her expression unreadable—somewhere between surprise and hesitation.
Aeron looked as if the ground had vanished beneath his feet. His lips moved, forming silent protests, but no sound escaped. His eyes—wide, stormy, wounded—searched for something. Anything.
Lenora… had fallen to her knees.
And for a moment, Thaddeus looked like a man who had won the world.
Until—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
A slow, deliberate rhythm echoed across the square.
Three crisp claps, breaking the spell like stones through glass.
'Damn it? Again?!' Thaddeus's expression faltered. Just a flicker. A single twitch in the corner of his mouth.
Then, from behind him, a voice rang out—smooth, amused, and laced with ice.
"Oh, you really do love her, don't you?"
The words dripped with sarcasm, a velvet dagger cutting through the pretense.
The smile vanished from Thaddeus's lips.
"..."
He did not turn immediately.
Instead, he closed his eyes, inhaled once—and then exhaled, slowly.
He slowly turned to the source of the voice.
"I must confess," he began, tone still polite, but colored now with unmistakable irritation, "I'm growing rather weary of interruptions today. Is there something in the air that compels every passing stranger to insert themselves into matters they scarcely understand?"
He turned just enough to glance over his shoulder.
"I suggest you leave the stage to those who—"
But then he stopped.
His words caught in his throat.
That familiar way of speaking...
'T-That voice.'
He turned fully now, slowly, his breath hitching.
His eyes met hers—and widened.
Standing there, poised at the edge of the crowd, was a young woman. Her blonde hair gleamed beneath the sun, but there was no warmth in her demeanor. Her arms were folded across her chest, and her gaze was colder than steel. No fury, no theatrical disgust. Just that—cold and unblinking eyes.
"C-C-Cassandra?!" Thaddeus stammered, eyes flickering across her as if trying to confirm she was real. "Y-You—W-What are you doing here?"
The woman tilted her head innocently.
Though her expression remained icy as ever.
"Oh, me?"
"I was just watching my fiancé propose to another woman," she said flatly. "Or would you prefer I applaud louder? After all, this is quite the performance."