Chapter 467: Confirmed
The journey back to the Dukedom passed without incident. No storms, no sudden attacks, no interruptions. Just the steady sound of waves, the occasional rustle of the sails, and the quiet murmurs of knights tending to their duties.
It was almost unsettling how quickly the tension faded once they left the cavern behind.
Aeliana had expected her father to question Lucavion further, to press him for more answers, but instead, Duke Thaddeus withdrew, focusing on his own matters the moment they arrived. He had barely spared Lucavion another glance, leaving them alone the second they set foot on solid ground.
Lucavion didn't seem to mind. If anything, he looked rather pleased about it.
But Aeliana… she couldn't shake something from her mind.
She had meant to forget it, to brush it aside as just another one of his ridiculous antics, but no matter how much she tried to ignore it, the words lingered.
"And what happens if I don't take care of it?"
"Well, I don't know. I'd say… you'd probably die early?"
That moment.
That expression.
The way Lucavion had tilted his head slightly, smirk still there but thinner, weaker. The way his black eyes had turned distant, not in amusement, not in dismissal—but something else.
Something she couldn't name.
'That wasn't the reaction I expected.'
Aeliana had seen how people responded to the idea of their own death. She had lived through it herself, after all. She knew the numb disbelief, the hollow laughter, the anger that followed. The desperate need to fight against something that felt inevitable.
But Lucavion…
His reaction was none of those things.
He hadn't been surprised.
He hadn't even looked particularly concerned.
It was almost as if—
'He already knew.'
Aeliana's fingers curled slightly at her sides.
'What was that face?'
She didn't understand why it bothered her.
Why it felt like something was wrong when he had simply done what he always did—laugh, deflect, brush things off like they were nothing.
Aeliana barely had time to dwell on her thoughts when a sharp voice cut through the air.
"This is impossible!"
Aeliana's gaze snapped toward the source of the outburst, her brows furrowing.
Inside her chambers, standing rigid beside her bed, was Physician Luthier, the head of the Thaddeus Duchy's medical division. His usually composed face was a mask of shock, his hand trembling slightly as it hovered just above the bed where Aeliana had once spent years.
Aeliana straightened, her amber eyes narrowing. "What?"
The room was silent for a moment, except for the heavy breathing of the physician. Then—Luthier turned abruptly, his sharp gaze scanning the gathered servants, knights, and attendants who had come to witness his examination.
"She is cured." His voice wavered, disbelieving. "Completely. Not just improved—not just in remission—but entirely, utterly cured."
Murmurs broke out immediately.
The servants, who had spent years tending to their sickly lady, exchanging quiet looks of pity behind veils of formality, now whispered in disbelief.
"It can't be…"
"But her condition was—"
"Even the best healers—"
"How did this happen?"
Luthier's fingers curled into a tight fist, his eyes filled with something unspoken. Confusion. Frustration. Awe.
"There is not a single trace of the affliction left in her body," he murmured, as if trying to convince himself. "Her organs, her mana circulation, even her physical strength—it's as if she was never sick to begin with."
Aeliana watched him carefully.
'Why does this feel… strange?'
She had expected this reaction. Expected disbelief, expected people to be shaken.
But Luthier's reaction—it wasn't just professional concern.
It was something deeper.
As if this should not be possible.
Then—
A new voice entered the conversation, smooth and composed, carrying the weight of authority.
"Please, allow me to check as well."
The room stilled.
Because that voice belonged to Magister Veylan, the court mage of the Dukedom.
A man with immense knowledge, a trusted advisor to Duke Thaddeus, and a renowned expert in magical afflictions.
The crowd parted instantly, as if an invisible force had shifted them aside.
Aeliana's gaze landed on the tall, robed figure who had stepped forward. Veylan's presence alone was enough to command silence.
His piercing gray eyes swept across the room before locking onto Aeliana.
He studied her for a long moment.
Then—without hesitation—he raised a single hand.
Mana swelled.
A deep, rich blue light flickered from his fingertips, forming intricate runes in the air—ancient scripts of diagnostic magic that very few could interpret.
Aeliana felt the energy wash over her, pressing against her skin like a current of water.
It lasted only a moment.
Then—
The magic faltered.
Veylan's expression shifted.
His fingers twitched slightly before he slowly lowered his hand.
"How can this be possible?"
His voice was not loud.
But it was heavy.
Weighted with something that made the room seem smaller.
Luthier turned to him immediately. "Magister, what did you see?"
Veylan didn't respond at first. His gray eyes remained locked onto Aeliana, his brows furrowing ever so slightly.
Then—finally—he spoke.
"Her mana core…"
Aeliana tensed.
Veylan's gaze sharpened.
"It's not just healed." His voice was quiet but firm. "It's stronger."
A heavier silence fell over the room.
Luthier's eyes widened. "Stronger?"
Veylan slowly nodded. "Her mana flow is not simply restored—it's… more refined. More controlled. It's as if her body has undergone… a kind of reconstruction."
Reconstruction.
That word made something click in Aeliana's mind.
Body reconstruction.
The same term that had been used when Lirian examined Lucavion.
The weight in the room grew heavier.
Duke Thaddeus had remained silent throughout the exchange, his golden eyes fixed on Aeliana with an unreadable expression.
No.
Not unreadable.
Those who knew him—who had served him long enough—could see it. The barely restrained shift in his gaze, the way his fingers curled just slightly at his side, the subtle tightening of his jaw.
He was holding back.
Holding back something.
Because now, it was confirmed.
His daughter had been changed in a way that defied all reason.
But then—
"No," Luthier muttered, shaking his head abruptly. "This is different from Body Reconstruction."
Veylan turned to him sharply. "What do you mean?"
Luthier's brows furrowed as he stepped closer to Aeliana, studying her as if he were seeing her for the first time.
"Her body did not break down and reform like in standard reconstruction. There is no sign of forced adaptation, no traces of instability. But…" His voice trailed off, his hands hovering slightly as if he could feel something unseen.
"There is something here. Some kind of energy… not just mana, but something else."
His fingers twitched as his eyes flickered with growing realization.
"It's the vitality of—" He stopped. A sharp inhale. "What… what is even this? Who came up with such a method?!"
Aeliana's brows drew together. "What method?"
Luthier spun to her.
His excitement crackled in his movements as he stepped forward, his hands gripping her arms.
"This energy," he said, his voice nearly breathless. "My lady, do you know what this is? This is the energy of the Skyroot Herb!"
Aeliana stiffened.
The murmurs around the room grew louder, confusion rippling through the servants and knights alike.
The Skyroot Herb.
It could not be refined into potions, nor could it be used in its raw form without immense preparation.
And yet—
Luthier's grip on Aeliana tightened. "My lady, where did you get it? How did this even happen?"
His eyes gleamed with an almost frantic curiosity, as if the very answer could shake the foundation of medical knowledge.
But before he could press further—
"Calm down."
Chapter 468: Confirmed (2)
"Calm down."
The command was cold.
Absolute.
Luthier's entire body froze.
The Duke's voice had not been raised, but the sheer weight behind it sent an unmistakable message.
Slowly, Luthier realized what he was doing. His fingers loosened immediately as he took a step back, bowing his head in apology.
Duke Thaddeus exhaled through his nose, his golden eyes sharp as they flickered toward him. "Elaborate."
Luthier took a steadying breath, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves as he collected his thoughts. His hands no longer trembled with excitement, but his voice carried the weight of discovery as he began speaking.
"The Eternal Skyroot Herb is one of the rarest herbs known to exist," he started, his voice measured yet filled with unmistakable reverence. "It is said to grow only in the highest peaks of the Skyshadow Mountains, where mana converges and crystallizes into its purest form. The environment required for its growth is so unique—so extreme—that very few have ever laid eyes on it, let alone used it successfully."
His gaze flickered toward Aeliana, a strange mixture of disbelief and fascination in his eyes.
"There have been instances," he continued, "where physicians and scholars attempted to use the Eternal Skyroot Herb in medicine. Cases of desperate nobles seeking a cure for incurable ailments, warriors hoping to restore their shattered mana cores, even some reckless researchers believing it could enhance their longevity. And yet—"
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
"It was ineffective."
A murmur spread through the room.
Aeliana remained silent, listening intently.
Luthier pressed on. "The reason for this failure is believed to be tied to cultivation itself. The Eternal Skyroot Herb is pure mana—unrefined, untainted, and untamed. Unlike common medicinal herbs that work in harmony with the body's natural processes, the Eternal Skyroot forces itself into the user's system, disrupting their internal balance. Most individuals simply cannot assimilate it, no matter how strong they are. Even among high-ranking cultivators, absorption rates are unpredictable and often result in failure."
His expression darkened slightly. "In some cases, the attempt even resulted in… fatal consequences."
The air in the room turned cold.
Aeliana's fingers twitched slightly against her dress, but she remained composed.
Luthier turned back to her fully now, his eyes keen, demanding understanding.
"But you," he said, his voice quiet yet firm, "not only absorbed it—you thrived."
Aeliana didn't react immediately.
Because she, too, was beginning to understand.
Luthier took a step closer, but this time, he did not reach for her.
"The way your body has changed—your mana flow, your core, even your physical vitality—it has all been fundamentally altered. It's as if the herb's energy has been completely woven into your being. That should not be possible."
Veylan, who had been silent for a while, finally spoke, his tone sharp.
"You are certain it was the Eternal Skyroot?"
Luthier nodded without hesitation. "Absolutely. I recognize the traces of it within her aura—it's unmistakable. But what I don't understand is how."
Aeliana inhaled slowly.
She already knew the answer.
Or at least—
She knew who had the answer.
Because there had only been one person with her when this happened.
One person who had seen it, who had been there when she changed.
Lucavion.
Luthier's breath was steady, but his eyes still gleamed with barely concealed urgency.
"If we were to understand how this happened," he continued, voice firmer now, "then perhaps… other victims of similar illnesses could be saved."
The words sent another ripple through the room.
Aeliana's fingers twitched slightly at her sides.
Because she understood the weight behind them.
She had spent years trapped in her body, her illness gnawing at her existence like a slow-burning curse. There had been no cure. No remedy, no magic, no hope. The greatest physicians, the finest alchemists, the most powerful mages in the empire had all come to the same conclusion.
She had been meant to die.
And yet—here she stood.
She could see it in Luthier's eyes.
This was more than just medical curiosity.
It was possibility.
The idea that the incurable could be cured.
That the lost could be saved.
Duke Thaddeus remained silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting between Aeliana, Luthier, and Veylan. His expression remained unreadable—but those who knew him well could see the weight behind his gaze.
Finally, he exhaled.
"I will investigate this matter further," he stated, his voice calm but absolute. "But for now, this is enough."
His words settled like stone.
Firm. Unshakable.
Luthier visibly tensed, as if he wanted to argue, to demand more, but he knew better. He swallowed his frustration and stepped back, bowing deeply.
"Please," he murmured.
The Duke's golden eyes met his.
Then—a nod.
Silent acknowledgment.
Luthier exhaled, understanding the unspoken command.
Duke Thaddeus then lifted a hand, his fingers making a single, dismissive motion.
The conversation was over.
The tension did not disappear, but no one dared to question his authority.
One by one, the attendants and knights stepped back, murmuring amongst themselves, while Luthier and Veylan exchanged glances.
Duke Thaddeus' golden eyes flickered, his gaze sharp as he turned toward the mage.
"You said her core is strengthened?"
Veylan, the mage who had been studying Aeliana's mana flow all this time, nodded without hesitation.
"That is right," he confirmed, his tone measured but unwavering. "In fact, you should be able to see it even better than I can, since the cultivation technique she had practiced before appears to be the same as yours."
A pause.
Then Thaddeus nodded.
Without another word, he stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and Aeliana. His presence was calm but commanding, his golden eyes assessing, not as a father, but as a warrior, as a man who had spent his life mastering mana and battle.
Aeliana, for her part, did not flinch. She met his gaze evenly, her amber eyes unyielding.
Thaddeus raised his hand, not touching her, but hovering just close enough for his mana to brush against hers. A pulse of energy flickered through the space between them, invisible to the others, but unmistakable to those who could feel it.
Then—
His eyes widened.
Aeliana's core was brimming with mana.
Not just increased. Not just improved.
Transformed.
The energy was vast, deeper than anything he had ever sensed in her before. Once, her mana had been a flickering ember, struggling to stay alight, fragile and fleeting. Now, it surged beneath the surface, coiled like a sleeping beast, raw and untamed.
And more than that—
'She was indeed the one I felt the connection to.'
The moment he had stepped into the abyss, searching for her, he had felt something. A pulse, distant yet familiar, as if something in the depths had called to him.
At the time, he had assumed it was instinct. A father's desperation.
But no.
Now, as he stood before her, as he felt the energy within her core—he knew.
He had felt her.
This was the presence that had resonated with him in the depths of the ocean. This was the source of that undeniable, almost fated connection.
His breath was slow, controlled, but inwardly, his thoughts raced.
'This cannot be possible.'
Aeliana had been born weak. That had been the reality. Her body had never been strong enough to sustain a full cultivation path. Her mana had been thin, her reserves limited. Even if she had talent, even if she had trained, she had always been caged by her own limitations.
And yet—
What he sensed now was boundless.
And more than that…
Her cultivation method.
It was unmistakable.
'My technique.'
The very same one he had passed down to his finest warriors. The same one that had shaped the Storm Sovereigns of the Duchy.
And she had mastered it.
Not just used it. Not just followed it.
She had excelled.
His fingers curled slightly.
This was beyond talent. Beyond mere progress.
This was impossible.
His golden eyes flickered toward her, searching for answers, but Aeliana simply stared back, as if she was not aware of anything….
Chapter 469: Psyche
The halls of the Duke's mansion stretched endlessly before her, familiar and yet suffocating. The weight of her steps felt heavier than they should, her body moving on instinct even as her mind reeled.
The words still echoed in her skull.
"Lady Aeliana has returned... And she is cured, apparently."
Cured.
Her fingers clenched into the fabric of her sleeve, nails digging into her palm. Her breath came uneven, the faintest tremor running down her spine as she struggled to process the reality laid before her.
How?
For years—years—they had tried everything. Healers. Enchanters. Forbidden spells. Rare elixirs.
Nothing had worked.
And yet now, as if the gods themselves had decided to mock her, Aeliana had returned—whole, untouched by her illness.
It didn't make sense.
It couldn't make sense.
Madeleina exhaled sharply, her footsteps faltering as she turned a corner. Her body was tense, her head pounding with the weight of thoughts she dared not speak aloud.
Aeliana had been lost to the whirlpool.
She should have died.
But now, she had returned, miraculously healed, as if the years of suffering had never happened. As if all those long nights of agony, of desperation, had been erased in an instant.
The world felt wrong.
Then—more words.
From two passing knights in hushed conversation.
"Apparently, it was an adventurer named Luca who saved her…"
Madeleina's breath hitched.
"The Duke has accepted this fact."
Something in her froze. The air in the corridor suddenly felt thinner.
Her eyes snapped toward the speakers, who had yet to notice her presence.
"This adventurer… where is he?" one knight asked.
"Miss Madeleina," the other hesitated, "that adventurer was given a room in the west wing…"
The rest of the words faded into a dull hum as Madeleina felt her pulse quicken.
Her mind raced, piecing together the impossible.
Luca.
Madeleina's hands trembled, though whether from anger, disbelief, or something more insidious, she couldn't yet tell.
'Luca.'
Her breath came out sharper, the syllables of his name tasting bitter on her tongue. She knew that name. Of course she did. She had watched him back then—watched as he shattered every expectation, as he stood before them all, an anomaly wrapped in the skin of a mere adventurer.
He had broken through.
She had been there, standing just beyond the flickering torchlight, witnessing the moment that should have rewritten the rules of their world. And yet… it was him? That same insufferably laid-back, borderline irritating man?
It didn't make sense.
No, it shouldn't make sense.
Her heart pounded as she turned sharply on her heel, her steps quickening without conscious thought. The knights had barely finished speaking, but she had already made her decision.
'I need to see him.'
There was no other option. Not because she needed answers, not because the past clawed at her insides like a rabid beast—but because some truths demanded to be confronted. And this? This was one of them.
The west wing loomed ahead, its towering halls quieter than the rest of the estate. She moved swiftly, her pulse a steady drum against the walls of her throat.
She already knew her life was over.
The weight of that truth sat heavy in her chest, but it did not crush her. She had come to terms with it long ago, the moment she made her choice—the moment she chose the Dukedom over herself.
She had no regrets.
She would do it again.
For the Duke. For everything he had built.
Her fingers curled tighter into her sleeves as she neared the door she had been directed to.
Aeliana had returned. Cured.
Madeleina's steps were steady, precise. Not a single moment wasted, not a single breath misplaced. She moved like a woman possessed, like someone who had already decided her course long before her body had caught up.
And yet, beneath the surface, her thoughts churned.
She had seen him before. Not in person, but through the artifact—the one that had allowed her to witness what should have been impossible.
Black eyes.
Black hair.
A presence that should not have belonged to a mere adventurer.
And now, she stood before his door.
Her hand hesitated only for a fraction of a second before she knocked. Three sharp raps against the wood. The sound echoed in the quiet corridor, a stark reminder that she was truly here, standing at the threshold of something she could not yet name.
Then—movement from within.
The door creaked open.
And there he was.
Lucavion.
His black eyes flickered over her, curious, assessing. He leaned casually against the doorway, one hand resting against the frame as if he had all the time in the world. His coat was slightly disheveled, as if he had only just risen from some languid rest, and yet—his gaze was sharp. Far sharper than the lazy smirk that curled his lips.
"Hmm?"
His voice was smooth, unhurried, touched with just the barest hint of amusement.
Then, that amusement deepened, and a spark of mischief lit behind his gaze as he tilted his head slightly.
"Who is this, I wonder?" he mused, the words dripping with faux curiosity. Then, without missing a beat, his lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk.
"A lady knocking on a young man's door?" His tone was light, teasing. "How scandalous. Are you here to ruin your reputation, or perhaps mine?"
His black eyes gleamed as he watched her, waiting—no, enjoying—whatever reaction she would give.
Madeleina inhaled sharply, keeping her expression schooled into perfect composure. She had dealt with enough nobles in her lifetime to recognize when someone was playing with her.
This man—Lucavion—was doing exactly that.
Still, she did not rise to the bait. Instead, she bowed her head slightly, just enough to acknowledge propriety without losing ground.
"Ahem... I am Madeleina."
Lucavion raised an eyebrow, his smirk unwavering. He said nothing, only watching her as she lifted her head once more.
"I am one of the head attendants of the mansion," she continued, her voice even, measured.
And that was when it happened.
A flicker.
Faint—so faint that an untrained eye would have missed it entirely.
But Madeleina saw it.
His black eyes glinted, something shifting beneath the surface. Not surprise, not exactly. No—something else. Something more calculated.
'What was that?'
Madeleina's fingers curled ever so slightly against the fabric of her sleeve. She had spent years navigating the intricacies of nobility, learning to read the subtlest tells in posture, breath, and silence. And this?
This was not the reaction of a man meeting a mere head attendant for the first time.
Still, Lucavion recovered in an instant, his smirk smoothing out into something unreadable.
"And what brings one of the esteemed head attendants to my humble doorstep?" he asked, his voice casual, almost lazy.
"I wish to speak with you," Madeleina answered, keeping her gaze steady on him. "In private."
Lucavion tilted his head slightly, studying her as if weighing something unseen.
"Why?"
A pause.
Madeleina did not answer immediately.
Her silence did not go unnoticed.
Lucavion's black eyes sharpened just a fraction, the teasing glint in them cooling into something far more serious.
Then, after a moment, he exhaled lightly, shaking his head as if indulging a particularly persistent curiosity.
"Alright," he said, stepping aside. "Come in."
Madeleina stepped inside.
The room was modest yet comfortable, a temporary guest chamber befitting an adventurer who had somehow earned the Duke's hospitality. She noted the bare furnishings—nothing excessive, nothing ostentatious. Practical, but not lacking.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, she subtly shifted her gaze, catching glimpses of Lucavion from the corner of her eye.
Something… is different.
It was slight, almost imperceptible, but she could feel it. A change in his aura, the weight of his presence in the room. It was not something as crude as strength—it was subtler than that. The kind of shift that was not easily named.
Had he always been like this? Or was it simply the distortion of memory, the result of only ever seeing him through the artifact?
She couldn't say for sure.
Lucavion, for his part, seemed entirely at ease. He gestured toward the chair across from him with effortless hospitality.
"Have a seat," he said, as though they were nothing more than two acquaintances exchanging pleasantries.
Madeleina hesitated only for a breath before lowering herself onto the offered chair. She had come here for answers, not to get lost in meaningless observations.
She straightened her posture, folding her hands neatly in her lap, before speaking.
"The thing I wanted to talk about—"
"It's about how I saved Aeliana, isn't it?"
Lucavion's voice cut through the air, smooth and precise.
Madeleina stiffened, the words striking before she had even finished her sentence.
Then, as if that wasn't enough, he tilted his head ever so slightly, his black eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
"After all," he mused, voice lighter, but no less sharp, "you were the one who pushed her."
Chapter 470: Psyche (2)
Madeleina.
The moment she introduced herself, it clicked.
In the novel, Elara had learned the truth directly from Aeliana's lips. The confession had come in fragments—raw, bitter, unfiltered. Aeliana, still reeling from her experiences, had spoken the name with a mixture of resentment and resignation. Madeleina. The one who had pushed her. The one who had sent her to her death.
And now, she was here.
Standing before me.
Her expression was schooled into perfect composure, her movements measured, controlled. The ideal attendant. The kind of woman who had spent years mastering the art of silence, of carefully chosen words, of navigating the precarious world of nobility.
But it was her presence that caught my attention.
Aeliana had said it herself. "It was Madeleina….the attendant I had trusted the most….She was the one who pushed me…"
And of course, alter it would be revealed what her reasons were.
Because, to her, the Dukedom mattered more than Aeliana's life.
That kind of conviction didn't just disappear because fate had taken a different path.
So, when I saw her standing there, introducing herself with that same careful elegance, I knew.
The push had happened.
Maybe not in the exact way the novel had depicted. Maybe the details were different, maybe the circumstances had shifted. But the intent remained the same. The years of pressure, of duty, of unwavering loyalty to the Duke—they weren't things that changed overnight.
I studied her carefully.
Her face didn't betray much, but her eyes—ah, her eyes. A perfect mask of civility, but beneath it, something sharper. Wariness. Calculation. Guilt.
So, when she sat across from me and started to speak, I didn't wait for her to finish.
"The thing I wanted to talk about—"
"It's about how I saved Aeliana, isn't it?"
The words left my lips smoothly, cutting through whatever pretense she had prepared.
And there it was.
The slight stiffening of her shoulders. The tension in her fingers where they rested in her lap. She recovered quickly, but not quickly enough.
I tilted my head slightly, letting amusement creep into my voice.
"After all," I mused, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "you were the one who pushed her."
Silence.
Heavy.
Lingering.
The air between us grew thick, not with anger, not with denial, but with something else. A slow realization.
She didn't flinch. Didn't gasp. Didn't immediately reject my words with the kind of dramatic outrage that lesser minds might have reached for.
Instead, she did what I expected.
She watched me.
Measured me.
Assessing, calculating.
Ah, yes. The kind of person who knew better than to react carelessly.
I exhaled, leaning back slightly in my chair, rolling my shoulder as I let my own exhaustion settle into my bones. My body was still battered, my energy drained, but that didn't mean I wasn't enjoying this.
"So," I murmured, tapping a finger against the armrest, "what does the esteemed Madeleina wish to say to me?"
Would she ask how I knew? Would she deny it? Would she justify it?
Ah.
This was going to be interesting.
Madeleina's eyes sharpened, her fingers curling just slightly against the fabric of her dress. Her expression remained composed, but I could see it—that flicker of tension beneath the surface.
She wasn't a fool.
She knew I had no logical way of knowing what she had done.
And yet, I did.
She parted her lips, hesitated for half a second, then spoke, her voice quiet but steady.
"How…?"
A simple question.
But the weight behind it was heavy.
I tilted my head slightly, watching her, my smirk widening just a fraction.
"If you're asking how…" I murmured, tapping a finger idly against my armrest, "then that would be hard to answer."
Her eyes narrowed.
"And the answer," I continued, "would be even harder to believe."
Silence.
She didn't move, didn't react immediately, but I could feel her calculating.
Doubt. Caution. Wariness.
All entirely reasonable.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbow against the chair, letting amusement flicker across my features.
"Well, it's just…"
I let the words hang for a moment before offering her something completely absurd.
"I came from another world and saw many things that no one would ever come to know. What do you say?"
The moment the words left my lips, the tension in the room shifted.
For the first time, I saw her composure crack.
Her teeth clenched, and I caught the faintest tremor in her breath before she exhaled sharply, forcing herself back into control.
"Please don't mock me."
Ah, there it was.
I chuckled, my shoulders shaking slightly as the laugh left me naturally, effortlessly.
"See? That's why it's always fun to speak like this."
Even though I was telling the truth, the reality was so absurd that a lie would be far easier to believe.
I watched her, waiting for her next move.
Would she ignore it? Would she push for a different answer?
Or—
Would she accept that, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, I knew things that I had no business knowing?
Madeleina's lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze cutting into me with razor-sharp intensity.
"You expect me to believe that?" she said, voice steady but laced with frustration.
I shrugged, leaning back against the chair, the wood creaking slightly beneath me. "Believe what you want." My tone was utterly unconcerned. "I don't owe you an explanation."
A flash of irritation flickered across her face, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. She was trained well—years of courtly manners and measured words, of keeping her composure even when the world conspired against her. But I had seen past that mask once already, and now, I could see the way her fingers tightened against the fabric of her sleeve, the barest tremor of tension in her shoulders.
Silence stretched between us, thick, weighted.
Then, I tilted my head, my smirk deepening just a fraction.
"But now, since you've asked me a question…" I drawled, my voice turning almost lazy. "It's only fair that I get to ask one in return."
Madeleina stilled. Her posture remained composed, but I could feel it—that faint shift in the air between us, the way her breath hitched for just a fraction of a second.
"You didn't give me an answer," She said in protest.
"I gave you one. You just didn't believe it." I continued, tapping a finger idly against the armrest
Another pause.
Her jaw tensed, her nails pressing into her palm, but she didn't speak.
Instead, she glared at me.
Ah. There it was.
I chuckled softly, shaking my head as if thoroughly entertained by the sight before me.
"That look is almost unfair," I mused, my black eyes gleaming with amusement. "Like I've committed some great crime by refusing to spoon-feed you the truth in a way you'd find more palatable."
Madeleina's glare didn't waver. If anything, it sharpened, her frustration crackling in the air between us like an unsaid accusation.
And yet, beneath that anger, beneath the carefully cultivated mask of cold rationality, I could see something else.
A question.
A fear.
Doubt.
She was trying to fit me into the shape of her world, trying to force the pieces of me into a puzzle where I did not belong. Because if I did belong—if I did make sense—then that meant everything she had believed, everything she had done, was justified.
And if I didn't?
Then it meant the world had changed in ways she could no longer predict.
Her fingers curled just slightly against her lap, but she kept her voice steady when she finally spoke.
"I don't have time for games, Mister Luca."
I exhaled lightly, amused.
"Oh, but isn't it fun to pretend otherwise?"
Her lips parted, as if she wanted to argue, but she caught herself. Instead, she inhaled sharply through her nose, pressing whatever retort she had back down into the depths of her throat.
She was restraining herself.
That, too, was interesting.
"Alright," I said at last, stretching my arms out in a slow, languid motion before settling back against the chair. "Let's make this simple, then."
I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbow against my knee as I studied her.
"Do you love the Duke?"