The room began buzzing with murmurs.
It almost seemed as if the spectators had forgotten to breathe, so focused on what was going on.
"And my lord, who may you be?"
Countess Gordon spoke with trembling lips.
As the man turned around, Penelope felt her heart skip a beat. Hair as dark as night itself, eyes as sharp as a warrior's blade and as deep as the blue sea.
Oh, my! That's handsome.
Penelope immediately straightened her knees that were about to touch the floor. She blinked as she carefully examined the stranger's visage.
Just then, the man's steady voice filled the air.
"Me? Why, I am but a suitor for Miss Penelope."
Penelope felt her ears burn red as coal.
A suitor? But I haven't met this man before.
Sweeping over the tea parlor were the whispering sounds coming from the spectators, bemused by the sudden appearance of a seemingly eligible suitor.
A man who was five thousand times more charming than Count Gordon was claiming to be her suitor. It had to be a dream. Penelope couldn't believe it herself.
The man continued, the corner of his lips rising to form an attractive smile.
"Well, I think it is time Count Gordon coaxed his Countess and returned to his estate."
Count Gordon nodded and grabbed Monfee's arms.
"My lady, we should leave."
"No, I refuse to go! How am I to endure such insult!"
The black-haired man's blue eyes grew cold as ice.
"How thoughtless. Is it truly your intention to muddle the Count's name by making a spectacle of yourself, my lady?"
Whoa, way to go! Ding, ding, ding!
Penelope caught Rubia's eyes and smirked quietly. She gave her a look, obviously curious as to who the man was, but Penelope crossed her fingers.
After all, even she did not know who he was.
Countess Gordon was not pleased to hear the disrespectful tone, but she dared not speak. The man possessed an aura of pressing superiority, as if it came to him naturally—like a birthright.
Countess Gordon fumed through clenched teeth.
"As it was Lady Penelope that gave me such humiliation, I demand an apology."
The man let out a sigh, clearly not interested in concealing his worn patience.
"Then do as you please."
Huh? This wasn't what I had in mind.
Penelope gasped.
The man crossed his arms and added, in a tone of pure disgust, "Oh, did I mention? I happen to be a cousin to His Majesty."
"Wh-what did you say?"
Rumors would fade regardless of how big a scandal. But for the Emperor to become aware of such actions was another issue. Countess Gordon knew instinctively that the handsome black-haired man was telling the truth.
"My lady. Let us return."
Count Gordon's face turned pale at the mention of the Emperor. It started to occur to Countess Gordon that she might regret not leaving soon.
"Alright. We shall leave it at that for today. I must say, though, you have quite some luck with men, Lady Penelope."
"Thank you for your kind words, Countess."
Penelope returned, feigning cheerfulness in her tone.
"Do not think that this is over. I will return the favor next time we meet. Hmph!"
Countess Gordon swung around, fluttering the skirts of her dress.
Penelope twitched her lips.
I know your warnings are hollow, my lady.
"Rise."
"T-Thank you, Your Lordship."
Penelope looked back to find the man helping the old woman stand.
"This should be enough. Though you do not appear to require gold coins."
The man tossed a few coins into the old woman's basket and spoke intriguingly.
For a moment, her eyes seemed to quiver, but the old woman bowed and quickly left the tea parlor and into the streets.
"Thank you, My Lord. You have saved me from a great ordeal."
Penelope thanked the man sincerely.
The man looked at her sideways, then chuckled softly.
"You could offer a cup of tea to show that gratitude."
Ting-a-ding.
The bells resting on the wrinkled wrist gave off a clear sound as a breeze came to greet it. The beggar woman pushed the door and walked out of James Field's tea parlor. Filled with the coins the man had donated, the worn basket she was holding jingled with every step.
As soon as the old woman had taken a few steps with the help of her stick, a woman cloaked in a long chestnut robe appeared.
"Priestess Lucinda! I thought my heart was going to burst!"
"Yes, I'm sorry."
"Was she the one?"
The old woman came to a halt and put on a mysterious smile.
As she pulled out a small pouch and turned it upside down over her head, a colorful array of powder came spilling out. The grains trickled down her forehead, eyes, nose, and ears, glowing in a mystic spectrum. Magically, the wrinkled woman's face transformed into a smooth and youthful one.
She smiled brightly. "Whew, now I feel alive! It is so much better to be young again!"
"Priestess Lucinda, you must answer my question."
"Well, I don't have an answer to that. I haven't had the chance to confirm yet," Lucinda said, rubbing her sore hip.
"What? Do you mean you haven't accomplished anything even after using the golden dragon's magic powder? What a waste!"
Lucinda winked playfully. "I think she is very kind!"
Emma sighed loudly. "When will you stop such childish foolishness!"
"Emma, you admonish too much!"
"I'm not admonishing! I'm simply saying that as priestesses, we only need to pass on the words of goddess Helenia!"
"Stop."
"You didn't even have to walk into that tea parlor! We could've gone to the Zecalion manor!"
"I just wanted to see for myself. The kind of person that she is."
Lucinda smiled slyly as she looked at Emma spewing anger.
These women were priestesses from the shrine of goddess Helenia on the Isle of Hornia. Their role was to convey the goddess' oracle to the rightful person.
This oracle carried great weight; it was related to the faded magic—the old Tears of Hoerdor.
Lucinda made a face as if she had found something beguiling. "I just saw a descendant of the golden dragon."
"No, that's not possible. In all of Quan, the only living descendant with the golden dragon's blood is likely the Emperor of Lavata. What are the chances the Emperor would be in a tea parlor at this time of day?"
"No, I really saw him! He was gorgeous! Not as much as Dorgo, but still!"
"Really?"
Emma covered her mouth in shock.
"And you know what's even funnier?"
"What?"
"He knew who I was."
Lucinda's blue hair shimmered in the sunlight.
"No, no..."
"Yes, I'm sure of it! The girl seems to be deeply involved with the Emperor."
"What? Deeply involved?"
Lucinda's golden eyes sparkled. "Yes, I think she will become the Empress."
"But how... that would be destiny playing tricks."
"Isn't it heartbreaking? I want to help them. What do you think?"
"Lady Lucinda! I warned you we mustn't interfere!"
"Alright, alright!"
As Emma scolded, Lucinda shook her head and started walking down the road.
"Priestess, could you spare a moment?"
Someone called them from behind. Surprised, the two turned around.
There stood Prime Minister Oliver, smiling awkwardly.
Penelope and the man were sitting in a private room in the tea parlor. It was a secret parlor provided at a heavy charge for distinguished members of noble society.
The teacups were filled with steaming tea.
Sensing the silence, Penelope opened her mouth first.
"I do thank you for earlier, My Lord."
"Of course."
The black-haired man had his eyes closed, enjoying the scent.
"But I must ask... have we crossed paths before?"
Those words opened his shut eyes.
"What a foolish question to ask."
"I don't understand."
"Do you really not recognize me?"
"I have never seen you before, My Lord..."
The man spoke as if he knew her. Penelope didn't finish her sentence as she traced her memory.
Screech—
The man suddenly rose from his chair.
"W-Wait."
Penelope backed into her seat.
The man marched around Penelope's chair and whispered into her ear, his lips almost brushing her skin.
"Did you really think I would not find you if you ran away?"
A chill ran down her spine.
This voice...
"How about... you stop drinking?"
Could it be him? But this man had black hair and blue eyes.
Penelope spun around and looked at his face. Her eyes widened.
The same silver-haired man with violet eyes was standing right in front of her!
Oh, sweet mother and father!
Penelope was not sure if she was in her right mind.
"B-But just now, that wasn't you!"
The violet of his eyes deepened, predatory.
"You are mistaken. It has always been me, from the very beginning."
The man reached out to touch Penelope's flushed cheek. Her skin felt like fire.
"Bart. That's my name."
"Bart..." she repeated blankly, as though spellbound.
Their faces were so close, a parchment could barely fit between them.
"Make sure you remember it."
Bart wanted to stay longer, but Oliver was waiting outside with the priestess.
"I'll be seeing you. Goodbye, then."
Bart smiled and left.
Penelope stared blankly after him.
"Ah."
Moments later, Rubia dashed into the room, panting.
"What is going on? Was that him? From the other night?"
"Yes."
"But he had silver hair and violet eyes, didn't you say?"
"Yes, I did. I did but, but..."
Bart was gone now. Though he said he'd see her again, he hadn't said how.
Yet Penelope felt he would. Somehow, she knew it.
She swallowed hard, feeling trapped by him—and knew it was true.
One week later, at the house of Marquess Montana.
Penelope pulled up the skirts of her white dress lined with turquoise details and began walking up the spiral stairs.
She had received an invitation from Marchioness Montana for a masked ball—likely a ploy by Countess Gordon. She hadn't wanted to go, but decided it was time to stand up to the childish games.
Why do I keep ending up in these cumbersome balls!
A servant announced her name.
"Miss Penelope Arina Zecalion."
As soon as she stepped into the ballroom, Countess Gordon approached in a pink dress with matching feathers and fan—a walking peacock.
"That man... where is he?"
Penelope noticed a line of noblewomen behind her.
So, she has gathered an army.
"I beg your pardon, my lady?"
"Oh-ho! I knew it! He was hired to play a part for that little show!"
"See, Countess Gordon, we told you so!"
"Who would take such an old hag for a wife!"
Just hens pecking about, Penelope thought, keeping her composure.
"And your husband seems to have fled," she said sweetly. "He wouldn't want to be seen with you after such defamation."
"Still, I am the wife my husband chose."
"Of course, my lady. May you have a long, happy life—with the man I abandoned."
Countess Gordon's eyes flared.
"If that's how you wish to handle this, fine then."
She stormed onto the stage, interrupting the singer mid-performance.
"Everyone, may I have your attention!"
The room fell silent.
"Some of you may already know, but Miss Penelope slapped me last week."
Gasps filled the air.
"But thankfully, she has offered to bend her knees and apologize tonight!"
Penelope's face went blank. Murmurs rippled around her.
"What are you waiting for, Miss Penelope? On your knee, as you promised."
Penelope clutched her dress. She had walked right into the trap.
"If you do not kneel, I shall call on your parents to apologize on your behalf."
Cold sweat gathered on her forehead.
Countess Gordon pressed on relentlessly.
Penelope's heart pounded—until a voice boomed across the hall.
"His Majesty, the Emperor!"
Every head turned.
The silver-haired Emperor strode in, commanding awe. His violet eyes locked on Penelope as he crossed the hall.
Countess Gordon bowed. "Your Highness, to what do we owe this honor—"
Bart's glare silenced her. His voice was cold.
"And what business do you have with my fiancée?"
Fiancée...?
Shock rippled through the crowd.
Countess Gordon paled.
Bart leaned toward Penelope and whispered, "Use me."
Her eyes widened, then her lips curved into a clever smile.
"Countess Gordon," she said sweetly.
"Y-Yes, my lady?"
"What are you waiting for? You owe me an apology."
"I—I don't understand?"
"Earlier, how were you addressing me—the future Empress of the kingdom?"
"E-Empress...?"
Countess Gordon dropped her head immediately. "I apologize, my lady."
Penelope smiled. "Now, enough with the apologies. Do you understand 'contempt'?"
Holding Bart's arm, she looked down at the trembling countess.
"What are you waiting for? Kneel."