Chapter 85: The Banquet Hall
The heavy oak doors of the grand ballroom swung outward with a resonant, echoing thud, and the imperial herald’s voice boomed over the chatter of the court.
"Announcing the Marquis and Marchioness of Vandalia, Lord and Lady Devereux!"
A sudden, collective hush fell over the sprawling chamber. Hundreds of heads turned toward the grand staircase, the glittering assembly of nobles parting like a sea of silk and jewels before the realm’s most formidable couple.
Penelope kept her hand lightly rested upon Vincent’s forearm, feeling the steady, unyielding muscle beneath his sleeve. If she had felt any lingering vulnerability from her nightmare, it vanished the moment they stepped into the light. Beside her, Vincent walked with a slow, commanding grace, his expressions locked back into the cold, impenetrable mask of the Marquis.
His midnight-black velvet cloak swept behind him with a heavy, regal drape, the silver clasp at his shoulder gleaming under the thousands of burning chandeliers. The contrast between his dark, imposing silhouette and the crisp silver embroidery of his tunic made him look effortlessly magnificent—and entirely dangerous.
Whispers broke out along the perimeter of the ballroom, a low murmur of awe and envy.
"The Marquis looks exceptionally striking tonight..."
"What do you mean tonight? He’s always looked striking."
"Look at the Marchioness... I see the reason why the Vandalian women are praised for their beauty. Their Marchioness did not disappoint."
Penelope kept her chin high, her posture flawless as they descended the marble steps. Vincent did not look at the crowd; his eyes remained fixed forward, entirely indifferent to the court’s scrutiny. But as they reached the polished ballroom floor, he leaned his head down slightly toward her, the corner of his lips twitching into a trace of a smile meant only for her.
"Feeling better?"
Penelope nodded and patted her stomach. "A bit hungry too."
"Let’s find you something to eat."
Vincent guided her smoothly away from the whispering crowds, steering them toward the long banquet tables that groaned under the weight of the imperial feast. Roasted meats glazed in honey, delicate pastries shaped like blooming lilies, and towering silver platters of fresh winter fruits lined the velvet-draped tables.
Even amidst the overwhelming luxury of the palace, Vincent’s attention remained entirely narrowed on her. He signaled a nearby servant with a brief, authoritative flick of his wrist, dismissing the attendant before the man could even offer a formal bow.
"What pleases your appetite tonight, Penny?" he asked softly, stepping closer to shield her from the passing nobles with the heavy drape of his black cloak. His stormy-gray eyes scanned the spread, his hands already hovering over a plate of delicate, gold-leafed tarts. "Tell me what you desire, and I shall fetch it for you."
Penelope eyed the delicate tart he was holding before casting her gaze across the sprawling feast once more. Roast pheasant glistening with wild berry glaze, savory herb-infused pastries, and tiered platters of spiced meats filled the table. Everything looked absolutely savory and delicious; truth be told, she felt famished enough to eat just about anything.
Vincent noticed her lingering indecision. A faint, amused shake of his head accompanied his decision to cut through her conflict entirely. He lifted the small tart, bringing it directly toward her lips.
"Come on."
Penelope blinked at the gesture, her eyes instantly darting toward the surrounding banquet hall. A flush of heat crept up her neck. Was he truly planning to feed her by hand in the middle of the imperial court, with half the aristocracy watching?
"It is really good," he murmured, misinterpreting her hesitation as doubt over the pastry’s flavor. "Or would you prefer I find another?"
"I can eat it myself, Vincent," she whispered quickly, reaching up to take it.
"I never said you couldn’t," he countered smoothly, shifting his hand just out of her grasp while keeping the sweet inches from her lips. "Open up."
Realizing the Marquis of Vandalia was entirely unbothered by the countless eyes failing miserably to hide their scrutiny, Penelope gave in. She parted her lips, and he fed her the pastry, a thoroughly satisfied look settling across his sharp features as he watched her take the bite.
"How is it?" he asked, his gray eyes tracking her expression.
Unable to speak through the rich flavor of the warm fruit and flaky crust, Penelope simply smiled and gave him a thoroughly un-regal thumbs up.
Vincent patted her hair with a soft, affectionate touch before turning back to the table to load a silver plate with her favorites, entirely ignoring the whispered storms brewing around them.
Nearby, a cluster of noblewomen huddled tightly together, their lace-trimmed fans fluttering like the wings of agitated birds. One of them clicked her fan shut with a sharp, resentful snap.
"Who feeds their wife in a crowded court? She is no child," the woman sneered, her eyes burning with pure envy under her silk mask.
Her partner quickly leaned in, her voice dropping to an anxious whisper. "That is the sole Marquis of Vandalia, mind your tongue. I think it would do you best if he does not catch your words. He literally rejected the Emperor’s proposal to marry Lady Catherine for that woman. I would be wary of her—oh!"
The women startled, their breath catching in their throats as a freezing presence suddenly washed over them. Lady Catherine had stepped into their immediate vicinity. Without a single word, Catherine leveled a glare so sharp and biting at the gossiping nobles that they quickly scrambled away, their skirts rustling in a frantic retreat.
Once they were gone, Catherine’s gaze shifted toward the banquet table. Her eyes locked onto the couple enjoying their meal, taking in the easy, unforced smiles on their faces. But inevitably, her attention narrowed entirely on Vincent.
Looking at him, the cold, defensive mask she usually wore in court began to fracture. Her expression softened, a deep, aching longing rising to the surface as she took in the broad lines of his shoulders and the rare, genuine warmth in his eyes—a warmth she had spent years wishing he would direct at her.
Then, her eyes flicked to Penelope, who was laughing softly at something Vincent had murmured, her thumb still marked by a trace of the sweet glaze.
Catherine watched the way Vincent immediately leaned down to catch Penelope’s words, his posture naturally shielding the girl from the rest of the room. In all the years she had known and interacted with the Marquis, he had never once looked that relaxed, that safe, or that entirely consumed by another human being.
A heavy, suffocating silence seemed to settle around Catherine. For the first time, the reality she had spent months denying herself crashed down with a crushing, absolute certainty.
He was happy. He looked truly happy—and it was with another woman.
"You know, if you want to say hi, just go over there and greet them," her friend, Madeline, murmured from behind, her voice a quiet undertone beneath the orchestral music. "It’s not like you two are enemies."
Catherine looked back at her friend and immediately shook her head, a defensive tightness gripping her chest. "How can you even suggest that, Madeline? I told you already, I am planning to move on from the Marquis. I do not wish to bother him."
Madeline crossed her arms, her gaze shifting between Catherine and the distant couple with a distinctly suspicious tilt of her head. "Are you sure about that? Because earlier today, you went out of your way to check the Sapphire Wing just to see if his carriage had arrived."
Catherine bit her lower lip guiltily, a sudden wave of heat rushing to her cheeks. Madeline’s reminder only made the weight in her chest heavier. It was the absolute truth—and it was precisely the reason she could not bring herself to approach the Marquis now.
What if his wife recognizes her?
She had been so reckless earlier, lingering near their quarters. If Penelope recognized her as the exact same lady who had almost collided with her in the grand corridor, it would look incredibly desperate. It would only complicate matters and lay her lingering attachments bare for the entire court to see.
Catherine shook her head firmly, forcing her posture back into its rigid, aristocratic perfection. "No. I merely acted out of impulse this afternoon. I do not think he would want to see me either, so let’s just drop it."
Madeline exhaled softly, the skepticism fading from her eyes, replaced by a quiet, sympathetic pity. She let her arms drop to her sides. "If that is what you truly want, Cathy. Let’s find some wine."
Later on, after Penelope had finished her meal, Vincent took the silver plate from her hands and placed it onto a passing servant’s tray. He rose to his feet and offered her his arm.
"Are you ready to meet the Emperor?" He asked softly. Penelope simply placed her hand in his and rose to her feet.
"More than ready."
Together, they turned away from the banquet tables and began their long walk toward the heart of the palace. The banquet hall was painfully vast—so immense that it was only as they neared the far end of the sprawling architecture that Penelope truly realized the Emperor was presiding in the very same room.
Sitting upon the golden throne was the sovereign himself. He was a man who had aged remarkably well, his features sharp and distinguished, bearing eyes that held the immense weight of a sprawling empire. He watched their long approach with a look of intense curiosity. At his side, the imperial court officials stood lined up in rigid formation, their collective gaze shifting to focus on the couple only as they drew near.
Vincent and Penelope came to a halt at the precise distance dictated by strict court etiquette. Vincent inclined his head in a deep, calculated gesture of respect, while Penelope sank into a flawless, graceful curtsy that perfectly befitted the Marchioness of Aelgard.
"The Marquis and Marchioness of Vandalia pay their respects to the Light of the Empire," Vincent’s deep voice boomed, echoing clearly across the suddenly quiet hall.