Chapter 89: To The Foolish Heart
Vincent walked past the empty walkway, the night wind blowing fiercely through the open arches of the imperial palace. Though the banquet had not yet fully concluded, he was more than glad to have this meeting with the Emperor once and get it over with.
He walked with a swift, purposeful stride, his eyes briefly sweeping over the sprawling, manicured gardens below. The air carried the sharp, heavy scent of incoming rain, a familiar precursor to the capital’s unruly weather.
He knew how much Penelope enjoyed the gardens. Perhaps during a free weather, he would bring her to this side of the palace so she could see the gardens here too. The thought brought a faint smile to the corner of his lips.
Just as he rounded a sharp corner, a figure stepped blindly into his path from the opposite direction.
The collision was sudden, but the impact did nothing to alter Vincent’s stride. The other person, however, reeled backward from the force of hitting his solid chest. Hearing the soft genuine gasp of alarm, Vincent acted entirely on instinct, his hands snapping forward to grip her upper arms with a firm, steadying hold before she could hit the stone floor.
The momentum pulled the lady forward slightly into his space, her face now just inches from his collarbone. She smelled of sweet, expensive rosewater, and her delicate frame was completely dwarfed by his.
When she looked up, Vincent’s eyes narrowed slightly in recognition, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to quiet calculation.
"Lady Catherine?"
She looked genuinely startled, her eyes wide with a trace of lingering fear, but a wave of profound relief immediately washed over her features upon recognizing him. Before she could even utter a word, the sharp echoing sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor behind them, and that pricked a sense of alarm from Catherine.
Without a word, she shrank back, stepping directly behind Vincent’s broad frame. She gripped the heavy fabric of his cloak, effectively using his towering body as a shield to block herself from view.
Vincent’s brow furrowed. He disliked being touched, and he disliked being dragged into court matters even more. But before he could demand an explanation for what she was doing, the owners of the footsteps rounded the corner.
Three young noblemen burst into the passage, their hurried paces grinding to an abrupt, awkward halt the moment they laid eyes on him.
"Ah– Marquis Vincent?" one of them stammered, the color rapidly draining from his face, like they had not been expecting to run into him of all people.
Vincent stood perfectly still, his posture rigid and imposing. He slowly eyed the three men before him, his gaze cold and assessing, before casting a brief, sideways glance over his shoulder at Catherine, who was still clutching his cloak.
The men’s eyes darted to Catherine’s hidden figure, and then back to Vincent’s dark, unreadable expression. The realization of who they had just run into, and what they had been caught doing, pestering the duke’s sister finally settled in.
They exchanged tense, frantic glances, their bravado evaporating in an instant. Sweating under the weight of the Marquis’s legendary, icy stare, they desperately tried to mask their panic with tight, nervous smiles.
"W-what brings a man like you to this side of the palace, Your Lordship?" the lead noble squeaked, his voice betraying the sheer terror of facing the monster of Aelgard.
Vincent didn’t bother answering their question. Instead, he stepped slightly forward, his towering frame completely obscuring Catherine’s from their view.
"You look nervous," Vincent remarked, his voice dropping to a low, quiet timber that seemed to sap the warmth right out of the corridor. "Is there a reason the three of you look as though you’ve just been caught committing treason?"
The lead nobleman swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing violently. "N-nervous? Not at all, My Lord! We were simply... passing by. Yes, just taking a stroll to clear our heads from the wine. The banquet was interestingly delightful."
"Passing by," Vincent repeated flatly, his gray eyes narrowing. He didn’t believe a single word, and the sheer weight of his silence was suffocating. He had no patience for their pathetic games at the moment.
"Go on, then," Vincent commanded, his tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.
The three men didn’t need to be told twice. Terrified of provoking the Marquis any further, they offered frantic, sloppy bows, nearly tripping over their own ceremonial robes as they scrambled backward.
"Of course, Your Lordship! Have a good evening!" one of them squeaked.
Within seconds, they turned on their heels and hurried away, their rapid, retreating footsteps echoing down the corridor until they finally vanished from earshot.
Only then did Lady Catherine peek out from behind Vincent’s shoulder, finally letting out a long, trembling breath of relief.
"They are gone," she heard him say, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. "You can let go of my cloak now."
"Oh—"
Realizing she was still desperately clutching the dark, heavy fabric of his cloak, Catherine immediately let go as if burned. She took a hasty, respectful step back, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. The embarrassment of her undignified behavior warred with the sudden, breathless proximity to a man she had quietly harbored feelings for. Even now, looking at his sharp, striking profile in the dim torchlight, her heart fluttered with a painful, familiar ache. She had loved him from afar for so long, and being this close to him once more only made those lingering attachments resurface with a vengeance.
She quickly bowed her head, trying to hide the longing in her eyes under the guise of deep gratitude.
"Thank you so much for your timely intervention, Lord Vincent," she said, her voice soft and slightly breathless. "I only came to this wing to see my brother... but on my way back, those men cornered me and began following. I did not know what to do. But they are gone now, so... thank you. Truly."
"There is no need for thanks, Lady Catherine," Vincent replied, his voice cool and distant. His gaze was already shifting past her toward the grand double doors at the end of the hall. "However, the palace corridors are not safe for a lady to traverse alone at this hour. I suggest you find your brother, or a proper guard, to escort you back to the ballroom immediately."
Catherine’s smile faltered slightly, a quiet pang of rejection tightening in her chest. She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing her posture to remain elegant and composed. "Of course, my Lord. You are, as always, entirely correct. I shall do just that."
She hesitated, her fingers lightly curling into her skirts as she looked up at him one last time. "Are you... also heading back to the banquet?"
"I have an audience with His Imperial Majesty," Vincent interrupted smoothly, cutting off her invitation before she could fully voice it. He stepped past her, his dark cloak brushing against her shoulder as he moved with a swift, unbothered stride. "Have a safe evening, Lady Catherine."
Without waiting for her response, Vincent walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing with a cold, rhythmic finality down the stone hallway.
Catherine stood alone in the dim light of the corridor, watching his retreating figure disappear around the corner. She let out a soft, bittersweet sigh, cursing the persistent, foolish heart that still beat so frantically for a man who would never look her way.
Catherine stood alone in the dim light of the corridor, watching his retreating figure disappear around the corner. She let out a soft, bittersweet sigh, cursing the persistent, foolish heart that still beat so frantically for a man who would never look her way.
He had saved her once before, years ago—an act of cold, effortless chivalry that had sparked her quiet devotion in the first place. But it didn’t matter now. At least she had gotten to see him again, even if it was through a terrible encounter. To her foolish heart, it was entirely worth it.
**********
Meanwhile, Vincent walked briskly toward the Emperor’s private inner salon. The heavy oak doors were guarded by imperial sentries, who immediately bowed and parted to let the Marquis of Vandalia pass.
As the doors swung open, the oppressive weight of perfume, expensive tobacco, and strong liquor washed over him. The atmosphere here was a stark contrast to the stiff, public grandeur of the ballroom. This was the exclusive, late-night salon—an after-banquet gathering reserved strictly for the empire’s most powerful men.
In the center of the lavishly carpeted room, a group of foreign, captivating women danced to the slow, hypnotic rhythm of stringed instruments. They wore sheer, skimpy silks that left little to the imagination, their movements fluid and deliberately provocative as they entertained the lounging nobles.
Vincent’s gaze swept past the dancers with complete apathy. His eyes immediately locked onto the imperial dais at the back of the room.
There sat the Emperor, looking thoroughly amused, and standing nearby was Lucian.
The Duke had successfully changed his attire. He now wore a pristine, dark emerald doublet, completely devoid of any wine stains, looking every bit the untouchable high noble. However, the moment Vincent stepped into the room, Lucian’s eyes snapped toward him, his posture stiffening. The lingering humiliation of his encounter with Penelope was still fresh, and seeing the husband of the woman who had ruined his clothes did nothing to improve his mood.
"Ah, Vincent!" the Emperor’s deep voice boomed over the music, gesturing for him to come closer. "You finally decide to grace us with your presence. Come, sit. You have missed the best part of the evening."