"It seems that all of you had finally lost it."
Evander's words cut sharply through the sweltering air, sending involuntary shivers down the spines of the eight men gripping the ground in push-up form. He stood tall and unyielding before them, a commanding presence under the blazing sun in the training grounds, his gaze unwavering and stern.
Samuel, having just arrived and witnessing the unexpected scene, approached the other knights sitting nearby with a curious expression.
"What is happening? Were they punished for coming here?" he asked.
"Apparently, they showed disrespect toward her Ladyship. They even went so far as to point a sword at Zilda, and Marlon sparred with her." Jack replied plainly.
Evander stepped forward, positioning himself directly in front of Maro, who was visibly trembling, fear etched across his face.
"Stand," Evander commanded sharply.
Maro swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously between Evander's unwavering gaze and the unforgiving ground beneath him. With trembling arms, he pushed himself up, his movements stiff and reluctant. The other knights shifted uncomfortably, their forms still holding the strain but their attention fully captured by the unfolding confrontation.
Evander stepped closer to Maro, his taller frame looming over the trembling knight. His gaze fixed sharply on him, the intensity so piercing it seemed almost capable of cutting through steel. The sheer force of Evander's presence silenced the surrounding knights, each one aware of the unspoken warning burning in his eyes.
Though his exterior remained composed, a seething fury burned within Evander. Norielle's words echoed in his mind, and it reminded him of the deep bond each knight held with him.
"I'll spare you for now," he said, his voice calm but laced with unmistakable menace. "But there won't be a next time. Disrespect toward her is disrespect toward me. Remember my words clearly, or I will take every one of your lives with my sword."
A heavy silence hung in the air as Evander's words settled upon the men like a crushing weight. The eight knights remained frozen, their breaths shallow, their bodies tense beneath the unrelenting sun. Maro's eyes lowered to the ground, the color drained from his face, the reality of Evander's threat sinking deeply.
Evander's gaze swept across the assembled knights. "You are bound by oath and honor. Any further insubordination will not be met with mercy." He said with such authority.
Slowly, he turned, his cloak trailing behind him as he strode away from the group and made his way toward Samuel and the others.
Samuel greeted him with a relieved smile. "I'm glad you spared them," he said.
"They better thank Norielle," Evander replied curtly. "Gather everyone in the dining hall tonight." With that, he dismissed Samuel and walked away.
As the oppressive weight of Evander's gaze lifted, the eight knights slowly pushed themselves up from the blistering ground, their muscles aching and bodies drenched in sweat. The harsh punishment had taken it's toll, leaving them physically drained and mentally subdued.
For a few moments, a fragile relief settled over them, their ordeal seemingly at an end.
Their breaths came shaky, exhaustion softening the harsh lines of their faces. Some slumped against nearby trees, while others wiped trembling hands across their brows, savoring the cooling breeze as it whispered through the training grounds.
Among them were two particular knights, one dressed in flashy clothes beneath a cloak, the other similarly cloaked. Both harboring bitter feelings, convinced the punishment was unjust. They recalled that when they arrived at the training ground, the sparring match between the maid and Marlon was already begun, and they had only joined the betting minutes before their commander's arrival. Yet they endured the same severe penalties.
But their brief moment of relief was quickly broken.
From the far wall, Samuel, strode forward, his expression darkening with barely contained fury.
"On your knees!" he shouted, striking his sheathed sword sharply against the ground like a cane.
The punished knights straightened, faces tightening as they assembled and knelt before their disappointed vice-commander.
Ah, my head... the heat... Rivera and Anton groaned silently in their mind, the combined weight of exhaustion and alcohol pressing heavily on them.
Samuel's stern gaze swept over the kneeling knights. "You have shown nothing but disrespect and weakness. This order demands loyalty and strength, not foolishness and recklessness." he said sharply, his voice cold and unforgiving.
His thoughts were filled with disappointment. Though he was already aware with their opposition towards the lady, he had never once thought they would do such thing that would tarnish their honor as a knight.
Meanwhile, in a quiet, empty room, Zilda sat nursing the ache from a fresh cut on her right shoulder. Outside, Revan stood near the open door, tension evident on his face. As Zilda began to undress to tend the wound, Revan abruptly turned and closed the door with haste, stopping her mid motion.
Startled, her eyes narrowed as she face the closed door. "Who's there?" she questioned sharply.
From the other side. "It's me. I mean no intrusion. I thought giving you privacy would be best." Revan explained.
Zilda sighed, the pain from her shoulder a dull throb beneath her skin. "What do you want?" She asked.
"I was... I saw you, I was worried."
Revan's words hung in the air, met with Zilda's silence. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sign of his growing unease at the cold distance she maintained.
After a moment, he spoke again, softer this time. "I didn't mean to intrude. I only wanted to make sure you were alright." He said.
Zilda continued tending her wound with deliberate movements, her eyes fixed elsewhere, not once glancing toward the door.
Feeling defeated, Revan let out a heavy sigh, his gaze lingering briefly on the closed door. Without another word, he turned and quietly slipped away down the corridor, leaving the chamber steeped in silence and the dull throb of pain that clung to Zilda's shoulder.
Left alone in the quiet room, Zilda allowed herself a brief moment of vulnerability. Suddenly, the faint echo of footsteps reached her ears, distant at first, then growing faint as they receded down the corridor. She paused, her hands still as she instinctively turned toward the door, eyes narrowing at the silence that followed.
He finally left, again... she thought, the familiar ache tugging not only at her shoulder but at her heart.
With a subtle sigh, she returned to tending her wound, steeling herself against the loneliness that clung to the empty room.
***
Norielle let out a deep, heavy sigh.
I never thought I would need to be taught like this again after waking up here... she thought bitterly.
"Your Ladyship, the North will be your future domain," Nancy proclaimed with a practiced air. "It is a vast and complex territory, which is why you must master these duties now."
Viscountess Nancy Gomer, Norielle's assigned tutor in Grand Duchess etiquette, was a woman renowned for her meticulous insistence on protocol, masking a fierce ambition that transformed every lesson into a relentless struggle for control and supremacy.
Norielle sneered as she looked at the heavy books before her. She knew they had nothing to do with managing a domain or being a true Grand Duchess.
Meanwhile, Viscountess Nancy Gomer watched with a satisfied smile, eyes fixed on Norielle's lowered head as she stared at the pages. She believed that she was about to mold another young lady, bending her will and dancing gracefully within her palm.
With a sigh, Norielle sat back straight, pressing her back against the chair. She pushed the books aside and turned her head to the side, disappointment flashing across her face.
Norielle had thought highly of Viscountess Nancy Gomer when she learned that Butler Corran had personally recommended and recruited her. Corran had shown Norielle nothing but respect, earning her trust and admiration, why she had held high expectations for Nancy as her governess. Yet now, faced with the shallow lesson and Nancy's true ambitions, Norielle felt a deep sense of betrayal.
"Leave." Norielle ordered coldly.
Viscountess Nancy's satisfied smile faltered, replaced by a forced smile that did not reach her eyes. A flicker of anger flashed behind her carefully maintained facade as she stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and Norielle. Her gaze locked onto the young noblewoman with an intensity that revealed the restrained fury simmering beneath her polished composure.
"Is there a problem, Your Ladyship?" Viscountess asked, her teeth firmly pressed together, voice calm but edged with barely concealed anger.
Norielle met Nancy's piercing gaze with cold indifference, her expression unreadable, unflinching and unwavering.
Straightening her posture, "I'm not feeling good right now, let's call it a day." She replied.
A faint flicker of frustration crossed beneath the Viscountess forced smile, though she masked it with practiced ease.
"As you wish," she said smoothly, her voice carrying a subtle warning that their conflict was far from over.
Without another word, the Viscountess turned and exited the room. Norielle watched as the door closed behind her, the figure disappearing and leaving behind a lingering sense of disappointment.
She didn't even bother to curtsy, the very first thing you learn when studying etiquette. Even I who came from different and modernised world, knew it. Norielle thought in disappointment.
Minutes later, a soft knock echoed at the door, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the room. Norielle glanced toward the sound, the door creaked opened to reveal Zilda.
"Where have you been?" Norielle asked with quiet curiosity, noting she had not seen Zilda since Evander's arrival at the training grounds.
"I changed clothes, they were ruined during the fight," Zilda replied without embellishment, stepping inside.
Norielle remained seated, her gaze drifting toward the ornate window as the afternoon light filtered through the heavy curtains. Her fingers traced idly over the surface of the table, the disappointment settling deep within her.
Breaking the silence, Zilda stepped further inside. "His Grace, had called for you, my lady." She announced.
Norielle shifted her attention to her lady-in-waiting, eyes narrowing slightly in quiet acknowledgment.
"Did he..." Norielle murmured softly, her voice trailing off.
A thought crossed her mind. Did that bitch snitch on me? Yet she showed no sign of agitation, maintaining unwavering indifference.
"Did he say why?" Norielle asked.
"No," Zilda replied plainly. "But I saw him with the butler, and Viscountess Gomer was present."
Norielle let out a quiet sigh as she stood, preparing herself for what was to come. Her calm exterior masked the storm within, as her thoughts simmered with silent curses directed at the Viscountess.
Norielle took a slow, steadying breath before following Zilda toward Evander's office. As they neared the door, the muffled sobs subsided, leaving a fragile stillness hanging in the air.
Zilda glanced briefly at Norielle, her brow furrowed as she wondered silently, What could she possibly have done? As Norielle thought, Why the hell is she even crying for?
"Enter," Evander commanded, sensing their presence outside the door.
Norielle pushed the door open, stepping inside the office where Evander stood near a large window, his gaze fixed on the fading horizon beyond the estate grounds. Behind him, Butler Corran attended quietly to the Viscountess, who had composed herself but remained seated, her eyes red rimmed and tired.
Confused Norielle questioned on her thought, Why does she looked like that? As if ahe went through divorce?
Evander turned at Norielle's entrance, the sharp line of his jaw softening slightly at the sight of her.
"You called?" Norielle asked keeping her expression neutral.
Evander gave a curt nod. "Yes, I did. But the matter is settled for now. You need not be involved further at this moment." He said.
The Viscountess rose slowly, her posture stiff yet fragile. Butler Corran stepped forward immediately, his expression uneasy as he gently guided her toward the door. She cast a final, lingering glance at Norielle, an unreadable mix of resentment and defeat, before following Corran quietly out of the room.
Zilda stepped forward and offered a respectful. Without waiting for further instruction, she quitely trailed behind Butler Corran and the Viscountess, moving gracefully down the corridor as the heavy door closed softly behind them.
What is happening...? Norielle thought in confusion.