"He recovered!"
Madame Toten—in a rare occurrence—raised her voice and cut Gabriel off mid-sentence. She cast me a look so desperately pleading, as if I alone could keep the world from collapsing with a single nod.
I nodded immediately, refusing to let her sentence hang dangerously empty.
Gabriel had, let's say, fallen in love with me at first sight. A strange occurrence, but a convenient exception. He would not, however, extend the same leniency to Melek.
No matter how one examined it—even if our intentions hadn't been malicious, even if we'd been trying to save Madame Toten—the notion that someone was *animating* the body of a deceased child was simply unacceptable to any sane mind.
Besides, Madame Toten disliked receiving guests, and Gabriel knew this well. He wouldn't stumble upon anyone at the marquisate regardless, so there was no point in discussing it—especially here, at the palace entrance, where the walls tended to listen.
Gabriel either genuinely noticed nothing, or—out of respect—pretended not to. He didn't acknowledge a single slip of the tongue. And yet, when our eyes met and he returned my smile with that smooth, flawless expression, I suddenly caught myself wondering whether he'd understood everything and simply preferred to leave it in the shadows.
While Madame Toten and Gabriel stood there exchanging awkward glances and clearly selecting their words with care, a short silence settled between us. It was broken by a knight wearing the same uniform as Gabriel.
"Commander, I apologize for interfering, but the belongings of young Lady Rohanson and Madame Toten must also be inspected."
"Yuriel."
It was the same knight who had accompanied me to the temple.
I had heard that Gabriel's Order provided assistance for security, and apparently they had even taken it upon themselves to screen everyone before entering the hall. For a celebration hosted by the Crown Prince, this was logical—security was surely paramount in an era where assassination attempts weren't fantasy but perfectly realistic scenarios. Besides, nearly all the guests carried gifts, which meant those needed examination as well.
"I beg your pardon, young Lady Rohanson. You look truly beautiful today."
Yuriel delivered this with such a stony expression—as if he could stand beneath a blade without blinking—that his flattery sounded especially brazen. Yes, I did look quite presentable today, but the compliment, delivered in a flat voice devoid of the slightest inflection, resembled a phrase drilled into his head as a mandatory part of service protocol.
If one thought about it, the knights generally behaved like ideal service workers—simply in fancier uniforms with swords at their hips. Their primary income, after all, came from selling holy water to aristocrats. At times it seemed less like a holy order and more like an elite "holy water" boutique, where each bottle came with a stern look and a blessing.
The thought was blasphemous, of course, but I immediately reassured myself that I was a displaced person—which meant I had the right to occasionally think inappropriately.
The gift for the Crown Prince was inspected by other knights, while Yuriel limited himself to a cursory, formal inspection of Madame Toten and me, observing the necessary proprieties. Gabriel, meanwhile, turned away and averted his gaze, also following protocol.
*A curious paradox: he flirted shamelessly, yet in matters of propriety, he proved surprisingly strict and meticulous.*
I glanced around furtively and noticed that the other aristocrats were also calmly—without protest—allowing themselves to be searched. I half-expected someone to make a scene along the lines of "Are you *suspecting* me?"—but everyone stood obediently and endured the procedure.
And suddenly it occurred to me that the role of such an irritant, according to the plot, was perhaps meant to be played by Evangeline herself.
"Commander, everything has been checked."
Yuriel announced the completion and turned to Gabriel.
"Do you have any weapons on you?"
He said it with an intonation that suggested faint disappointment.
*Excuse me? He wanted me to have a weapon? Well... if people expect a certain level of villainy, I simply must live up to it.*
"I brought the weapons separately."
"What? What do you mean?"
I spoke with deliberate ambiguity, and Yuriel, hearing the word "weapon," was genuinely taken aback. I didn't elaborate—merely raised my hand in silence and pointed behind him.
Gift boxes were being opened, their contents carefully inspected. When they reached the luxurious case Hena had prepared, something that looked far too self-assured gleamed inside.
"A... a sword...?"
The knight who opened the box jerked as if a live snake had been placed in his palm.
"Commander, what should we do with this...?"
He raised his head, about to report, then noticed me standing beside Gabriel. His gaze darted about—like that of a man who must carry out an order but fears saying too much in front of the wrong person.
"The young lady was joking. It's a decorative item without a blade, so it may be brought in."
Gabriel reacted instantly, covering for me. I donned my rehearsed smile and nodded calmly.
"I-I understand... I'll verify."
The knight, casting occasional cautious glances in my direction, took a deep breath and drew the "sword." As Gabriel had stated, there was indeed no blade—only the hilt and sheath. Convinced of this, he exhaled with visible relief, as if he had just escaped immediate execution, and carefully replaced everything.
"Yes. I suppose that doesn't violate the rules. Madame Toten's gift is also acceptable."
Madame Toten had chosen expensive cufflinks as her gift. Such items were considered the safest bet—elegant enough not to appear stingy, yet neutral enough not to embarrass anyone.
But I... I had done something far simpler. I had merely taken the sword the Count had once given me, declaring it would be "just right" for the Crown Prince, and decided not to complicate my life searching for something new.
The item was an artifact from a long-fallen kingdom, predating the Empire's founding. It contained no actual blade; its value lay more in history and symbolism than practical utility, making it a fitting gift. Just in case, I had shown it to Gabriel beforehand, and he had already given his approval.
"Yuriel, were you frightened?"
"Yes. My heart sank."
This was delivered with the same impeccably calm expression, so that only someone who knew how to read knights not by their faces but by pauses and intonations could believe what was said.
The inspected gifts were no longer collected by Hena, but by Imperial Palace servants. Hena herself had to proceed to the waiting area for maids. I was genuinely glad that Yuriel had volunteered to escort her—I felt more at ease with him present.
"I'll enter first."
"Yes. I'll see you inside, Madame Toten."
Even as my chaperone, she couldn't enter the hall with me, so Madame Toten stepped forward first. A court servant, having consulted the list, announced her name loudly and clearly.
"Enter the Marquise Toten, Kinder Toten, of the House of Toten!"
*So this is how it works here.*
The name rings through the room like a bell, and it's as if you're not merely entering—you're officially declaring your existence to the entire world.
It seemed so theatrical, so deliberately staged, that I almost smiled wider than was proper. Although, come to think of it... what was so surprising? This *was* a novel. I simply forgot that too often, busy trying to survive.
"Then shall we enter as well?"
It seemed it was my turn. Gabriel hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand, offering to accompany me.
I looked down and noticed how his eyelashes fluttered—long and slightly damp, as if touched by fog.
At first, the compliments had sounded too light, almost habitual, and I hadn't paid them much attention. But now it became clear that he was tense.
*Especially* today.
Initially, I assumed it was because of me. To be honest, in full Evangeline form, I thought I was frighteningly beautiful myself. It was easy to be flustered—even intimidated—by such beauty.
But that wasn't what made Gabriel nervous.
"You may not feel comfortable touching me... but you said you would adjust. So please be patient, at least for today."
The words emerged heavy, as if he were squeezing them out through the resistance of his own memory. At that very moment, I felt his fingers tremble slightly beneath mine.
I had assumed he was nervous about the scene itself—about this ostentatious intimacy under dozens of gazes. But it proved much simpler. And much more unpleasant.
He simply *remembered*.
He remembered what I had done and how I had spoken. Now he tried not to make a mistake, not to cross a line, not to offend me with an unnecessary movement. The last time we parted, he hadn't offered me his hand. Now, apparently, he had concluded that any touch disgusted me.
*Who, I wondered, had chewed up his self-esteem so mercilessly?*
The answer, unfortunately, was obvious.
And this made me feel sick inside. Gabriel already demanded too much attention and energy. People forced to juggle multiple "ponds" at once must be either emotionless or frighteningly stoic—otherwise, their conscience would devour them before they could smile again.
And as it turned out... I didn't have a conscience after all.
"I don't feel bad. I told you—I like you."
I placed my hand over his and squeezed it gently, as if reassuring him. Yes, only a few days had passed, and my feelings hadn't changed dramatically. But I knew all too well that I had been unduly cruel to him.
Gabriel looked at me with an expression that mingled doubt and hope.
*Yes... you probably find it difficult to understand why I push you away and then pull you back. But that's the very nature of what I'm doing now: maintaining just enough distance to keep you close.*
"Is it because I know my place?"
"What?"
"Nothing. Forgive me—don't pay attention."
"Nothing," of course. I wasn't a heroine with a sunny smile—I was a villain. Even the quietest words didn't pass me by. They caught my ear, lingered, settled inside, and refused to let me forget.
His self-deprecation was too obvious, almost painful, and it only intensified the guilt pressing harder than any accusation.
I didn't have time to decide what to say—or whether any consolation would appear like mockery or false comfort—because the next moment, we had already crossed the threshold of the hall.
---
## — The Villain Enters —
"Enter the young Lady Evangeline Rohanson of the House of Count Rohanson, and Sir Gabriel, Commander of the Knightly Order of Fararos!"
As soon as the announcement echoed through the chamber, we were instantly—almost physically—swept up by the gazes of everyone filling the enormous hall.
I had thought the temple was magnificent, but the Imperial Palace didn't even attempt to compete with reality. It existed in a class entirely its own.
Even the patterns on the walls had been carved with such painstaking care—as if each curl had cost a year of someone's life. I couldn't begin to imagine how much money had been sunk into this place. An orchestra played in one corner; servants circulated among the guests, distributing wine on silver trays.
The clothing was equally blinding. The people gathered in a dense mass were clearly whispering as they watched us—and this was no imagination. The combination of "flawless holy knight" and "the greatest villain of the era" simply couldn't help but attract attention.
I suddenly felt like someone who had accidentally become far too visible.
I didn't like that feeling at all.
The hum of voices rolled in waves. Others' remarks intertwined with the music, merging into a single noise from which individual words were impossible to extract. I couldn't hear the meaning, but I sensed the direction.
They were talking about us. And it was almost *palpable*.
"It's noisy."
As soon as I said it aloud, the room seemed to choke.
Conversations ceased abruptly, as if someone had severed the air with a single movement. In the ensuing silence, I even thought I heard a stifled, nervous sob somewhere in the crowd.
"My lady," Gabriel murmured quietly, with that warning tone that precedes explanations.
*I didn't mean to intimidate anyone!* It was merely a casual remark, thrown out without a second thought! But it seemed those around me had heard something else entirely.
*Is this the power of influence a villain destined to rule high society commands?*
I genuinely needed to be more careful with my words.
"My daughter, Evangeline! You have finally arrived!"
A familiar figure emerged from the crowd and spoke loudly—far too loudly for this place—as if we had encountered each other in a marketplace rather than the hall of an imperial palace.
It was the Count. The same man who hadn't bothered to wait for me and had ridden ahead, leaving me to figure out the route and timing alone.