"Vincent, mind your words," the king uttered, his voice a low warning that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. It was a reminder that even a Marquis’s tongue could weave a noose, but Vincent’s gaze remained pinned on William.

Inside, a dark, calculating stillness settled over him. He was certain his wife bore no such mark. During their intense, intimate moment last night, he had not spotted any birthmark on her hip.

William wasn’t just lying; but he was trying to soil Penelope’s name in front of the most powerful people in the kingdom, dragging her reputation through mud to satisfy his own pathetic greed.

Vincent had already suspected that something like this was going to happen in court. Maybe not the context of it, but he had an inkling that William was going to do something stupid simply to get her back. It was precisely why he had chosen not to bring her today. He had told himself it was to protect her, to keep her from being overwhelmed by the venom and the negativity of the court. But there was a darker, sharper truth behind his nobility; he had kept her away because he knew William would be here as well.

Even now, despite everything, a seed of doubt plagued him. He had a feeling that if Penelope were to see William again, to see those pleading eyes and hear his honeyed lies, she would go back to him. She would run back into the arms of the man who was currently trying to ruin her, and all for a stupid past they shared together.

He could not let that happen. He would rather she hate him from behind the safety of his estate walls than let her be destroyed by a man who was using her virtue as a bargaining chip.

"Your Majesty," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a silk-over-steel tone that made the nearest courtiers flinch. "He holds a piece of cloth and claims it is a confession of love. He speaks of a mark that does not exist to satisfy his fantasy of a woman who will always be far beyond his reach. If he wishes to claim intimacy with the Marchioness of Aelgard, then let him produce something more substantial than the ramblings of a jilted thief."

William’s face flushed a deep, angry red at the rebuttal. "A thief? I am the one who was robbed! You took her! You used your power to silence my woman!"

"I used my power," Vincent countered, not bothering to look at William, "to ensure my wife was not burdened by the presence of a parasite. If you continue to speak her name with that filthy mouth, I shall ensure you never speak it– or anything else– again."

William didn’t dare provoke him further; the air around Vincent was practically vibrating with a lethal, silent threat.

He shifted his gaze toward the Baron, who took the cue and stepped forward. The older man kept his head in a low, submissive bow as he greeted the king and queen. With the King’s permission, he addressed the Marquis, his voice trembling with a well-rehearsed grief.

"This old servant understands the Marquis’s situation," he said, sounding like a man burdened by a heavy heart. "But this is for the betterment of the court. Sir William speaks the truth. Him and my daughter... as ashamed as I am, and deeply saddened that she would do something like this, it is for the best you let these two lovers be."

Vincent’s jaw tightened.

The betrayal of a father selling his daughter’s virtue to the highest bidder in open court was a new level of depravity, even for this den of vipers.

"Yes," William immediately nodded, gaining a sudden, bold second wind now that he had the father’s support. "Penelope is my responsibility. You are the Marquis! You can have any woman you want. I am certain that even the Duke’s sister is willing to marry you anyway."

William stepped a fraction closer, his eyes pleading with the king while his words were directed at Vincent. "So free Penelope... please. For her sake, for your own honor, let her go. What you are doing will only make her hate you more than she already does. Your Majesty, surely you see that a marriage built on such a... tainted foundation cannot stand?"

The court held its breath, and the trap was closing. If Vincent held onto her now, he was keeping a "soiled" woman against her "true" love and her father’s wishes. It was a move that would make him look like a tyrant to the public. But if he let her go, he would lose Penelope forever.

It was the Queen who spoke next, her voice shattering the silence. As the arbiter of feminine virtue, her word carried a heavy, moral finality. "Since sir William here claims Penelope has given herself to him, it is best she returns to him. She will be his responsibility, as the rules suggest, and they will both face the consequences of their actions. Think this through, must you marry this particular woman, Marquis? Is your pride worth a tarnished crown?"

"Yes," came Vincent’s response, immediate and resonant. He didn’t even blink. "You cannot cancel my marriage based merely on the assumptions of what they’re saying. I won’t accept it if they cannot offer something undebatable."

"Marquis," the Baron interjected, his voice dripping with faux-humility. "I am here to apologize to you on my family’s behalf. We promised you our daughter and she went ahead to do something so disgraceful. But... then again, she never agreed to this union. You forced her into this marriage with His Majesty’s support. The people are already talking. I am trying to preserve the Marquis’s name as well as the name of the court. If you let her go, she will not face society’s rebuttal. She will be tucked away where she can cause no further shame."

Vincent’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, dark mirth. The Baron was such a two-faced bastard.

"Enough," the king spoke up, his voice booming and silencing the room instantly. He leaned forward, his patience finally worn thin by the circular accusation."Since we cannot confirm if either of you is speaking the truth, then we shall hear it directly from the one who can finally put our suspicion to an end. Vincent, I demand that you bring your wife to the palace. Let her speak for herself."

Vincent felt a cold sweat prickle at the back of his neck. If Penelope came here, if she stood before William and saw that pleading, pathetic face of his, would she break? Would she confirm the lie just to be free of him?"

"Your Majesty–"

"She is the Marchioness," the king interjected, his gaze brooking no argument. "Let her speak as one. If she is the lover of William, let her confess it. Guards! Escort the Marquis’s men to the estate to fetch the Lady Penelope immediately."

William’s expression shifted.

For a fleeting second, the mask of the heartbroken lover slipped, revealing a flicker of sheer, panicked calculation. If Penelope stood before the king and denied the birthmark, along with the night of passion he had boldly claimed, he wouldn’t just be a jilted suitor. He would be a slanderer of the high nobility.

But he quickly steadied himself and thought;

She’ll be confused, she’ll be scared... when she sees me, all I have to do is coax her into submitting, then she’ll remember who she truly belongs to.

A faint, cunning smile curved his lips at the thought. He knew how obsessed Penelope was with him. She would surely listen to him this time. And then, after everything has fallen into place, he would make her suffer for all the humiliation he had been forced to endure.

The King’s guards turned to depart, their heavy capes snapping as they pivoted toward the heavy doors. But before they could reach it, the doors swung open.

Elias burst into the throne room, his breathing somewhat ragged, indicating he had run all the way here. He didn’t wait for an introduction, nor did he offer the customary bow to the throne.

He moved with a frantic urgency that sent a ripple of alarm through the courtiers.

He reached Vincent’s side, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper that carried just enough weight to reach the King’s sharp ears.

"Your Lordship," Elias said, his eyes darting toward the Marquis. "There’s... news from the estate. The Marchioness has run away... again."

The world seemed to stop for Vincent.