Newfear

The speaker was Lady 'Isabel Windsword', the eldest daughter of Count 'Yukron Windsword', also twenty, with long black hair tinged with dark blue and deep blue eyes. Her white dress, adorned with intricate details and a blue belt, enhanced her attractiveness, while her gentle smile concealed something more cunning beneath.

Isabel, with a sweet smile: "Please, Lady Talia, join us for tea. We would be delighted to have your company."

Talia responded with a calm smile, pulled out a chair, and sat down. She remained silent for a few moments, her gaze calmly scanning the surroundings before Isabel's question broke the silence.

Isabel: "Are you still studying politics?"

Talia, looking away without changing her expression: "Yes."

Another girl, seated to Isabel's right, intervened with a mocking expression. 'Katrina Rosefield', a girl just under twenty, with short brown hair adorned with red braids and honey-colored eyes, was wearing a green dress with white decorative details.

Katrina, with a sarcastic smile: "Why?"

Talia didn't respond immediately. Instead, she looked at her as though she didn't consider her worth responding to. But Isabel, who seemed to enjoy the moment, intervened with an amused smile.

Isabel: "Oh, Kate... Don't you know that Lady Talia is the top expert in politics among the ladies of the kingdom? She's quite knowledgeable. Well, not many ladies venture into such fields... but still, it's an achievement worth mentioning."

A soft laugh escaped from Katrina, followed by another girl sitting beside her, while the girl on Talia's right remained silent, sipping her tea.

Isabel, with a false tone of apology: "Ah... I apologize, Lady Talia, if I've offended you with my words."

Talia closed her eyes for a moment, then replied coldly: "No need, Lady Isabel... But, it's fine. I can answer Lady Katrina's question if she would like to hear my response."

Katrina looked at her with curiosity, and Talia continued with the same icy calmness.

Talia, with a serene smile, but her eyes flickered with a hidden sharpness: "Simply put... because I chose to. I'm not a painting hanging in a palace waiting for someone to decide to possess it, nor am I a commodity displayed for someone to bargain over.

I shape my destiny with my own hands, just as my father wanted me to… because I am not just a daughter, but a person of value, someone who can be of use to him and to others."

A heavy silence lingered for a few moments, as if her words had cast a cold shadow over the room. Some exchanged looks, caught between quiet astonishment and unspoken sarcasm, while the girl to her right raised an eyebrow in admiration. Katrina, in her decorated dress, bit her lip as though stifling an objection. The others remained silent, some staring in surprise, others with discomfort, as if Talia's words had touched something none dared acknowledge.

The silence hung for a moment longer before Katrina's laugh erupted, laced with mockery and indifference.

Katrina, with a sarcastic smile: "Really? And how would you be useful to him? Does he have some strange ambition we don't know about? Or is it…"

But her words suddenly faltered, as if the air itself had frozen within her. Her eyes met Isabel's, whose gaze seemed unwilling to allow her to go any further. In Isabel's look, there was nothing but a biting coldness, like a blade poised to strike her neck. For a moment, Katrina felt an uncomfortable prickling sensation, a creeping unease, but her pride pushed her to regain her composure, blinking once before smiling coldly, as if nothing had happened. She then turned to Talia, who did not alter her expression, but something in her cold calmness made Katrina's heart flutter momentarily… she sensed that before her stood someone she should not provoke.

At that moment, another girl quickly intervened, attempting to break the tension. 'Renalis Faronet', in her twenties, with black blonde hair and hazel eyes, wearing a black hat that matched her gray dress adorned with golden and white embroidery.

Renalis, with visible nervousness: "Uh… ladies! Have you seen Sir Barbara?"

Everyone turned to her with curiosity, and Katrina followed with a sneer.

Katrina: "Heh... That arrogant one? She's only full of herself because she's the first woman to join the royal guard..."

A forced laugh came from Isabel as she stirred her tea, then spoke with clear sarcasm.

Isabel, with a forced laugh: "Really? Is she actually proud of that? Heh… Just a spoiled girl of her mother… I don't see any reason for her to be chosen other than being the daughter of Marquise Starkov..."

Soft laughs spread among the girls, but throughout it all, Talia remained silent, calmly stirring her tea as though she were in a completely different world.

Talia: "Maybe because she's in the war."

A heavy silence fell over the table. All movements ceased, and eyes turned toward her in astonishment. Isabel furrowed her brows before replying coldly.

Isabel: "What?"

Talia slowly opened her eyes and looked directly at her.

Talia: "Maybe because she's the only noblewoman who agreed to go to war, to fight bravely for the kingdom."

Katrina raised an eyebrow in derision before whispering.

Katrina: "Heh… I doubt she's there just for the fight."

Talia did not look at her but responded with a simple question, as though a sharp arrow had struck Katrina to her core.

Talia: "Tell me, what have you done throughout your life that makes you think you're qualified to criticize a brave knight like her?"

Katrina froze, unable to respond quickly. Her gaze shifted to Isabel, who was sipping her tea as though the matter didn't concern her, trying to remove herself from the conversation. But before she could do so, another blow came.

Talia: "And I mean you too… Lady Isabel."

Isabel paused mid-sip, her eyes widening, then slowly placed her cup on the table, as though weighing her words.

Isabel: "How dare you?… My father is currently leading the fourth battalion in the Battle of Draxul! He's brought victory to the kingdom countless times, and he will win again today."

Talia slightly shook her head and spoke in a chillingly calm voice.

Talia: "I didn't mean your father, Lady Isabel… I meant you."

Isabel's eyes widened in disbelief, and for a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. But she quickly regained her composure and spoke loudly to cover up her confusion.

Isabel: "Oh, really? And you!? What have you done in your life to look down on us like that?! Has your position as the top lady made you this arrogant?"

Before Talia could respond, the reply came from a lady named 'Rosalyn Castro,' who gently placed her cup on the table and spoke calmly. Her dark chestnut hair, flowing like a silken cascade, was meticulously styled in an intricate updo befitting her high status, with shimmering strands glinting under the candlelight. Her large green eyes, resembling tranquil lakes, carried a sharp and confident gaze, reflecting keen intelligence and unmatched dignity.

She wore a gown of deep blue silk, embroidered with silver threads forming delicate floral patterns on the sleeves and bodice. A gilded belt around her waist accentuated her slender figure and grace. The sleeves were wide, adorned with bands of luxurious lace, and around her neck hung a sapphire necklace, centered with a large gemstone that sparkled with every movement of her head.

Rosalyn: "Lady Talia isn't just the first among the ladies… she holds the second rank in the entire kingdom."

A deadly silence fell over the table. Shock spread across Isabel and Katrina's faces, while Renalis appeared unbothered but avoided looking at them.

Talia, with a calm smile: "As for the person who has held the top rank for consecutive years… it's Duke Lucas Nightover. It is an honor to compete against such a brilliant man."

Isabel clenched her teeth tightly, then turned her gaze away, trying to maintain her composed appearance. But the tension was palpable, as if the air around them had grown heavier. The table was no longer a place for friendly conversation; it had turned into an unspoken battlefield, where words were weapons, and silence was more deadly than any direct attack.

In the midst of this tension, Katrina, who felt that the time had finally come to prove her loyalty to her companion Isabelle and gain some recognition from her, moved quickly. She raised her head slightly, attempting to adopt a nonchalant tone, but she couldn't hide the gleam of malice in her eyes. Then, with a small smile, she said in a soft voice, but one laced with venom.

Katrina: "Lady Talia, is there any news about your older brother…?"

A moment of silence followed. The question was sudden, making the atmosphere even more tense. Isabel quickly turned, her eyes gleaming as if she had found an opportunity for revenge. But she stopped when she saw that Talia remained relaxed, as if nothing had happened.

Talia: "He's fine… if that's what you're asking about."

Katrina hesitated for a moment, but decided to continue, trying to shake Talia's composure.

Katrina: "I've heard many rumors about him… It's said he's the disgrace of House Vanheim, frequenting the taverns in Isol, Drinvorne, and Savirus… There are even rumors that he's a beggar chasing after pleasures…"

At that moment, a victorious smile appeared on Isabelle's face, while Talia remained with her eyes closed. But after a moment of silence, Talia slowly opened her eyes and said in a low voice.

Talia: "Of course, Lady Katrina… rumors remain rumors."

Katrina maintained her sarcastic smile, but her gaze shifted to Isabelle, who nodded at her in approval.

In that moment, Talia's thoughts drifted back to the night before, the engagement celebration between the Windsword and Sparoff families, where everything seemed destined, but beneath those memories lay a secret yet to be uncovered.

Nerossia – The cold wind carried the scent of wild herbs and the moisture in the air, with the tall green hills stretching out, crowned at the end by the ancient House Windsword Castle.

Behind the castle, the towering mountain peaks intertwined as if guarding it, with stone watchtowers scattered along the slopes, enduring for centuries, silently telling tales of wars and glory.

Inside a lavishly covered carriage, Talia Vanheim sat beside her father, Duke Blatir, and her younger brother, Viscount Dion. She gazed through the window at the vast meadows, her eyes contemplating the magic of this land she had not stepped foot on in years. She knew that tonight was not just an engagement celebration; it was the cornerstone of complex political arrangements, where interests intertwined before hands joined in royal dances.

At the great gate, the caravan stopped, and King Irvin Luscarth disembarked first, with his imposing stature, accompanied by Duke Lucas Nightover, followed by Sir Variss Sathray.

Everyone was waiting for the official greeting from Count Yukron Windward, who stood tall at the castle entrance. His appearance exuded strength and authority, with dark black hair tinged with blue, flowing smoothly over his forehead, as if its deep color reflected an enigmatic mystery that couldn't be explained. His dark blue eyes, like a deep sea submerged in the unknown, carried a glimmer of determination, as though he could read everyone around him without uttering a single word. Despite being in his forties, his features bore the marks of life experiences that had shaped his face, making him appear older than his years. His body was tall and lean, and his straight posture conveyed the power and respect that his noble family commanded.

In the back, the Marquise Atris Starkov dismounted, her steps slow, her gaze empty, as if she were breathing in a world apart from this place. She barely lifted her eyes from the ground, but suddenly, her trance was broken by a familiar voice.

"Thank you for coming, Atris."

Count 'Nicholas Sparoff' stood before her with grace and elegance. His light sandy hair, tousled yet carefully styled, framed his youthful face, its golden strands catching the light and shimmering as if alive. His sharp, alert blue eyes held a subtle glint of unspoken intelligence, their color reminiscent of a clear summer sky. Though in his late thirties, his features retained a vitality and youthfulness, as though time had left little mark upon him. His strong jawline, softened by the faintest of smiles that always lingered on his lips, exuded an air of both friendliness and confidence. His body was lean yet taut, a reflection of someone accustomed to movement and agility.

She paused for a moment, not heading straight toward him, but turning her face slightly as if she couldn't bear to even look at him. Then, she replied coldly, without bothering to stop.

Atris: I didn't come for you, but for my son. Remember that well.

Count Nicholas Sparoff sighed deeply, his eyes following her until she disappeared among the crowd, then exhaled silently as if words no longer held any value.

Inside the Castle – Isabel's Room

In her luxurious suite, Isabel Windsword sat before her mirror, while the maids surrounded her, styling her hair and making the final touches on her carefully designed dress to make her look like a princess. Beside her, Katrina Rosefield stood, staring at her in obvious admiration.

Katrina: Wow! Lady Isabel, you look like a true angel!

Isabel smiled lightly, her eyes reflecting a calm gaze, but she couldn't hide the gleam of confidence.

Isabel: Heh. I already am, Kate…

Katrina laughed, followed by a soft chuckle from Isabel, unaware that tonight would carry secrets to be revealed, leaving behind shards too difficult to piece together.

Castle Hallways – Meanwhile, Talia walked alone through the outer corridors, open stone passageways offering views of the torch-lit gardens, where guests began to arrive at the main hall.

She was about to take the left path when she heard whispers, and instinctively stopped, leaning slightly behind a massive marble pillar. "Ah… that arrogant fool, she doesn't even feel ashamed of it!"

The voice was familiar, Katrina Rosefield, speaking with a mocking laugh as she walked beside Renalis Faronet, who appeared hesitant, as if reluctantly dragging herself into this conversation.

Katrina: "How can a noble lady be so rude and shameless? Am I right, Lady Renalis?"

Renalis hesitated, then nodded quickly, trying to follow along with the conversation.

Renalis: "Ah?… Oh… yes, yes… of course."

Katrina furrowed her brow in annoyance, then suddenly turned toward her.

Katrina: "You fool, you're not even listening to me!"

She paused for a moment, then stepped a little closer, whispering with malice in her voice.

Katrina: "I'm telling you, 'Felix Sparoff', the one who will announce his engagement to Isabel tonight… he used to love 'Ariana'!"

Renalis's eyes widened in shock, and she couldn't hide the tension in her voice as she asked her.

Renalis: "But… how did you know that?"

Katrina smiled, stopping at the threshold of the hall, turning to her with a low voice that carried a hidden secret.

Katrina: "I heard the maids gossiping, they said she went mad that night when Felix offered her a dance at the coronation ball of King Irvin the Eleventh."

Renalis shuddered slightly, as if something inside her refused to believe this, but she lacked the courage to oppose her.

Before Katrina crossed through the door, she turned to her again with a slow, sideward smile.

Katrina: "Oh… I almost forgot. No one knows this secret now… except for you."

Renalis stared at her in confusion, as if she suddenly realized she had become a part of a game she wasn't prepared for.

Katrina: "I plan to reveal this tomorrow, so… I won't forgive anyone who ruins it for me. Do you understand me, right?"

Renalis couldn't respond immediately, stumbling, and her voice came out weak.

Renalis: "Y… yes! Of course, you can trust me."

Katrina appeared satisfied, then continued her way inside, followed by Renalis after a moment, pretending she hadn't lost her inner balance.

At the back, within the shadowed corner nearby, Talia stood in silence. Her gray eyes glowed under the chandelier lights, sinking into the secrets of the hall, unraveling before her like a masterpiece of intricate details.

Inside the grand hall – where rows of tables stretched beneath the glow of suspended chandeliers, the mingling voices of conversation blended with the clinking of glasses and plates.

The air was thick with the scent of aged wine and rare spices, while a soft melody drifted from one corner of the hall, as if attempting to veil the tension lurking beneath the exchanged smiles.

Three massive dining tables extended beneath the towering ceiling, adorned with golden engravings. Guests were seated according to their status.

At the first table, set against the wall, King Irvin sat at its center, on a chair distinguished by its high, finely carved back... resembling a miniature throne. To his right sat Duke Lucas, as refined in his speech as in his appearance. Beside him, Marquise Atris rested her chin on her hand, her expression betraying visible boredom, as though eager for the conversation to end.

On the king's left, Count Yukron sat... a man who seemed out of place in this festive setting, his stern features and the deep lines on his forehead marking the weight of his years. Next to him sat Count Nicholas, no less reserved, though his eyes held a sharper vigilance.

On the other side of the table, Felix reclined slowly, tracing the rim of his glass with his fingertips. His pale blue eyes watched the swirling liquid inside with detached indifference. His light blonde hair, tinged with gold under the chandelier's glow, was slightly disheveled, with a few strands falling over his forehead... yet he made no effort to brush them away.

His features were calm, indifferent, yet there was something peculiar about his stillness, as if his mind was always elsewhere, far from the noise of the hall and everyone in it. Despite his apparent relaxation, Felix was not someone to be taken at face value. That deep gaze, hidden beneath a façade of idleness, carried a cold intelligence, as though his mind was constantly observing everything around him without the need to show any explicit interest.

He was tall, yet he didn't sit upright. Instead, he leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, as if the entire world held little significance to him at that moment. His clothes, though undeniably luxurious, were not meticulously arranged, as if he saw no need to flaunt his status through unnecessary details. His lips rested in a faint, almost-smile... not quite mockery, yet not without meaning.

Felix had inherited both his hair and eyes from his mother, but while hers carried an icy coldness, his seemed more fluid, like water that reflects everything without truly absorbing it.

He wasn't someone easily read, yet he was certainly no fool. Rather, he seemed like a man who possessed more than he revealed and knew far more than he let on. while Isabel, seated beside him, listened to a conversation she did not seem genuinely interested in. The two seats to her right remained empty, awaiting their occupants.

At the third chair, Duke Blatir sat with his children, Talia and Dion. Though he spoke in a measured tone, his gaze frequently shifted between the royal table and the surrounding hall, as if anticipating a particular moment.

Talia, however, remained silent, observing the scene in its entirety from her corner.

At the second table, situated at the heart of the hall, a group of men were engaged in deep discussion. 'Thian Blackmirth', the youngest son of Duke 'Satheron Blackmirth', sat in silent contemplation, his silver eyes fixed on King Irvin, who spoke in a calm tone with Duke Lucas. The chandelier lights reflected off his short black hair, highlighting the quiet questions etched onto his features... questions he dared not voice aloud.

Leaning toward his older brother, 'Cyril Blackmirth', seated beside him, he lowered his voice as he asked.

Thian: "Cyril… do you know anything about the king?"

Cyril did not respond immediately; instead, he idly turned his glass between his fingers before answering in a disinterested tone.

Cyril: "Hmm?... Why do you ask?"

Thian's curiosity deepened. He leaned in further, whispering:

Thian: "I just… don't understand how he became king at such a young age. He's almost the same age as my sister, isn't he?"

Cyril slowly lifted his gaze, studying the king for a moment before exhaling a faint scoff.

Cyril: "That arrogant boy didn't take the throne through his own efforts, but through the backing of the great houses… Nightover, Starkov, and perhaps even our father, to some extent.

I think my father knelt down to him because he thought him the man he was looking for or something..."

Thian did not react immediately, but he leaned back slightly in his seat, as if Cyril's answer was not what he had been searching for. He bit his lip, then cast a sideways glance toward his mother, Duchess Ronissa Blackmirth, who had been observing him in silence. A woman in her forties, with long black hair and silver eyes, she carried the same cold demeanor that distinguished their family. She noticed the hint of disappointment flickering across her son's face and offered a faint smile before raising her glass to her lips. Then, she leaned slightly toward her husband, seated across from her, and murmured just loud enough to be heard over the noise.

Ronissa: "My dear, would you care to enlighten your son about the man you call a king?"

At that moment, nearby conversations dwindled when the sharp clink of a wine glass being placed onto the table drew attention. The one responsible was Duke Satheron, his gaze locked onto his wife with a coldness that carried an almost buried resentment. Then, he turned his eyes toward his son, who now stared at him with eager anticipation, waiting for him to speak.

Satheron exhaled slowly, as if dredging up heavy memories, then leaned back in his chair, resting against it before speaking in a deep voice.

Satheron: "Irvin?…"

He followed with a short, raspy chuckle, as though speaking of a man whose story needed no narration.

The duke shifted slightly in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he examined the glass in his hand. For a moment, it seemed as though he were contemplating his words... or perhaps recalling a distant image, hidden from the others but clear within his mind. Then, he sighed, as if drawing forth a buried weight before speaking in a calm yet burdened tone.

Satheron: "What do you wish to know about him? His titles? His sword? That look in his eyes, as if the entire world has been placed at his feet?… Or perhaps you want to hear how, at just seventeen, he became a Swordmaster?"

Thian's eyes widened with curiosity. He leaned forward slightly, as if closing the space between himself and his father could bring him closer to the answer he sought.