Chapter 8
“Ah, n–no… you, you can’t be a Northerner… no, that can’t be, that can’t be….”
As Ramberta stammered, the man smiled at her — not with the gentle curve she had wondered about, but with a crooked, cold grin, sharp and sardonic.
The man she remembered from last night had been a Northerner, dressed in colors opposite of the garments he wore now.
Yet the faint scent of his body — the bite marks on his neck left unmistakably by a woman — and the memory that revived along her own skin told her beyond all doubt:
It was him.
—Bang!
The door slammed open.
“Sir Salvard Tan! What in heaven’s name are you doing!”
Recognizing the voice, Ramberta turned in a rush. Erwin stood there, fury etched into his face, with the watch guards gathered behind him.
“I made myself known at the gate,” said the man calmly, still holding Ramberta’s hand, “but hospitality in Coronis seems… frightful.”
He turned his head just enough to glance at Erwin. “Do you greet guests with soldiers here? Don’t tell me you think dragging them in again for a fight will change the outcome.”
“No matter your name, we have no reason to welcome one who harms a member of House Coronis.”
“Then I shall add that to the negotiations,” he replied coolly. “From the looks of the baron’s splitting grin outside, I’d say I’m making a fair bargain.”
Erwin’s eyes narrowed. “Did you say… negotiations?”
He quickly drew a small notebook from his coat and flipped through it, his eyes darting across tidy, slanted lines of ink.
“No one connected to Salvard Tan was among the wedding guests. What negotiation could you possibly—”
“Let him in,” said Salvard Tan. “Send the others away.”
“That I cannot do. Considering the threat you’ve shown—”
“Remove them.”
The command came soft, but the weight in his voice froze the room solid.
“Ah… my lady…!”
Before anyone could move, he seized Ramberta by the throat and pulled her toward him. He did not strangle her, yet the mere threat choked the air from her lungs.
She realized — barely — that his grip lacked the cruel strength of last night, but to the eyes of those watching, it was a scene of peril.
The contrast between his thick, broad hand and her pale, delicate neck painted the same thought in every mind:
He could snap it in an instant.
Erwin’s jaw tightened. He glanced from the intruder to Ramberta — and found her desperate eyes.
When their gaze met, she gave the faintest nod.
“…Understood. But release her. Now.”
At that, Salvard Tan inclined his head — not in assent, but toward the door. The meaning was clear.
The guards hesitated, then withdrew. The door shut behind them.
“Haa… haa… haah…”
The moment it closed, his hand fell away.
Her body trembled as she gasped for air, her chest rising with painful relief.
“Now,” he said with infuriating composure, “shall we speak? Like gentlemen?”
He gestured lightly toward the chair beside her, offering Erwin a seat as though nothing had happened.
A Room of Tension
For a long moment, silence thickened the parlor.
Salvard Tan studied Erwin — the man looked as if he’d spent his life at a desk, yet there was an edge in his bearing, honed and deliberate.
Still, it wasn’t him that drew the northerner’s attention under the lamp’s glow.
It was Ramberta Coronis herself.
The resemblance to her mother, the famed beauty Eudora of House Homiens, was undeniable — the delicate bone structure, the quiet grace.
“To think people believed her mother could so easily abandon a daughter like this.”
A smirk ghosted his lips.
Rumors had spread after the massacre: that Lady Eudora had returned to her natal home, deeming Coronis a lost cause.
The southern nobles called it the beginning of the fall.
But Salvard Tan knew better — it was a desperate gambit, a sacrifice to save what little remained.
Money could not move a noble daughter’s heart.
Even if he coaxed her with talk of trade, the world would sneer — a vulture seducing a naïve girl.
And worse, other nobles would leap to annul whatever gains he made.
But if he took the lady herself… the story changed.
His gaze slid slowly over Ramberta.
If he hadn’t known she’d only just awoken from her collapse, he might have thought the family was trying to lure him with a delicate decoy.
Her shoulders were slender, her arms frail — yet her figure still curved with an unintentional allure.
Pale cheeks, faded lips, and the faint exhaustion of illness only deepened her beauty rather than diminishing it.
A face that begged to be saved. Or ruined.
Her long brown hair, loosely curled and unkempt, framed her like something fragile — helpless today, but dangerous if allowed to recover.
No wonder she never returned to society after her debut.
Unlike the ladies of the capital, who trained since youth to mask every flicker of emotion, Ramberta’s face betrayed everything — sorrow, anger, fear, and longing all shimmered openly in her large, doe-like eyes.
Even the simplest smile could melt a man’s restraint.
He almost pitied her mother’s mistake — leaving her unguarded, untrained in the art of concealment.
Already, he could list the names of nine — ten — nobles who would beg to have her as wife or concubine.
A pity, then, that none of them will get the chance.
He let his eyes linger one last time on her shrinking form, then turned to Erwin.
“Let’s not waste time. I prefer things simple.”
Erwin’s voice cut back, steady and cold.
“Sir Salvard Tan, forgive me, but we never sent your house an invitation. Are you here by the prince’s order?”
The retainer’s eyes flickered as he recalled the name — Salvard Tan, the upstart noble, a favorite of the southern court, known as the prince’s right hand.
Coronis was too remote for such figures; only someone like Erwin, ever watchful of investments, had heard of him at all.
“…Are you acting as envoy for Prince Fornax?”
The words might have sounded naïve — as though clinging to royal favor — but the contempt behind them made the meaning clear.
Whatever history lies between her and the prince, it’s far from pleasant.
Salvard Tan laughed softly, brushing his hair back.
He was a man who delighted in taking what others coveted most — a usurper by nature.
The woman who bewitched a prince.
The one meant to belong to the North.
His eyes darkened with hunger.
“I’ll have her.”
