The private garden was enclosed by tall hedges and carefully trimmed rosebushes, their thorns hidden beneath ornamental discipline, offering quiet seclusion beneath the open sky like a court pretending to be peaceful. At its center stood a long rectangular white table polished to a soft sheen, reflecting light like still water before a storm.
Two chairs rested at each narrow end, four aligned along each longer side in strict symmetry — a battlefield disguised as etiquette. Above it rose a wide ivory canopy stretched over a slender iron frame, filtering the sunlight into a pale, diffused glow that softened faces but sharpened tensions. The air carried the faint scent of flowers, calm and dignified.
Vionette and Noa sat at the narrow ends facing each other, their distance measured in wood and air, not in familiarity.
Haven't been here in a while.
Her gaze drifted briefly across the hedges as if measuring how much of Blackmoor had changed.
This place is gorgeous.
Noa leaned slightly back in his chair, dark eyes roaming lazily, as though he were reviewing the stage design before the performance began.
Duke Valric sat on the nearest chair to Vionette's left side, posture upright, jaw set.
That boy is sitting where I'm supposed to sit.
His pride simmered quietly, like steel left too long in a forge.
Lucien was also invited because he was involved in a part of the event. He sat next to Valric as his son and heir, hands resting on his knees, spine straight, expression composed.
I have to somehow turn the tables around.
The slightly thin, young-looking count; the rotund middle-aged count; the one with a white beard; and the bald dignified count—all sat along the right side in descending order of composure and rising order of curiosity.
That man hit the duke's son.
What was that earlier?
Why were they flirting with each other? I can't understand young people nowadays.
Woah! Look at those black eyes. They look as bald as my head. Get it?
The bald count almost smiled at his own private joke, then straightened when he realized no one else was laughing — because this was, unfortunately, a political hearing and not a tavern.
The marshal sat next to Lucien in dignified silence, hands folded neatly before him.
…that strike of his from before. It was powerful. No. It was monstrous.
He had seen battlefields, seen aura blades carve through armor like parchment — but that punch had felt less like technique and more like natural disaster.
The chancellor sat beside the marshal and nearest to Noa's left, observing quietly.
Who is this young man?
Not with fear. Not yet. But with calculation.
Rose stood next to Noa, hands folded with perfect posture.
The relief was spiritual. She had survived a duke being punched, seventy knights being launched, and royal flirting in broad daylight. That alone deserved a promotion.
Why didn't she go to Vionette's side? Because she was entrusted to assist Noa during his visit to Blackmoor—and they were still in Blackmoor. Professional loyalty demanded she stand beside the walking catastrophe she had been assigned to supervise.
After briefly assessing the nine others, Vionette concluded she was ready.
"Alright then, let's start the meeting."
Her voice flowed gently, but the garden straightened.
All present nodded.
"First, I would like to say that we will only be talking about today's event only. The special subjects will be discussed next week on the meeting." She raised one elegant hand. "Now, let us start off with our little duke Lucien's side."
As she said that, everyone's gaze turned toward Lucien.
Little… duke?
The phrase struck him like a veiled slap.
Lucien was the same age as Vionette and Noa. Yet she called him "little." What she meant was "next heir Lucien." What he heard was diminishment wrapped in silk — a look down on "little" and an acknowledgment at "duke" at the same time. Praise and insult braided together.
Lucien stood, removing one glove with deliberate composure, each finger slipping free as though shedding vulnerability. Though his posture remained straight, tension lived in his jaw.
"With Your Majesty's permission… I will speak."
He bowed properly before continuing, voice steady but edged with restrained emotion.
"Earlier today, I entered the jewelry store in good faith. I selected an earring and paid the requested sum in full. The transaction was complete. The merchant acknowledged it. Ownership was clear."
His words formed a legal fortress.
He turned, pointing toward Noa — not wildly, but firmly.
"Yet this man interfered. He claimed the piece despite knowing it had already been purchased. When I objected — calmly — he refused to yield."
A faint flush crept into his cheeks.
"I reminded him that I had already paid for it. I asked him to step aside. Instead… he struck me."
"What?" Valric's mind wandered out on its own, momentarily forgetting diplomacy.
"How dare he?" the young count muttered indignantly.
Lucien's fingers tightened at his side.
"In broad daylight. Within my own territory."
He inhaled before finishing, as though steadying himself against invisible shame.
"Your Majesty, if a noble's lawful purchase can be overturned by force, and if assault goes unanswered, then what protection does rank or law truly provide?"
His gaze flickered — not only with anger, but humiliation. The dust of that earlier defeat still clung to his pride.
"I do not seek conflict. I seek justice."
She would believe that, right?
Hope flickered within him like a candle shielded by trembling hands.
Vionette remained unbothered. She lifted her porcelain cup and took a slow sip, steam curling upward like indifferent spirits.
Mmm… he is good, Noa smiled faintly.
"That was good, dude."
All eyes snapped toward him.
"Do you know who this is?"
Noa closed his eyes lazily, leaned back, and pointed toward Rose behind him.
Rose immediately understood disaster was approaching. Though her face remained serene, her mind erupted.
…what now?
She sighed internally.
Lucien frowned at her.
Why would I care about a maid?
He glanced toward his father.
Valric shook his head subtly. He knew. But revealing it himself would weaken their position.
Tsk. Whatever.
Lucien faced forward again.
"It's the royal head maid — Rose," Noa declared.
Rose stepped forward and bowed with professional grace.
"Please to make your acquaintance."
What does this have to do with meee?
"The… royal head maid?"
"That's the infamous Rose?"
"It's really her?"
The counts murmured.
The glaze is insane right now, Noa thought with mild fascination.
Is she really that important?
"The head maid?" Lucien's disbelief cracked through his composure.
"Yes," Vionette confirmed with a composed smile. "I assure you that is the head maid of the royal castle. The maid who served the royal family for centuries."
What would you do now, Lucien Blackmoor? C'mon, keep trying.
Originally, Noa and Vionette didn't even need clarification. They could simply impose authority. But amusement was a dangerous hobby — and they were indulging in it.
For centuries? Noa glanced at Rose.
"…are you that old?"
A vein pulsed faintly on Rose's forehead.
"Age doesn't matter in this world… okay, my lord?" she replied with a smile that promised consequences.
Noa leaned slightly away.
"Uhh… okay."
…granny, he mocked silently, bravely — from a safe distance.
"What happened was…" Rose began, ignoring him with professional vengeance.
…
"…that's when the lord killed Lucien Blackmoor's knights."
The garden fell silent.
Lucien looked diminished.
Valric covered his face with his palm.
The nobles murmured softly, scandal circulating like wind between hedges.
Lucien looked at Vionette.
She calmly sipped her tea.
"Lucien, don't misunderstand," Noa smiled. "You're still alive because you piqued my interest."
"What?" Lucien gritted his teeth.
"I normally don't forgive anyone. For me to forget you and let you live — that can be called luck. I wanted to see how much of that luck you have. Or…" He looked at Vionette. "Did you think your princess stopped me from killing you?"
All eyes turned to Vionette.
Vionette lowered her cup.
"That's right. I won't stop him. I don't have the authority nor any interest to stop my partner from killing someone who tried to steal my earring."
Valric's eyes widened.
…partner?
The word echoed louder than accusation.
"Your Majesty's… earring?" Lucien's voice trembled.
Vionette brushed her hair aside and touched the earring Noa had placed there earlier.
"This is the earring, right?"
Lucien's blood ran cold.
That… that is the one.
This idiot! Valric thought, hope collapsing completely.
"So Lucien… did you try to steal the earring that was a gift for me from my partner or not?"
Her tone sharpened — not explosive, but precise.
"No—I—I didn't mean to—"
Lucien's legs trembled.
"Better answer, dawg," Noa leaned back comfortably, hands behind his head.
"Did you do it or not, Lucien Blackmoor?" Vionette pressed.
"No… I…"
What do I do? What do I do?
He looked to Valric.
Valric met his gaze, then slowly shook his head.
Don't look at me, Lucien. You chose the wrong answer long ago.
Lucien turned toward the nobles, searching for even a fragment of support, but they avoided his eyes one after another. Some adjusted their sleeves. Others studied the stone pavement as though it had suddenly become fascinating. The marshal stood motionless, his silence heavier than any accusation.
The illusion shattered.
Lucien's knees struck the ground.
But this was only betrayal from his perspective. In truth, he had eroded their faith piece by piece through arrogance and indulgence. They had told themselves, he will mature someday. That delay had led to this moment.
A little bit more. Just one more push.
Vionette's crimson eyes glowed faintly as she rose.
She drew her sword.
Step-Step.
Each footfall echoed across the garden stones like a verdict being carved into law.
To Lucien, it felt like death walking toward him.
…it was my fault all along. I mistook inheritance for worth. I'm sorry… father.
Her blade rested against his neck.
"Now choose—"
Ah… this is it for me. Next time… next time, I'll definitely become the duke… in my own way.
"—become one of my personal assistants or die."
His head snapped up.
"What?"
The criminal knelt. The executioner stood above him.
Yet death did not fall.
A cold wind moved between them, stirring the roses and carrying the faint scent of iron and petals.
Vionette did not care if he was prideful or flawed. She didn't care if he was good or evil. She cared for loyalty. For faith forged under pressure. By breaking him down and creating an illusion, she positioned herself not as executioner — but as savior.
"Shatter that past and start anew… A new life and prove your worth."
Lucien stared into her glowing crimson eyes. Flames of amusement danced there —expectation, opportunity.
He chose.
One knee remained on the ground while the other rose slowly. His hands pressed against the earth as though he were anchoring himself to something solid for the first time in his life. He lowered his head, not in defeat, but in acceptance, allowing Vionette's blade to rest above him like a coronation reversed.
Lucien accepted the flames that could burn the world.
"I accept."
And in that garden — beneath roses and filtered sunlight — a broken heir was reforged into something else.
The shattered past gathered.
And turned into something…
Something called… 'Loyalty'.