Her eyes flicked upward to et the sparkling green gaze of Lady Camilla Hestain. The Marquess's daughter stood before her, dressed in a soft pink gown that matched the garden roses. Her chestnut hair glead under the lantern light, styled in perfect waves that frad her face.
A small cluster of noblewon stood behind Camilla. Their gloved hands clutching their fans as they exchanged gleeful, knowing glances.
Marcella's expression didn't shift. Her hands were clasped demurely in front of her, adopting a calm and polite deanor. "Lady Camilla," she greeted evenly. "What a surprise."
"Oh, Lady Marcella," Camilla bead, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. She took a step closer, her green eyes glittering with amusent. "How wonderful it is to see you here tonight. I imagine you've been terribly busy... sorting out your family matters."
Marcella's smile was all grace. "How kind of you to notice, Lady Camilla," she replied smoothly. "Indeed, so of us have lives worth managing."
The sharpness of her retort earned a few stifled giggles from the ladies behind Camilla, though they quickly hid their laughter behind their fans.
Another noblewoman, Lady Vivienne, stepped forward, eager to stoke the flas. "It must be such a burden, dealing with so much scandal," she cooed. "I'm sure you're simply overwheld."
Marcella tilted her head, "Overwheld? Not at all," she brushed off. "But I'm sure you'd know all about burdens, Lady Vivienne." She let the words hang in the air, as sharp and biting as a blade. "Isn't your father still scrambling to pay off that gambling debt of his?"
The sharp gasp from Vivienne was imnsely satisfying. Her face flushed a deep crimson, and she stumbled over her words before falling silent, retreating behind her fan.
Camilla, however, was undeterred. She pressed on, her smile curling like a serpent's. "It's truly admirable, isn't it?" Her lips curling into a saccharine smile. "To steal your sister's betrothed and force a Duke into marriage—what a feat, Lady Marcella. You must tell us how you manage it."
Her words stung her but her face reflected none of the fury bubbling beneath the surface.
Stay calm, she told herself. You're not the sa reckless girl you were before.
Raising a brow, Marcella returned Camilla's smile, "I'll take it as a complint, knowing I occupy so much of your thoughts than you're willing to admit."
The tension between them crackled like fire, drawing the attention of more onlookers.
Camilla rolled her eyes, her grip on the fan tightening. "You think you're clever, don't you?" she sneered, her fan snapping open with a flick. "But don't fool yourself—everyone here knows you for what you are. A desperate girl, clawing at whatever attention you can get."
"I'd rather be desperate than bitter, Lady Camilla," Marcella retorted, the words slipping out with a cold bite. "Though I can see how the latter suits you—it certainly reflects your character." She scoffed, casting a pointed glance at the noblewon gathered behind Camilla, their expressions turning wary, unsure whether to laugh or to keep their distance.
Camilla bit the inside of her cheeks. Anger surged hot in her chest. With a sharp motion, she raised her hand, her fingers curling as though to strike Marcella across the face.
Ti seed to slow.
Marcella's reflexes kicked in. In one fluid motion, she caught Camilla's wrist mid-swing, twisting it just enough to make her wince in pain without truly harming her. She leaned in slightly, "You've been waiting for to give you a reason to gloat. Well, here's so advice, Camilla: pick your battles carefully. You won't win this one."
Camilla struggled against Marcella's grip, "Unhand , you wretched girl!" she hissed.
But Marcella didn't let go, not imdiately.
When she finally released her, Camilla stumbled back, her heel catching on the edge of the stone pathway. With a startled cry, she teetered dangerously. Her arms flailed in a desperate attempt to regain balance.
Marcella's heart lurched. Not again.
In her previous life, this mont had been a calamity. Camilla had fallen, humiliated in front of the entire gathering. The incident had spiraled out of control, and Marcella had done nothing to prevent it. Camilla's father had taken great offense and the fallout from that day had been catastrophic for her family.
Her hand shot out reflexively. She grabbed Camilla's arm, yanking her back with a force that threw Marcella herself off balance. A sharp gasp tore from her chest as her feet slid from beneath her, and the next thing she knew, the cold shock of the river engulfed her.
The icy water enveloped over her head, muffling the sounds above. Marcella's heart pounded as she kicked desperately to the surface, spluttering and gasping for air. She coughed, shivering as the cold seeped into her bones. But relief flickered through her that ca from seeing Camilla safe and dry, staring down at her.
The gathered crowd leaned over the edge.
"Did you see how she fell in? Truly, the Valemont girl lacks all grace," one whispered behind a gloved hand.
"Poor Lady Camilla. She must have been so startled," another chid in, feigning sympathy.
But their murmurs were cut short by a voice that rang out over the water.
"What is this commotion about?"
The crowd parted, the murmurs dying instantly as all eyes turned to the man approaching them. Even the breeze seed to still in his presence.
Duke Berith stepped into view; dressed in fine dark cloak that swirled slightly around his boots.
Ignoring Marcella, he turned his falcon's gaze on Camilla and other noble won. They hesitated. Even Lady Camilla who had been fuming only monts ago, suddenly seed to shrink under his gaze. Her green eyes darting away like a guilty child.
Berith stopped a few steps away from Marcella. The faintest crease ford between his brows as he took in her drenched form, her hair clinging to her skin, the chill of the river still biting at her bones.
Without further ado, he unclasped his cloak. The heavy fabric slipped from his shoulders, and before Marcella could register what he was doing, he draped it gently over her, enveloping her like a shield against the cold stares of the gathered crowd. The faint scent of cedar and smoke clung to it like a protective cocoon.
The world seed to freeze.
The cloak strangely felt comforting in her skin. Marcella blinked up at him in surprise. Her mind racing. The Duke... This Duke—he had never acted like this in her past life. He had barely cared whether she lived or died. But now?
The noblewon gasped in unison, their whispers bubbling up like a pot about to boil over.
"Did he just—"
"He gave her his cloak?"
"Why would he defend her of all people?"
A murmur of disbelief ran through the crowd, but Berith seed oblivious to their stares. "Who," his eyes flicked to Camilla, and the other noble won narrowing with a predatory intensity, "dared to push my betrothed into the water?"
Marcella's eyes popped out of their socket in horror. Betrothed?
It was sothing she hadn't expected to hear—one that, for reasons she couldn't fathom, made her heart skip. She clutched the cloak around her tighter, her mind whirling with the implications of his statent.
Camilla went pale. Her green eyes darted to the ground as if hoping it might swallow her whole.
"No one?" Berith asked, his tone suggesting a calm that Marcella didn't believe for a mont.
The won exchanged nervous glances before they dropped into a hasty bow. "It was... an accident, Your Grace. Lady Camilla tripped, and... things simply got out of hand." Lady Vivienne stamred, mustering the courage to speak.
Marcella almost laughed out loud, rolling off her eyes. Things got out of hand? Convenient how they were twisting the narrative to protect themselves.
"Let make one thing very clear," Berith grunted, his gaze sweeping over the entire group. "Lady Marcella is mine. She is my betrothed, and anyone who dares to lay a finger on her or insult her will answer to ."
Marcella blinked; her cheeks flushed slightly. The word mine sent a strange shiver down her spine—one she couldn't entirely explain.
The noblewon behind Camilla exchanged wide-eyed glances, their whispers turning venomous.
"Did you hear that?"
"Does he really like her?"
"She doesn't deserve him."
"She's intolerable..."
Berith ignored them entirely, turning back to her. "Let's go," he held her hand, as he hauled her toward the exit.
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