Truthfully, Callius escorting me safely from the banquet last night made his visit today more than appropriate—it was expected etiquette for a gentleman to confirm a lady's safe arrival.
Far from being presumptuous or improper, his calling at the palace was the height of refined manners.
Which made Andrea's reaction all the more revealing.
There's definitely something between them. Something dark.
I had never seen Andrea wear such an expression—disgust layered over barely concealed fear. This went beyond simple dislike or political rivalry.
What exactly did Callius do to inspire such visceral hatred?
Not that I particularly cared to know the details. Whatever Callius had done to earn Andrea's enmity only solidified my conviction.
Anything that makes Andrea this unsettled is perfect for me.
Watching Andrea's face contort with poorly masked revulsion, I wanted to applaud my own strategic brilliance in choosing Callius as my prospective husband.
I wonder how utterly unhinged Andrea will become when I actually marry him.
The prospect of marriage—once a source of terror—now filled me with something dangerously close to anticipation.
When I'd asked Andrea to personally reprimand the Marquis for his "inappropriate" gift of flowers, my dear brother had manufactured a pathetic excuse.
"Her Highness is not prepared to receive visitors at this hour. Inform the Marquis that he must return at a more suitable time."
I didn't bother stopping the maid who scurried off to deliver Andrea's dismissal.
There was no need.
Because—
"What is the meaning of this!"
"You cannot enter without proper authorization!"
The palace guards' protests echoed down the corridor, growing louder with each passing second.
"I will see Her Highness now."
Bam.
The doors swung open.
Callius appeared.
For a disorienting heartbeat, I thought Karl had somehow materialized in front of me.
They really do look remarkably alike.
Both possessed that rare combination of beautifully proportioned features and arresting eyes that commanded attention without effort. Even their golden irises were identical—the unmistakable mark of Ronheim bloodline.
But where Karl radiated an irrepressible playfulness that softened his edges, Callius carried an entirely different presence.
The Marquis was dangerous.
His gaze alone sent an involuntary shiver down my spine—predatory and assessing, the eyes of someone who had looked death in the face so many times he'd stopped flinching.
"Good afternoon, Your Highness." His attention shifted between Andrea and me with deliberate slowness. "Your Highness, Prince Andrea. What a pleasant surprise to find you both here."
The air itself seemed to still.
No one in the room dared speak. The oppressive aura radiating from Callius had frozen time, pinning us all in place like insects preserved in amber.
This is what a decade on the battlefield does to a man.
It felt as though a massive wolf had wandered into the drawing room—beautiful, magnificent, and utterly lethal. Every refined movement, every measured step radiated barely leashed violence.
He crossed the space toward me with the fluid grace of a born predator.
Ah...
Compared to Andrea's ostentatious silk coat dripping with gold embroidery and jeweled buttons, Callius wore simple black attire—impeccably tailored but utterly unadorned.
Yet as he approached, his tall frame and powerful build commanded the room with effortless authority. He moved like a sculpture come to life, every line of his body speaking of strength and discipline.
They say the model matters more than the clothes.
Was it merely my imagination, or did Andrea suddenly look like an overdressed peacock next to Callius's understated elegance?
I found myself staring longer than strictly appropriate. When awareness finally returned, I realized Callius was watching me with equal intensity.
I flinched.
Then—impossibly—the predatory tension melted away as a genuine smile spread across his face, transforming his features entirely.
What...
The crushing atmosphere evaporated like morning mist. Suddenly I could breathe again, could think clearly without the weight of his presence bearing down on my consciousness.
Andrea must have felt the shift as well, because he finally found his voice—though it trembled with poorly suppressed fury.
"Marquis Rodrian, it is customary to present your calling card to the royal attendant and await proper authorization before entering the private chambers of the imperial family!"
Callius's response came without a trace of shame.
"I came to inquire how long I should stand outside when your staff seems disinclined to announce visitors in a timely manner."
Andrea's laugh emerged as a breathless, disbelieving sound.
"If you understand the issue now, kindly remove yourself and wait outside as protocol demands!"
"I am a guest of Her Highness Princess Chloe, not of Your Highness Prince Andrea."
I seized the opening before Andrea could formulate a response.
"Actually, Marquis Rodrian, my brother has been most anxious to speak with you personally. I'm delighted you've arrived."
"What are you—"
"He was just explaining how gravely concerned he is about my reputation." I turned to Andrea with wide, innocent eyes. "Isn't that correct, Brother? You said people are already gossiping about yesterday's flower incident—claiming I'm behaving improperly for a princess, that my conduct is unseemly?"
"Chloe, that's not—I didn't mean—"
Andrea tried desperately to interrupt, but Callius's attention had already sharpened to a lethal point.
"If anyone dares suggest that my gift to Her Highness carried such vulgar implications, I will personally ensure they answer for the insult."
His gaze fixed on Andrea with the intensity of a hawk marking prey.
"Shall I collect the heads of those who spoke such slander and present them to Her Highness as an apology?"
The casual way he offered mass execution—as though discussing the weather—sent ice down my spine.
He looked ready to draw his blade and depart immediately on his grim errand.
Andrea's throat worked convulsively, his delicate neck suddenly seeming painfully fragile next to Callius's powerful frame—those shoulders broad enough to snap Andrea like kindling.
"Chloe!"
My brother's voice cracked with barely controlled panic.
"What your brother meant to convey was merely hypothetical concern—not that such rumors actually exist! You must learn to communicate more precisely, dear sister."
"But Brother, you specifically said you would severely reprimand the Marquis for damaging my honor—"
Callius crossed his arms, expression brightening with what could only be described as fascinated amusement.
The corded muscles of his forearms strained against his sleeves with casual, devastating effect.
"Chloe!"
Andrea cut me off with uncharacteristic sharpness, then glanced at the ornate clock on the mantle with theatrical alarm.
"I've just remembered—I have an absolutely critical appointment. Terribly urgent matter of state. You'll have to excuse me, Marquis. Most regrettable timing."
He practically fled the room.
"Pfft—"
The moment we stepped into the palace gardens, I couldn't contain my laughter any longer. It burst out in gasping, unladylike peals of mirth.
There's going to be hell to pay for this later.
I could already envision Andrea's scathing reprimands, his endless lectures about propriety and respect and appropriate behavior for an imperial princess.
But gods, it had been worth it.
I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes, still grinning.
"I apologize, Marquis. That situation was simply too absurd for words."
"No apology necessary."
Callius seemed to grasp the dynamics at play, though his expression remained carefully neutral rather than amused.
He just... stared at me.
...?
That intense, unwavering gaze made me suddenly self-conscious. I coughed delicately and looked away, pretending to examine a nearby rose bush.
"Perhaps we should walk while we discuss what we couldn't finish yesterday?"
I pitched my voice low enough that the maids trailing at a respectful distance couldn't overhear.
"If we maintain this distance, our conversation will remain private."
"As you wish."
We began strolling down the gravel path.
But even as we walked, Callius's attention remained fixed on me with that same unsettling focus.
...?
Why does he keep staring like that? As though I were some fascinating curiosity on display.
I subtly touched my face, checking for any smudge or imperfection.
Nothing seems amiss...
The urge to directly address his staring rose in my throat, but I swallowed it. While his gaze was disconcertingly intense, I detected no malice in it—only that strange, peaceful quality of focused observation.
Perhaps it's just a habit from battlefield vigilance?
Since the attention seemed unconscious rather than deliberately rude, pointing it out would only make me appear overly sensitive.
I cleared my throat and changed the subject.
"Ahem. Will you accept my proposal, then?"
"First, I'd like to understand your plans more completely. My sources indicate you're already engaged to another man."
"That does complicate matters somewhat."
"Indeed. However, the more significant obstacle is my Ronheim heritage."
Even setting aside my existing betrothal, the Empire's deep-seated prejudice against anyone with Ronheim blood made this match politically explosive.
My father the Emperor, Empress Kavala, Andrea—they would all oppose this union with every resource at their disposal.
Not out of concern for my wellbeing, of course.
'It would be unseemly for the imperial family to welcome a Ronheimer as son-in-law.'
Imperial marriages existed as political tools—strategic alliances designed to consolidate power and wealth.
Viscount Pelsus had purchased my hand with promises of staggering financial contributions to the imperial coffers. My marriage was a transaction, nothing more.
They would never approve a match that brought no tangible benefit to the throne.
Of course, I did demand Callius's gold mine as a wedding gift. But that fortune would belong to me alone—not the imperial treasury.
I had no intention of revealing the mine's existence to anyone. It would remain my secret, my security, my escape route.
Therefore, from the royal family's perspective, this marriage offered nothing of value.
When I'd first impulsively proposed to Callius at the banquet, I hadn't fully considered these political complications.
So I've been formulating a solution.
I had been walking beside Callius with my gaze carefully averted, trying to ignore his persistent staring. Now I turned to face him directly.
He was still watching me with that same unwavering intensity.
I met his eyes boldly.
"I told you last night—I chose you because I believe you're capable of taking me as far from this place as possible."
"However...?"
"That includes removing me from the palace entirely. Getting me out is part of our arrangement."
"Ah."
"Yesterday I demonstrated my intelligence and strategic value to you. Now it seems only fair that you prove your capabilities to me in return."
The clever solution I'd devised was simply this: delegate the problems I couldn't solve to Callius.
Revenge didn't require me to orchestrate every detail personally. I could be strategic about distributing the work.
"Show me your abilities. Prove that you're worthy of everything I'm offering."
I fixed him with my most imperious stare—the one that said I expected nothing less than excellence.
Callius's eyes crinkled with what looked like genuine amusement.
He nodded with easy grace.
"You want to test me."
"I require a capable partner. Surely that's reasonable."
His smile deepened, eyes narrowing with something that might have been approval.
"Very well."
"Excellent."
That penetrating gaze still hadn't wavered. It made my face feel oddly warm, a strange tickling sensation creeping across my cheeks.
I can barely breathe properly with him looking at me like that. Is he trying to suffocate me through sheer awkwardness?
I was so focused on managing my internal discomfort that I nearly choked on my own saliva. I fought to resolve the situation as discreetly as possible.
Callius's expression shifted then—curiosity giving way to something more serious.
"However, what I wanted to clarify wasn't about gaining official approval for our marriage."
"Then what's the larger concern?"
Had I miscalculated something crucial?
Callius wore an odd expression—as though questioning whether I truly understood what I was proposing.
"Your Highness... are you certain you've fully considered what it means to marry someone with Ronheim blood?"
There was genuine concern beneath the question.
I felt a small flutter of surprise at the realization.
Is he actually... worried about me?
No, that doesn't make sense. He's probably just concerned I'll become a liability later.
Yes, that seemed far more logical. He wanted to ensure I wouldn't become a whining, regretful burden once reality set in.
There's no reason for him to genuinely care about my wellbeing.
Callius didn't know what kind of marriage I had already endured for ten agonizing years in my previous life.
He couldn't know about Viscount Pelsus's daily brutality—the beatings that left me broken and bleeding, the terror that haunted my sleep, the nightmares where my husband's fists descended again and again until darkness claimed me.
He couldn't know about Andrea's ultimate betrayal—that the brother I'd trusted with my entire existence had orchestrated my misery from the beginning, had arranged my murder with the same casual indifference one might show ordering wine.
I have already experienced the absolute worst fate imaginable.
I had plummeted to the deepest pit of despair and died there, drowning in the knowledge that every moment of my suffering had been deliberately engineered by those I loved most.
What further depths could possibly remain?
"You needn't worry, Marquis. I don't take this decision lightly—this isn't some frivolous holiday or romantic escape."
My voice came out firmer than I'd intended, edged with steel forged in betrayal and death.
Callius raised an eyebrow, interest flickering across his features. Then he bent down, bringing himself to my eye level.
"In that case, allow me to offer one warning in advance."
"...What warning?"
I stumbled backward instinctively as he moved closer. His hand shot out, catching my waist to steady me before I could fall.
The distance between us collapsed to nothing.
Then he leaned in—close enough that his breath warmed my ear—and whispered:
"Tell me, Your Highness—do you truly believe the rumors about cannibalism are merely rumors?"
"...!"
My heart seized.
For one terrible, crystalline moment, the garden seemed to hold its breath.
Those golden eyes—so like Karl's, yet infinitely more dangerous—held mine with predatory stillness.
What is he saying?
The whispered legends about Ronheim flooded back—stories of dark rituals, of bloodlines that had strayed too far from humanity, of appetites that could never be sated by ordinary means.
Surely he was joking.
Surely this was simply another test.
But the absolute seriousness in his expression suggested otherwise.
And I realized with cold clarity that I had absolutely no idea what I was truly agreeing to marry.
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