TCU 03

The two men — their faces still flushed from their heated argument — froze when the door flew open.

“……”

Emma was a woman who knew how to wield silence like a weapon. Without a word, she fixed each of them with a sharp glare and let out a single, heavy sigh.
By the time her breath faded into the air, the men’s fury had already cooled. Then, in her measured, composed tone, she said:

“Unbelievable. Two gentlemen, raising their voices outside the chamber of a young lady who has only just regained consciousness. Tell me, Sir Erwin — were you truly her tutor in etiquette?”

Her calmness was sharper than any blade. Both men straightened unconsciously as her gaze passed over them like cold iron.

“That’s not what I meant, Emma—”

“Oh, I’m sure it isn’t. According to the physician’s opinion, I suppose it’s perfectly fine to shout outside a patient’s door? My, what a novel treatment.”

The doctor could only clear his throat and tug awkwardly at his mustache. Emma, having subdued both men without raising her voice, brushed her hands together as if finishing a simple task.

“Return to your posts. I trust neither of you will further endanger the Lady’s well-being.”

The two men looked at each other helplessly, as though urging the other to speak first.

“May I believe that, then?” Emma asked, her tone low and edged with quiet menace.

“Of course.”
“Ahem. My apologies for the disturbance.”

They exchanged curt nods of reconciliation before retreating down opposite ends of the corridor, the sound of their boots fading into silence.

Under Erwin’s command, the fortress of Coronis had turned into a citadel of paranoia.
No noble carriage was allowed through without inspection; each was stopped, searched, and questioned. Guards strictly limited any armed escort to two, and even unarmed attendants could number no more than three.

Complaints were constant — nobles quarreling with the gate watch, demanding entry, their pride bruised by suspicion. The fortress, however, remained unmoved. Night and day, watchmen patrolled walls, courtyards, and parapets — any place a man could possibly climb.

“Isn’t this too much, Erwin? If the envoys find us hostile before talks even begin, won’t that only make things worse?”

“On the contrary, my Lady. Word spreads that Coronis staged the attack herself — a ludicrous rumor. Let them see our vigilance. The louder we are, the quieter the lies will become.”

Erwin cleared his throat, masking the weariness creeping into his voice.

Only a few hours had passed since Lamberta had eaten her first meal in days.
Already, nobles and envoys had arrived at the gate demanding an audience. Erwin longed to deal with them himself, but as he bitterly knew, he was only a retainer.

Without a Coronis present, any agreement we make is worth nothing.

Even worse, sending a mere vassal would invite suspicion about the Lord’s health — and if rumors of the Lord’s coma spread, their enemies would descend like wolves. For now, they needed a distraction, and that meant Lamberta herself.

The thought made Erwin’s stomach twist.

“A little offense won’t ruin the negotiations,” he said finally. “Frankly, I’d wager one of those attending planned the wedding attack themselves. It’s better to meet them prepared.”

“You think one of the southern nobles was behind it? But their own families were there. Would they truly kill their own blood for this?”

“There wasn’t a single heir among the dead, my Lady. Only younger sons, third or fourth in line — expendable pieces in a greater game. For some houses, that’s a small price to pay.”

Lamberta said nothing. She merely listened, her calm face betraying neither shock nor anger.

“So that’s what they mean when they say fewer heirs make for a safer house,” she murmured.

“Exactly, my Lady. The Astens learned that the hard way — a single talented second son, and the family split in half overnight.”

Erwin bowed slightly, his expression softening.

“You should rest now, Lady Lamberta. Tomorrow will be difficult enough.”

“Thank you, Erwin. Rest well.”

After he left, Lamberta turned back to the window. The sun was sinking, bleeding gold across the courtyard.
Below, only three carriages had arrived so far — their banners fluttering in the evening wind. Somewhere among them, perhaps, sat the one who had destroyed her wedding and her brother’s life.

She took a slow sip of tea, trying to drown the unease that coiled in her chest. Tomorrow, she would face them all.

That night, the moonlight was thin and cold.
A sharp wind slipped through the window’s cracks, brushing her ear like a whisper. Startled, Lamberta’s eyes opened.

Sleep had come quickly despite her unrest — exhaustion had claimed her before fear could. She felt lighter now, her body refreshed, the pounding in her head gone.

She reached out and closed the window, muttering softly:

“…It’ll be a cold morning.”

Then she noticed the candle. Its flame trembled, flickering weakly as if choking on air.

“…Ah. The candlelight.”

It was foolish, perhaps, for a woman past twenty to fear the dark — but darkness was no longer just darkness to her.
In the night, when shadows deepened, her mind conjured the faceless attackers of her wedding hall.

If she slept in full light, she would wake blinded and sleepless. If she dimmed it, the phantoms returned.

It was Emma who discovered her secret. Since then, a single tall candleholder had stood by her bed, lit each night by the youngest maid, Vanessa.

So when the flame wavered now, dread crawled up Lamberta’s spine. She turned her head toward the light—

And froze.

The wax had melted unevenly to one side, the faint glow bending across the floor.
Within that narrow boundary of light stood someone.

Not the shapeless nightmares that haunted her dreams — but a real figure, cloaked in shadow, standing inside her room.

Then a low voice cut through the still air:

“What’s the matter? Without the light, can’t you endure the night, Lamberta Coronis?”