Chapter 49
“Did I misspeak? Everyone knows how unjustly the late Empress passed.”
Words that everyone had been silently swallowing, behind their mask-like smiles, were suddenly thrown into the hall. But Elia’s voice was as sharp and clear as ever.
Known for her quiet demeanor and reluctance to speak out, her boldness stunned everyone. In an instant, the room was filled with tension.
Horace Reiffers’ face hardened further. Since it was a dispute between Reiffers family members, no one dared to intervene. People merely coughed weakly, fearing the fallout might reach them.
“How dare you speak so insolently?”
Horace fixed his gaze on Elia’s face sternly. Though he was supposed to play the role of a kind elder brother, he suppressed the rising fury inside.
“Young Duke, I am fine…”
Empress Astana tried to intervene, getting up from her seat, but the words were ignored by all. Sharp glances flickered sharply between Elia and Horace.
“The late Empress passed away unjustly, so naturally we must follow proper rites—”
“Elia Reiffers. You are truly the shame of the family.”
Horace cut Elia off. He walked swiftly forward, no longer willing to tolerate Elia’s insolence. His tall shadow loomed over her, glaring down fiercely.
“There is only one Empress in this Empire. How dare you deny that.”
Horace Reiffers shouted, no longer caring about the Empress or the eyes of others. The quiet mask he had skillfully worn had slipped.
This was the true face of the Reiffers family, Elia thought with a bitter smile.
“How dare you laugh?”
Just as his rough, battle-worn hand seemed to reach out to grab Elia’s chin—
“Young Duke.”
A low click of a tongue echoed from afar. The tense gazes of the crowd shifted instantly toward the source of the sound. Leaning against the doorframe, Cyrone watched the chaotic hall with dry eyes.
His dry gaze fixed on the outstretched hand. With Cyrone’s arrival, a chilling cold swept through the room. Everyone exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to react.
“I greet Your Highness.”
Horace released Elia’s chin like throwing it aside. The fierce grip left her face aching. Still, Elia was a Reiffers. Though embarrassed to be seen like this in front of everyone, she bit her lip out of habit, the faint marks of her teeth showing on her delicate skin.
Cyrone quietly approached and looked down at Elia’s face. Then, with a gentle yet firm touch, he stroked her flushed cheek. His hand was both tender and impossibly rough.
“Oh my, who made you so angry?”
Cyrone locked eyes with Elia and asked playfully. His voice was so gentle that Elia felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. The sight of them like that caused murmurs among the guests, many covering their mouths in surprise.
“You, Young Duke, might need to study etiquette a bit more.”
Cyrone said with a faint smile, quickly turning his gaze away. Just as his eyes swept blatantly over Horace’ face, a loud clatter broke the tense atmosphere.
A chair, once neatly aligned, was knocked over and tumbled chaotically.
“My goodness!”
Empress Astana let out a shrill scream, unable to believe what she was witnessing. In an instant, Cyrone’s foot struck Horace squarely in the chest, and the massive man collapsed to the floor.
Watching Horace groan on his knees, Cyrone finally looked satisfied.
“In front of me, that’s how it’s done.”
Horace didn’t get up, as he was waiting for his master’s command. Cyrone looked down at the kneeling man, who whimpered softly, and dusted off his soiled pants.
“…Anyway.”
Bowing his head, Cyrone met Horace’ eyes as he lay prone on the floor.
“You really were getting on my nerves.”
Cyrone smiled warmly, but the cruelty lurking behind that smile made those watching shudder.
“One’s enough to be annoying. I don’t really need more, do I?”
His clear voice had a casual tone, and the gentle curve of his eyes, like a puppy’s, gave no hint of what was about to come.
“Ugh—!”
A strangled, pained groan escaped from Horace, as Cyrone pressed his foot down hard on the man’s wrist. The agonized sounds echoed through the hall, but Cyrone’s face remained calm.
“You-Your Highness, please forgive his disrespect.”
Elia pleaded anxiously toward Cyrone. Had she not stepped in, Horace’ arm might have been seriously injured. Knowing well who Cyrone was, Elia couldn’t just stand by.
Cyrone finally withdrew his foot as if nothing had happened as Elia was trembling. Then, bending down, he gently stroked Elia’s head while she knelt before him.
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