The palace corridor was a sprawling maze of gold leaf and cold marble, but Vincent cut through them with the practical, lethal stride of a man walking a battlefield.

His heavy black coat was draped over his broad shoulders like a general’s mantle, the fabric absorbing the morning light and casting a dark silhouette against the polished floors.

One hand remained buried in his pocket, his fingers curled tightly around the lace garter he had taken with him.

He paid no attention to the flurry of servants who bowed as he passed, their hushed greetings trailing off in the wake of his icy presence. He didn’t acknowledge the curious, lingering stares of the courtiers who whispered behind their fans. He knew what they were looking for, and that was one of the reasons he chose not to bring his wife with him today.

His boots clicked rhythmically against the stone, steady and ominous as he strolled through the gallery,his dark coat billowing. Half a step behind him, walking with a synchronized, rhythmic precision, was his right hand; Captain Elias Thorne.

Elias didn’t need to be told why the Marquis had shown up alone on the most important morning of his married life. He had seen the state of his master’s mood before they departed from the estate. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

"The king is not in high-spirit this morning, My Lord," Elias murmured, his voice low enough to stay between them. "However, I heard it has something to do with the count and his son? The count has been whispering with the Duke’s faction near the North’s Terrace. The fact that you called off your alliance with the Duke’s sister has... stirred problems."

Vincent clicked his tongue, a sharp dismissive sound that echoed against the cold marble. "I’ll handle it."

"Of course, My Lord," Elias replied smoothly, adjusting his spectacles with a clinical calmness. "I have already prepared the official statement regarding the Marchioness’s sudden exhaustion from the travels. Shall I deliver it to the Queen’s lady-in-waiting, or do you intend to make the announcement yourself?"

Vincent stopped abruptly at the towering gilded entrance to the throne room. The sudden halt forced Elias to pivot with practiced ease. Vincent turned slightly, the light from the clerestory windows catching the flash of his stormy-gray eyes.

"Leave that to me as well," Vincent commanded, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Your task is elsewhere. I want you to find out exactly what happened to Penelope in the days leading up to the wedding. If this sudden devotion of hers is part of a scheme, I need to know the architect immediately."

"Consider it done," Elias replied, bowing low as the heavy doors began to creak open, revealing the glittering, treacherous sea of the royal court.

Vincent stepped into the throne room, his presence acting like a sudden drop in temperature.

The royal court was a sea of shimmering silks, powdered faces,and sharp eyes, all of which were currently fixed on the doorway.

Vincent didn’t scan the room for friends; he walked through the hall with a self-possessed confidence, his coat flaring with every stride, a dark inkblot on the pristine marble floor.

As he reached the center of the hall, the silence of the room was broken by the sharp snap of fans closing and the rustle of courtiers leaning in to mutter to one another.

"Where is the Marchioness?"

"Did he leave her at the estate?"

"So soon?"

Vincent ignored the murmurs, his gaze locked on the royal dais at the far end of the room. He didn’t offer a polite smile or a nod of acknowledgement to the nobles who stood in his path. They simply parted for him, drawn away by the sheer, cold gravity of his momentum.

Standing near a marble pillar, the Duke watched him with an unreadable expression. Vincent felt the stares like heat on his skin, but he didn’t give them the satisfaction of a glance.

He reached the base of the throne, the King and Queen watching him with guarded expressions. Vincent came to a halt, his boots clicking one last time before he gave a slow, shallow bow that was more a formality than an act of submission.

"Your Majesties," he greeted, his baritone voice carrying effortlessly through the vaulted space.

The King leaned forward, his crown catching the light. "Marquis. We expected two guests this morning. Where is the current Marchioness?"

"My wife is indisposed," Vincent replied, the lie as smooth and dangerous as a polished stone. "The excitement of the transition has taken a toll on her health. She sends her deepest regrets, though I suspect that her absence today will be the only mercy the court is likely to receive from her this season."

A heavy silence followed, broken only by the rustle of silk as courtiers leaned in to listen.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Marquis of Aelgard?" the King’s voice dropped, a frown deepening the lines on his face. "News of your wife’s attempt to elope with the Count’s son has spread through Aelgard like a plague. I granted you one final chance to proceed with this union– against my better judgment– only because you insisted you would take no other woman but her."

The King’s hand tightened on the arm of his throne. "My decree was absolute: should another scandal arise, the marriage would be annulled, and you would be bound to the Duke’s sister as pre-planned. Yet, despite the report of her flight, you went ahead and wed the Baron’s daughter. You have willfully ignored a royal mandate. Before I pronounce the sentence for your transgressions and see to it that you face the consequences, I will grant you one final moment. Is there any reason for such blatant defiance?"

Vincent didn’t flinch. He adjusted his stance slightly, meeting the King’s piercing gaze with an unreadable expression, his posture radiating a calm authority.

"My wife was merely deceived," he replied, his voice dropping to a lower, more lethal register. "She is a woman of soft heart and noble blood, and she fell victim to a masterfully woven web of lies. The Count’s son played upon her kindness. It was not an elopement, Your Majesty. It was an attempted abduction under the guise of a rescue."

A sharp gasp rippled through the hall. This was no longer just a royal inquiry, it had turned into a public execution of reputation.

In the shadows of the pillar, William went deathly pale. The blood drained from his face as he feared that everyone’s suspicion would shift towards him. He turned a panicked, wide-eyed look to the Baron, seeking some form of support. The Baron, however, remained composed, merely offering a slight, barely perceptible gesture of his head.

Vincent took a slow step forward, the movement subtle but imposing. "Lady Penelope is the Marchioness of Aelgard. She is my wife by law, by blood, and by the gods. If your decree requires a head for this scandal, then I suggest you look toward sir William and his true intentions with my wife. He did not seek to save her, he sought to steal what is mine."

The king leaned back, his fingers drumming a slow, rhythm beat on the gold-carved armrest of the throne. The sound was like a gavel striking.

"You are making a dangerous gamble, Vincent," the king mused, his eyes narrowing. "You are claiming the Count’s son is a kidnapper rather than a lover. It is a bold accusation to hurl in open court. Tell me, do you have proof of this ’deception,’ or are you simply too proud to admit you’ve married a woman who doesn’t want you?"