Duke Tristan fell silent.
It wasn't a normal silence. It was the kind of silence where someone re-evaluates their entire life from birth until now, weighing the thought, "Will this decision lead me to love… or an incredibly elegant death because I'm associating with a rat?"
Note: It's not me who thinks Archmage Lucien is a rat; remember, I'm only translating his facial expression. To me, his face is a masterpiece and a blessing. Please remember that.
Back to the point, Duke Tristan's eyes were fixed on one spot—
Lucien.
Me?
I had already shifted positions. I stood right behind Duke Tristan like a restless spirit that couldn't move on. Then, with full dedication, fan-girl love, and loyalty—I leaned toward his right ear.
"For Lady Genevieve…" I whispered softly.
I slid to the left like an aesthetically pleasing breeze.
"Lady Genevieve…" I whispered again.
I slid once more.
"Lady Genevieve…" I was like a broken record, but the motivational love version.
