Music played softly—harps and violins weaving a melody meant to celebrate joy. Long tables overflowed with wine, crystal glasses, and lavish dishes prepared to honor the union of two powerful families.

This was the post-marriage celebration.

From The Dravaryn Kingdom’s six great noble families, the heads of two had arrived, seated among high-ranking nobles, merchants, and influential guests from distant lands.

Laughter echoed.

Glasses clinked.

Congratulations were exchanged.

Yet at the center of it all—

Evandria Gravewood sat still.

She wore a ceremonial blue gown, more elegant than anything she had ever worn before. Her hair was adorned with silver ornaments, her beauty drawing countless glances.

But her eyes were empty.

Beside her sat her husband.

Elion Goldleaf.

He sat straight, composed, his posture flawless. His black hair fell neatly over his forehead, his cold blue eyes calmly observing the hall. He spoke only when spoken to—and even then, his words were brief and controlled.

To the nobles, he looked dignified.

To merchants, powerful.

To some… unsettling.

One of the nobels leaned toward another and whispered,

“So that’s the man from Aurelith…”

“The Goldleaf,” the other replied quietly. “Even Dravaryn must tread carefully around him.”

Evandria heard none of it.

Her hands rested on her lap, fingers tightly intertwined.

So this is it, she thought.

She glanced sideways.

Elion hadn’t looked at her even once since they entered the hall.

A servant approached, bowing slightly.

“My Lord, My Lady—wine.”

Elion nodded once. “Leave it.”

His voice was calm. Emotionless.

The servant placed the glasses and retreated.

Evandria stared at the red liquid inside her glass. The surface trembled slightly—either from the music… or from her own unsteady breath.

Across the hall, Balthar Gravewood laughed with the visiting noble heads, his voice proud.

“The Gravewood and The Goldleaf are now bound,” he declared.

“This marriage marks a new era.”

Applause followed.

Evandria flinched.

Suddenly, she felt it.

A gaze.

She looked up.

Elion was watching her now.

Not with cruelty.

Not with desire.

But with an unreadable stillness—as if he were observing something fragile.

Their eyes met.

For a brief moment, the noise of the hall faded.

Then Elion looked away.

Evandria’s chest tightened.

Before she could stop herself, she turned toward him. Her voice was low, sharp—meant only for him.

“Congratulations,” she said quietly.

“You just purchased me.”

Elion’s eyes flicked toward her.

“You probably think you own me now,” she continued, her words trembling with restrained fury.

“But remember this—I will never love you.”

Her fingers clenched the fabric of her dress.

Her gaze hardened.

“You’re an evil person.”

"And i bet no one has ever loved you either," she added bitterly.

For a moment, Elion said nothing.

Then—

“Tch.”

A soft, dismissive sound escaped him.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” he replied coldly, his voice flat and uninterested.

“Whether you love me or not.”

No anger, only indifference.

Evandria felt something sink deep inside her chest.

                                       ***

Elsewhere in the Hall.

At a quieter corner of the banquet hall, three men stood together, partially hidden by towering pillars and flowing curtains.

They're the heads of three out of the six noble families of The Kingdom of Dravaryn.

Balthar Gravewood.

Zeroth Vilethorn.

Rowel Bloomward.

Zeroth Vilethorn smiled thinly, his eyes sharp and calculating.

“Your fortune is truly remarkable,” he said smoothly.

“To think—you gained a son-in-law from The Aurelith Kingdom.”

“And not just any man… but one with such a reputation.”

"But tell me something, Balthar,” he said casually.

“I heard you were planning to marry your daughter into House Usher.”

He tilted his head slightly, feigning curiosity.

“So why did you suddenly choose The Goldleaf family from Aurelith instead?”

Balthar’s expression remained calm.

“We are noble families,” he replied evenly.

“We must always think about what is good for us—and what is not.”

He paused, then added,

“Besides… he was the one who came here and asked for this alliance.”

Zeroth’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“He placed conditions,” Balthar continued.

“Terms so calculated… that I could not refuse.”

Zeroth let out a quiet chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said lightly—yet his tone carried a subtle edge.

“And it’s also good for you, isn’t it?”

The way he said it felt deliberate—

as if he were pointing at something unspoken,

trying to provoke Balthar into revealing more.

Balthar said nothing—his sharp eyes alone answered Zeroth.

Rowel Bloomward folded his hands behind his back.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“That’s what I’ve heard as well.”

He lowered his voice.

Then changing the topic he said-

“ But I heard some rumors about him that he beated his first wife every day.”

Zeroth’s smile widened faintly.

“Not only that,” Rowel continued,

“they say he also killed her.”

Balthar listened this silently.

“Well,” Balthar finally said, his voice calm yet oddly distant,

“No one ever saw her face.

No one knows what she truly looked like.”

"Don't you think that's why those rumors may be true," Rowel added.

"He did not let her step outside."

Balthar turned his gaze toward the hall.

"They are just rumors.”

“And whether they are true or not… it doesn’t matter.”

Zeroth raised an eyebrow.

“Really?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter to you… even after you lost your first daughter?”

Balthar slowly looked at him.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice cold.

“It was unfortunate that I lost her.”

For a brief moment, something dark flickered across his face—

mystery, restrained anger… and something else.

“But,” Balthar added quietly,

“I won’t fail this time.”

Silence followed.

The three men stood facing one another, their expressions unreadable.

Only ambition… and secrets heavy enough to suffocate the air.