Vecna's POV:
My heart gave a small jolt when Iris set her condition. Something was clearly off. I flicked a glance at Lizza. She immediately lowered her head, reined her horse closer, and confessed in a small, guilty voice:
"Sister-in-law Vecna… I'm sorry. I didn't have time to explain. The Seventh Princess and Iris have both been infatuated with Third Brother for years. Anything that belongs to him, they'll use every means to seize paintings, calligraphy, even books he once read. After that, Third Brother decisively stopped painting altogether…"
I shivered faintly. So that was it. If Joseph knew I had given away one of his paintings, he would likely be angry enough to lose all patience with me. In my heart, I silently recited an Amen for myself.
"No. Change the condition," I said. But Iris cut in at once.
"No changes! This is the Seventh Princess's wish."
I exhaled softly. Fine, then. In any case, I had no intention of losing.
"Very well," I said. "But if I win, then..."
Iris didn't believe for a second that I could win. Her eyes were filled with disdain. "If you win, what do you want to wager?"
Katty and the other young ladies looked at me in confusion. I leaned toward Lizza and asked quietly,
"Your brother's paintings… what are they worth out there?"
Lizza waved her hands frantically. "Who would dare sell Third Brother's paintings? They should be treated as heirlooms passed down through generations."
I nodded. I understood immediately the value of what Iris was demanding. I turned back to her, smiling gently, yet razor-sharp.
"If my husband's painting is priceless… then let's set a temporary price. If you lose, pay me ten million USD."
Iris yanked on the reins, so furious she had to draw a deep breath. "You really know how to open your mouth and try to swallow the whole world!"
I bent slightly over my horse, my smile thin as a blade. "What? Afraid to bet? If you're scared of losing, just say so."
Someone as arrogant as Iris could never endure such provocation. She ground her teeth audibly.
"Fine! A bet it is! Let's see if you really deserve such big words!"
With that, she spurred her horse and rode back to her team. Katty also called everyone over to the strategy table. I stood to one side, listening to their discussion and no one mentioned me at all. That was only natural. In their eyes, I was merely the rustic girl Joseph had been forced to marry. No one placed any expectations on me.
At last, Katty turned to me and asked perfunctorily, "Mrs. Anderson, do you have any thoughts?"
"No," I replied simply. "I only have one request."
"What is it?"
"If the ball comes to you, pass it all to me."
The air went still. All four of them stared at me as if I'd said something absurd. Only then did Katty understand why Iris had been so enraged, I truly was as reckless as the rumors claimed.
Before they could respond, a stir rippled through the grounds. The Seventh Princess arrived with her royal entourage; lights and the gleam of gold jewelry flowed with each step like a dazzling wave sweeping across the field. The young ladies immediately dismounted, reined in their usual pride, and bowed in unison.
Lizza tugged lightly at my sleeve. "Sister-in-law Vecna, don't go near her. If the Princess notices you, trouble will follow."
I nodded faintly and kept my distance. Even so, my gaze passed over the crowd and stopped on the young woman seated beside the Princess pale blue attire trimmed in white, an elegant bearing, her smile drawing laughter from the entire area.
"Who is that, seated so close to the Princess?" I asked.
Lizza answered softly, "Second Young Lady of the Moreau family, Halley."
Seeing my curiosity, she leaned in and whispered,
"Sister-in-law Vecna, besides Third Brother, there's one other person in the imperial capital who can rival him, Thomas Campbell. One excels in letters, the other in arms; twin prodigies. People even say: Raise a son like Thomas Campbell; marry a husband like Joseph Anderson."
I snorted a laugh, but Lizza continued seriously. Thomas Campbell, the Princess's cousin, the youngest lieutenant ever to take the field against the Blood Moon and Red Stone forces, who with six thousand troops crushed an enemy army of thirty thousand. But three years ago, he fell in battle at the border, becoming a hero who died young.
"For the past three years," Lizza whispered, eyes full of admiration as she looked at Halley, "she has called herself Widow Campbell and refuses to remarry."
I fell silent for a moment.
"Didn't the Moreau family try to persuade her?"
"They couldn't. Even the Emperor and Empress couldn't move her. The only one she ever loved was Thomas."
A cold wind swept across the field. I tightened my grip on the reins. Ahead, the ground erupted with the sound of neighing horses and the shrill whistle, the match began.
I kept my composure, maintaining an air of calm to avoid Kai's gaze, the only man in the capital who could recognize me. But Kai quickly noticed something else: my first interception was far too smooth to be called "coincidental."
Though my own team ignored me, I stayed close to every movement. When I saw Katty being pressed so hard she could barely hold the ball, I urged my horse forward and said evenly,
"Pass the ball to me."
Katty pretended not to hear. But when Iris swung her mallet and stripped the ball away, Katty had no choice but to hurriedly pass it to Lizza.
Lizza was immediately surrounded by three opponents. Sweat plastered her forehead; panic flickered in her eyes. I called out at exactly the right moment,
"Lizza! Pass it to me!"
Lizza spared me a single glance, then gritted her teeth, twisted her wrist, and poured all her strength into a diagonal strike to break out of the encirclement. The rushed hit sent the ball skimming sideways like a warped streak of light, its path crooked, yet just enough to slip past the sweeping mallets.
I spurred my horse at once. Wind lashed my cheeks; the ground hammered in rhythm beneath the hooves. Iris lunged in her mallet not yet fully swung, when I leaned far out of the saddle, my hip nearly brushing the horse's mane, the tip of my boot grazing the grass. One hand shot out, clean, precise. I seized the ball in the instant before she could even blink. My horse slid past Iris like a wisp of smoke tearing through morning mist.
Without a single wasted beat, I swung back into the saddle and charged straight toward the opposing goal. And there, waiting like an immovable black mountain, was Kai. Alert. Cold. And just as the rumors said stronger than all of them combined.
But still not enough to stop me.
I drew the reins lightly, guiding my horse into a wide arc to the left. Kai turned with me. I feinted right, the second circle tightened, forcing him to turn faster to keep me in range. By the third loop, I heard the grit of his teeth, his fragile patience had hit its limit.
Just as expected, Kai lost his composure. He lowered his body and lunged straight in to snatch the ball.
And in that instant, he was open.
I shifted my center of gravity and swung the mallet in a powerful, decisive strike. The head of my mallet slammed squarely into the handle of his, borrowing the momentum of Kai's charge to send the ball flying. Its trajectory rose into a long, sharp, perfect arc, streaking straight toward the unguarded goal.
No one could catch up.
The ball struck the post and snapped into the net with a crisp clack.
The entire field fell dead silent. In that hush, I heard the unmistakable sound of my opponent's heart missing a beat.
After that goal, the atmosphere on the field reversed completely. The Anderson team adjusted formation at once, funneling the offense through me. I conducted the rhythm of the match as if rewriting the rules themselves, one pass, then another. By the third goal, the Anderson stands were already on their feet.
When the whistle signaling the end of the half rang out, the scoreboard was clear:
4–3.
I was in the lead. And for the first time that morning, I saw Iris truly exhale, her face pale as if she'd swallowed fire.
The half-time break began. A ten-million-dollar wager hung in the air. To Iris, the pressure crashed down like a mountain; cold sweat soaked her back. She threw down her polo mallet and rushed toward the silk pavilion where the Seventh Princess sat, bowing deeply.
"Your Highness, please grant permission for Sister Halley to step in and help me. I… I don't want to lose."
Halley, the woman known as the "Queen" of polo in the capital. Winning or losing had never mattered much to Iris; what mattered was victory so she could claim Joseph's painting. The exquisite young woman reclined against a brocade cushion, one hand idly stroking the back of a small cat, her gaze aloof and proud. She lifted her lashes slightly and glanced toward Halley.
"Halley, claim this prize for me, will you?"
Halley bowed faintly. "As you command, Your Highness."