Chapter 9
Salvard Tan’s lips curled briefly — a crooked, almost amused smile.
It was the expression on Ramberta Coronis’s face that caused it: a blend of anger, shock, and contempt.
Ordinarily, being met with such a look would be irritating, but in this case, he found it oddly refreshing. After all, the face wearing it was one he didn’t mind staring at.
“This has nothing to do with Pornax,” he said. “Why? Does it have to be a prince for you to listen?”
She clutched her chest, fingers pressing against the spot above her heart as if to contain her pounding pulse.
Even holding herself upright seemed an effort.
The sight of it — that fragile pride trembling under fury — only deepened Salvard’s quiet amusement.
“No,” she managed. “But if you’re not here on royal business, then you’ll have to explain why you’ve come.”
“I asked the lady, yet it’s her servant who answers,” Salvard said dryly. “Do you take me for someone who came to watch a puppet show?”
When Erwin, standing at Ramberta’s side, stepped in to answer, Salvard turned a sharp, venomous glance upon him.
The hostility in that look seemed to crawl over Erwin’s skin like smoke.
“…My apologies,” Erwin murmured, bowing his head.
Ramberta drew a slow breath and spoke herself.
“Of course not. But Erwin’s words are justified. If you know anything of what has happened to us, I believe you can understand why House Coronis would be wary of an unknown outsider.”
Her breath hitched between sentences, weakened by the lingering pain in her chest, but she finished every word with deliberate strength.
Her gaze met Salvard’s — defiant, unflinching.
The confidence that filled her voice came not from arrogance, but from trust — trust in the man beside her.
“This is a negotiation,” Salvard replied coldly. “You’re weighing the lives of the wedding guests your family failed to protect against what Coronis can offer in return.”
His words cut cleanly, mercilessly, and when he saw their faces twist in anger and pain, he continued.
“A meeting for your powerless vassal and his lady to trade hollow promises — just to buy time for your lord to recover his wits.”
Erwin turned away, hiding his expression.
Lord Avian’s condition was the greatest secret of House Coronis — one no outsider should know.
That this man had somehow reached the same conclusion shocked even him, though he knew denial would be useless.
Ramberta, however, could not hide her reaction as well. Whether from inexperience or from honesty, her expression betrayed her too easily — and Salvard found that, too, rather entertaining.
“No. Lord Avian is—”
“Away for negotiations with the North, yes. Not a bad story, I’ll admit. Among the few choices left to Coronis, that one is… the least foolish.”
He sighed and brushed his dark hair back with one hand before fixing her again with those unreadable, crimson eyes.
Her gaze faltered under his, and she looked down.
Following that motion, his eyes drifted lower — over the line of her neck, to the jeweled pendant resting above her chest.
He waited until she raised her head again.
“Lady Ramberta.”
Still she didn’t respond. He said her name once more.
And when she finally lifted her face, the resolve in her eyes had returned — a fragile thing, but there nonetheless.
She recovered quickly, this one.
“You said you wanted to explain your purpose,” she said.
“Yes. Watching this pitiful display of negotiation was simply… intolerable.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Tell me — would any fool sit still while someone robs his own warehouse?”
Erwin and Ramberta both began to speak, but Ramberta’s voice rose first.
“Why would House Coronis’s estate be yours to claim? If you desire a share, you’ll explain what right you have to sit here demanding it.”
Salvard leaned lazily against the back of his chair, a hint of laughter ghosting on his lips.
He savored the moment — her indignation, Erwin’s silence, the storm brewing between them.
This conversation, to him, was a decision of great weight.
And when at last Ramberta’s composure cracked, when he saw the anxiety flicker behind her proud eyes, he decided she had passed.
“Because, Lady Ramberta,” he said, “you are going to be my wife. And what husband does not treat his wife’s possessions as his own?”
The table crashed as Ramberta slammed her palm down and rose to her feet.
The burst of anger left her dizzy, her strength draining with the echoing thud — but she stood tall, burning with fury and humiliation.
Already, two barons and a duke’s envoy had made their vile offers — to buy her, to make her a concubine.
Now this man, this stranger, dared to speak as though marriage were another form of purchase.
Her patience had finally broken.
“Does this amuse you?” she hissed. “Toying with a widow — is that your idea of noble pleasure? Tell me, why should I ever become your wife?”
Her voice trembled, not from weakness but from rage so sharp it nearly choked her.
Even she was startled by the chill of her own tone — a sound born of hatred she’d never known she could feel.
“No,” Salvard said calmly. “There are two reasons.”
He looked her straight in the eyes, unflinching.
Then he raised a single finger toward her.
“First — if things continue as they are, Coronis will collapse beyond repair. Without ties to the North, you are a thorn in the South’s side — and a jewel they’re desperate to seize.”
He spoke as if reciting a death sentence.
“Lord Avian’s wounds, I hear, are grave. How much chance does he have to recover? Slim, I’d wager. But even if he should wake… do you really wish to greet him with a fallen house?”
Ramberta bit down hard on her lower lip.
Erwin tried to interject.
“Lord Salvard, as I said, the lord’s condition—”
“Be silent. I’m speaking to the lady.”
Salvard didn’t even glance at him. His words shut the room like a door.
“…It’s all right, Erwin.”
Ramberta steadied herself. Her next words came slow, deliberate.
“Then tell me — do you have a solution, Salvard Tan?”
She spoke his name as if it were poison, each syllable bitten off like a curse.
“Yes,” he said. “A very certain one.”
He raised a brow, expression unreadable.
“Second — the solution itself, and the reason you, a widow, must claim a new title. As for this matter…”
He turned his gaze toward Erwin.
“You, Erwin — will keep silent about it forever.”
Salvard extended another finger, then lowered his hand with a sigh.
He adjusted the half-open front of his coat and pulled a folded letter from his breast pocket.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the table.
“Now you’ll understand why I was certain your story about Lord Avian’s northern negotiations was a lie.”
Ramberta reached out, trembling.
She clutched the letter, but the words blurred before her eyes.
All she could hear was Erwin’s sharp intake of breath beside her — and one final line that burned clear and merciless before her.
‘Before I was the Duke of Lukon, I was your father, Lukon — writing to you, my son, Tan.
You must already know that your brother Dione is dead.
If you have the will to inherit his place… come.’”
