Chapter 45
An engagement that the very parties involved knew nothing about.
What made the contents of the pamphlet even more outrageous was that it treated the announcement of the engagement as if it were already a foregone conclusion.
As if no confirmation was needed from the supposed bride and groom—because the testimony of “an anonymous informant” alone was apparently evidence enough.
“Was this the Duke’s doing?”
Cecilia, standing behind the pamphlet, lowered it to her side with a grim expression.
She was quick to accuse Marriott, not because she had proof, but because her resentment toward him was so deep that she wanted to believe it.
Hera, however, calmly shook her head.
“No, Cecilia. It wasn’t Prince Lorant.”
“Then it must be Father’s work.”
Her emotions, already running high, shook both her voice and her body.
She had burst into Hera’s room in a storm, and now her agitation was even greater.
“Even if they try to force it this way, if the Duke rejects you, you’ll be the only one humiliated! How could they—!”
Cecilia stamped her foot against the floor, but it did nothing to vent her fury.
Her lips trembled as she bit down hard on them, then she suddenly seized Hera’s arm.
The desperate gesture was like that of a drowning person clutching at a rope thrown from the shore.
“Sister. This isn’t the time to stay quiet. You have to—!”
Their eyes met.
In that instant, Hera caught a glimpse of her sister’s thoughts.
Cecilia had forgotten.
She had momentarily forgotten that her elder sister had lost her memories.
And then she remembered again.
The woman before her was no longer the sister she used to know.
“…I’ll return to my room.”
An expression close to emptiness—neither disappointment nor despair—flashed across Cecilia’s face. Hera found herself unable to say a word.
Moments ago Cecilia had been seething with rage, and now she left the room in eerie calm, as if it had all been a lie.
“What a troublesome man… that Baron Tolyn.”
Hera picked up the discarded pamphlet and read over the words again.
There was no concrete proof, yet even someone as oblivious to politics as Hera could tell at once: the anonymous informant had to be Ober Tolyn.
How had the Tolyn siblings endured him all these years?
How had Emilia treated such a father?
Questions like these often arose in Hera’s mind.
Perhaps the siblings’ unusually strong bond had been forged under Ober Tolyn’s cruelty—an unspoken vow to protect one another in the shadow of a sadistic and merciless father.
Even Julian’s words to her—that he was on her side—might have been born from that same vow.
The thought of Julian came to Hera then, and with it, a sense that he might offer her a reliable solution.
He was, after all, the eldest of the three siblings and the one who best understood Ober’s schemes.
“Perhaps I should go to Julian.”
The pamphlet’s impact was explosive.
Even the illiterate crowded around, begging others to read the words aloud for them. The entire capital buzzed in anticipation of the supposed “surprise announcement” that was to take place at the Imperial Ball.
With the exception of the parties involved and a few insiders, everyone in Central adored the scandal linking Emilia Tolyn and Marriott Lorant.
“Have you read this?”
The office of Julian, captain of the city guard, was always kept in silence.
Its master loathed noise so much that even the sound of a pamphlet tossed onto his desk now rang out sharply.
“…Good morning, Your Grace.”
Julian, who had been examining other reports, deliberately ignored the pamphlet in his line of sight.
He didn’t need to look up to know the visitor was Marriott Lorant.
There were only a handful of people who would be angry enough about that pamphlet to come storming in.
Julian slid the offending sheet aside and returned his gaze to the documents before him.
Above him, Marriott’s voice fell with biting accusation.
“You’re old enough to know better than to think licking something first makes it yours. Isn’t Tolyn taking things a little too far this time? Don’t you agree, Captain?”
You’re the one who started this.
Julian had no intention of answering, but inwardly he couldn’t stop the bitter thought.
It was Ober who had spread the lie about an engagement announcement at the ball.
But it was Marriott who had handed him the weapon—by officially acknowledging the scandal in the courtroom.
Had he not done so, Ober would never have dared such a brazen scheme.
Julian’s grip on his paperwork tightened unconsciously.
“Best to put an end to this scandal now. This time, Captain, I’ll need your cooperation.”
“Are there really sons who publicly oppose their fathers?”
Marriott’s eyes narrowed.
Julian’s words were couched in deference, but his expression betrayed clear dissatisfaction—not only with Marriott, but with the whole situation.
He, too, disliked Ober’s plan.
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a father.”
Julian was a variable.
When it came to matters involving his sister Emilia, he was a very useful variable indeed.
Marriott’s gaze shifted, probing.
“As a brother, you must know you can’t ignore your sister in distress. Every man I know would act.”
“I don’t consider my sister to be in distress.”
Marriott thought he was bluffing—choosing Ober’s side out of pride, unwilling to lose their battle of wills.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back, his stance deliberately insolent, pressing further.
“Is that so? But what if your sister gets dragged into more scandals, more disgrace? Wouldn’t you regret not acting sooner, when it’s already too late?”
“…”
At that, Julian finally lifted his head.
His face was no longer impassive—it carried a dangerous edge.
Marriott smirked, satisfied to see the reaction, only for Julian to school his features back to cold neutrality in an instant.
He’s bluffing. That’s all this is—empty posturing.
It would be child’s play for someone like Marriott to manufacture a few petty rumors, tarnishing a lady’s honor.
But Julian knew he wouldn’t.
Marriott would never be the one to ruin Emilia with his own hand.
“You won’t, Your Grace.”
“Me? Is that what you think?”
Marriott arched a brow at Julian’s calm certainty.
Julian rose slowly from his seat, glaring at him with open distaste.
“Whatever this began as, even you have taken quite a liking to my sister.”
“Is that the best the captain’s intuition can do? How disappointing.”
“I know this much—Your Grace never tolerates obstacles. And Emilia, both now and in the future, will be one. Yet despite knowing that, you’ve done nothing. That only means you’re already being swayed by her.”
To lose the lead in a conversation was something Marriott despised most.
The arrogance on his face cooled, hardening.
“My father keeps stoking this scandal for the same reason I just pointed out. You know it, too.”
“So now you’re trying to put all the blame on me? Is that the grand tradition of House Tolyn?”
“Our history is far too short to speak of tradition. Call it honesty instead. I only offered frank advice for your sake, Your Grace.”
“I like frankness. Can’t stand people who dance around their words.”
A crooked smile spread across Marriott’s lips.
“So you think using Emilia Tolyn against me will work? If that’s what you and Ober believe, you’re gravely mistaken.”
He leaned closer, his shadow falling over Julian.
“Who do you think can use that woman more easily—you and your family, or me?”
He spoke as though Emilia’s heart already lay in his hands.
If it was the truth, he was deluded. If it was a lie, it was vicious posturing.
Either way, Julian knew: this was nothing more than a petty battle for dominance.
A pointless exchange where the first to falter emotionally would lose face.
Yet heat surged in Julian’s chest all the same.
In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to tear Marriott Lorant apart with his bare hands.
“Your Grace Lorant?”
A voice called from the doorway.
A voice familiar to them both—yet one they least wished to hear right now.
