Chapter 8.1

Should she fling the door open right now? Should she storm in, seize her young fiancé by the shoulders, and demand what on earth he thought he was doing?

Esha felt as though she were fifteen again, stepping into her first debutante ball, like she had wandered somewhere she did not belong.

An outsider watching a grand play unfold, unable to take part in it.

‘What is she saying?’

Daphne seemed to be murmuring something.

The distance from where they stood at the balcony’s edge to the door made it impossible to hear clearly.

All Esha could catch was the faint lilt of Atlanian, spoken in a gentle tone.

She fled from the spot.

By then, the ball was drawing to a close, with guests trickling away one by one.

The young lady she had talked to earlier was nowhere to be seen.

The thought of what rumors that girl might spread sent a tremor of fear through Esha.

And then came the anger. At herself, for feeling this gnawing sense of unease in the first place.

Even as the nobles departed, she remained seated on the sofa, refusing to leave.

It wasn’t long before Johan appeared.

He glanced around, and the moment he spotted her, he strode toward her in quick steps.

“Where were you?”

“My apologies. I thought you’d already returned to the palace…”

Esha rose slowly to stand before him, reaching up to straighten the crooked collar of his shirt. She tried to seem composed, but she couldn’t keep her hands from trembling.

Johan suddenly took hold of Esha’s hand.

“Did something happen?”

“Something happen?” she echoed, her voice blank.

She felt her eyes grow hot.

I saw you. I saw you in Daphne’s arms. Another young lady told me. Now it’ll only take moments for the story to spread through the entire socialite world. She wanted to spit the words at him.

But they caught on her tongue and wouldn’t come out.

“Sister,” Johan whispered.

Her breath came fast, perhaps the corset was still laced too tightly.

Her vision blurred.

[She’s too big, it’s off-putting. And her chest, it makes her look anything but modest…]

[How could anyone embrace a woman like that? It would be like holding a man.]

Esha wanted to slap her hands over her ears.

Her sister was dead. Her sister’s fiancé now belonged to her. And yet she still couldn’t shake the memories.

Like sinking in a mire, every time she thought she’d clawed her way out, her feet slipped, and she was dragged back under.

“Sister, are you all right?”

She thought of Daphne, running toward them in that yellow dress.

She had been lovely.

And the sight of her young fiancé burying his face into Daphne’s shoulder… well, it wasn’t entirely incomprehensible. They hadn’t seen each other in so long. Of course he might have missed her. Of course he might have wanted to hold her. But still…

SLAP— The ballroom fell deadly silent.

Esha had struck Johan across the face.

Her tears began to spill down her cheeks. She could see no escape from this wretched self-loathing.

Johan’s head whipped to the side with the blow. He stared blankly into the distance.

The ring on Esha’s finger had left a wound. A clean, red line diagonally across his cheek. Blood began to well along the cut, and only then did she realize what she had just done.

She sucked in a breath that felt like a dagger to the chest.

Johan slowly turned back to face her, and his expression was unreadable. Her knees gave out beneath her.

“Your Highness.”

His arm came around her waist before she could fall. The shift in weight tipped her forward, and she found herself leaning into him.

His voice was calm, almost indifferent.

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

⋆༺˖° ♛ °˖༻⋆

As expected, rumors swept through the entire court like wildfire.

But that wasn’t the only problem.

An Atlanian journalist published an article reporting the injury on Johan’s cheek, stirring outrage among Atlan’s citizens.

With tensions already high over the recent Combatpool Harbor conflict, relations between the two nations turned dangerously volatile.

“You’re dragging this country’s honor through the mud!” Edmund roared.

He clenched his fists. Not to strike her, but because the sight of Esha’s impulsive temper reminded him too much of himself, and he refused to throw something that would further prove they were much alike.

If Atlan used this incident to demand a public apology, the fury of their citizens would be boundless.

Even if they were technically a vassal state of Elendor, they couldn’t simply be dismissed.