Chapter 87: Female Version Of Yourself
"Oh, my apologies!"
Penelope bristled back, taking a hurried step away while looking down to assess the damage. There was only a minor smudge on her own dress, but the figure in front of her had gotten the worst of it. The dark crimson wine was rapidly spreading across the front of his pristine, impeccably tailored attire.
"Oh no, I’m so sorry—"
"Your apology is useless to me," a cold, sharp voice cut her off.
When Penelope looked up to face the man she had been unfortunate enough to bump into, his intense, piercing blue eyes were already fixed on her. He stood tall with rigid, aristocratic posture, his handsome features twisted into a look of absolute displeasure. He was clearly a man of immense pride, and right now, that pride was thoroughly insulted.
"I truly apologize," Penelope said again, keeping her tone calm and offering a more sincere delivery this time. "The crowd became dense right here, and we accidentally bumped into one another."
"We?"
The man scoffed, a low, condescending sound that drew the attention of a few nearby nobles. He took a single, deliberate step forward, towering over her with an air of pure arrogance.
"Is this how Vandalian women tend to shift their blame onto others? You were the one who blindly ran into me," he sneered, looking down his nose at her. His hand gestured sharply to the ruined fabric of his coat. "I had no desire to attend this banquet in the first place, and you have just made it a whole lot worse with your classless behavior."
Penelope’s lips parted at the absolute audacity of this man. Clearly, he was in a foul mood before he even walked into the room, but he was acting like his clothes were the only things that mattered in the entire empire.
"I apologized to you three times," Penelope spelled out, her voice dropping into a dangerously calm, sharp tone. "And it wasn’t even entirely my fault. You should have also watched where you were going. If I wanted to be petty, I could have blamed you for soiling my dress as well, but I didn’t. Listen, I am not the cause of whatever bad mood you’re in, but you have absolutely no right to call me classless. Even if I am, what has that got to do with you?"
The man simply stared at Penelope, his jaw tightening so hard the muscles in his cheek twitched. He looked utterly stunned, as if he literally could not comprehend that someone was talking back to him in such a manner. His eyes quickly darted to the immediate vicinity, checking to ensure that their little spat hadn’t caught the attention of the entire ballroom yet, before snapping his glare right back down to her.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" he hissed, his pride practically radiating off him in suffocating waves.
Penelope didn’t even flinch. She matched his glare pound for pound, her jaw set with an iron resolve.
"I know for certain you’re not the Emperor," she shot back smoothly, crossing her arms. "So it doesn’t matter to me what you are. Having a title doesn’t give you the right to disrespect me."
The young man opened his mouth to deliver a cutting retort but snapped it shut, his eyes narrowing to slits as he studied her face. A flicker of realization crossed his features, as if her stubborn attitude suddenly reminded him of someone else entirely. It was glaringly obvious she had no clue who he was, and since she was from Vandalia—
"Penny?"
The puzzle pieces instantly clicked together for him as Vincent made his way through the crowd, stepping directly to his wife’s side. Lucian immediately rolled his eyes, letting out a heavy, long-suffering sigh.
Vincent’s stormy-gray eyes took in the slight smudge on Penelope’s dress first, his protective instincts immediately flaring, before his gaze shifted to the man she had collided with.
"Lucian?" Vincent asked, his voice flat.
Hearing the name, Penelope looked at the arrogant young man more carefully now. Though this was her very first time seeing him in person, the grand rumors of the court immediately lined up with the face in front of her. This was Duke Lucian, the notoriously proud ruler of the Duchy of Belgravia.
No wonder he had such a big mouth, she thought, entirely unimpressed.
"Of course," Lucian muttered under his breath, exhaling softly as he looked between the two of them. He smoothed down the unsoiled part of his coat, trying to salvage whatever dignity he could. "It makes proper sense to me now, Vincent. You went and married the female version of yourself."
Vincent took in the heavily soiled front of Lucian’s attire. To Lucian’s profound displeasure, a flash of pure, unadulterated amusement danced in the Marquis’s gray eyes, as if the sight of a ruined Belgravian suit just added the perfect finishing touch to his wonderful night.
"You don’t plan on meeting the Emperor looking like that, do you?" Vincent asked smoothly.
Lucian’s jaw tightened so hard it looked painful. He visibly stopped himself from saying the exact words he truly wanted to say to Vincent, swallowing his venom in front of the surrounding court.
"Well, of course not," Lucian replied, his voice dripping with irritation at the mere question. "If you’ll excuse me."
With a stiff, tight nod, he walked off toward the grand exits, leaving the couple behind.
Vincent turned his full attention back to Penelope, his eyes tracing the smaller, but still noticeable, dark stain on her own gown. He let out a soft sigh, though the corners of his mouth were still tipped upward.
"Come," he murmured, his fingers wrapping securely around hers. "Let’s go fix yours as well."
Penelope took his hand and followed him, letting him lead her out of the vast, suffocating banquet hall and into the quieter, torch-lit corridors of the palace. Once they were safely away from the prying eyes of the nobility, she let out a huff.
"He’s the Duke of Belgravia? Your friend Laurent impressed me more than he did."
Vincent let out a low chuckle at that, thoroughly enjoying the lingering annoyance in his wife’s voice. He squeezed her hand gently as they walked. "What exactly did you say to him to make him that upset?"
Meanwhile, Lucian was heading toward his personal wing, muttering curses under his breath as he came to the bitter conclusion that he needed to change his entire outfit. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, as he spotted Laurent leaning casually against a marble pillar, a thoroughly amused expression on his face.
Laurent sent a friendly, easygoing wave his way. "If it isn’t my good friend, Lucian."
"Not now, Laurent," Lucian brushed him off coldly, adjusting his coat to try and hide the worst of the stain as he continued walking. "I am not in the mood for your jests."
"Ah, yes, I can see that," Laurent replied smoothly, falling into step beside him. His eyes flicked down, taking in the prominent dark stain on Lucian’s luxury outfit with an almost analytical precision. "The Emperor is still on the dais, waiting for you. You really do need to hurry up and offer your greetings. In the meantime, why don’t I head back and inform His Imperial Majesty that you have... err... a little wardrobe emergency?"
Lucian paused, offering a stiff, reluctant nod. "That would be helpful."
"Though, I must say, I didn’t know the Marchioness of Vandalia was quite that spirited," Laurent continued to converse, his tone light and conversational, though his eyes remained entirely sharp. He tilted his head, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "She seemed so quiet and like such a lovely person when I spoke with her. You must have truly pissed her off to get this kind of reaction."
Lucian scoffed, looking away, but Laurent wasn’t finished.
Laurent slowed his pace, dropping his voice into a softer, seemingly innocent murmur as he threw out a casual bait. "But... by the way, you didn’t even know she was Vincent’s wife, yet you were able to tell immediately that she was a Vandalian woman. Tell me, Lucian... did you happen to find Vincent’s wife appealing?"