Chapter 84

It was said that the late lord of Eisenwald had been a man of closed habits. Mental illness, a hereditary affliction, appeared only sporadically through the generations, but it had manifested in him. Born with a gloomy temperament, he had shunned society, preferring solitude to human company. His only hobby had been painting, and even that pursuit he devoted solely to female nudes.

The only outsiders permitted past the gates had been the beautiful women he chose as models. Unsurprisingly, he had never engaged in social affairs. The great hall of Eisenwald had been abandoned for decades, and so tonight’s gathering marked a singular occasion—the gates opening again after twenty years. The guests who stepped inside were visibly moved by the sense of history.

As the arrivals began, the household staff hurried about to greet them. Each guest received a small gift and was ushered to a designated seat, the entire process unfolding with practiced ease. The many rehearsals showed in the smoothness of their motions.

“For a place neglected so long, it is rather impressive,” murmured one.

“Indeed. There isn’t a trace of age to be seen,” replied another.

Though the celebration had been arranged in honor of the knights, the knights themselves were of quasi-noble rank, and their wives were mostly daughters of good houses. The hall could not be presented carelessly. Provincial nobles were less exacting than those of the capital, but they were nobles nonetheless, and their tastes were not easily dismissed.

Odelliana knew this too well. In her previous life, during her years as queen, she had been immersed in the labyrinth of aristocratic culture. Status and lineage, attire, table manners, the art of conversation, even artistic refinement—every detail, every gesture, became a matter of honor. Then she had not understood that to meet such standards was not indulgence but necessity; now she knew it to the marrow.

Thus, though tonight’s banquet was modest, she had prepared with care. After all, this event touched directly on Lord Blair’s reputation. She had chosen every detail, down to the arrangement of flowers in each vase, with an eye to the aristocratic love of beauty.

She did not claim natural aesthetic talent, but years of managing royal functions had left her with knowledge to draw upon. Trends, expectations, the rhythm of what was considered fashionable—she had seen it all. And so, for her, the preparations were not difficult.

Thankfully, the response seemed favorable.

At ease, Odelliana stepped into the toilette room to prepare herself. Tonight she would not go out in her usual plainness. To appear too simple risked ridicule. She would have to meet the exacting eyes of nobles who scrutinized every thread and line.

For the first time she even brought out dyes she had never used. Dissolving them in oil, she carefully brushed and shaped her brows. Then came the dress. When she finally looked in the mirror, the result startled even her.

“My lady… who are you?” Malena whispered, astonished. Perhaps it was because she had never seen her mistress so adorned before—or perhaps because she was too accustomed to the ghostly figure with unkempt hair she had always been. The transformation was too stark to believe.

“Does it look strange?” Odelliana asked, unsettled by her own reflection. She was unaccustomed to mirrors; the face staring back at her felt foreign.

“You look very much like Lady Odette,” Malena said.

“Perhaps I’ve simply put on some weight. It does feel odd.”

Where once her body had been gaunt, it was now softly rounded, almost voluptuous. Her hollow cheeks had filled; her face looked younger, livelier. Most of all, the shadow that had always clung to her was gone. The power of expression alone changed everything.

“Even without Sir Matthias, you would draw every eye,” Malena said.

That was precisely the problem. Odelliana wished only to fade into the background. Those who had seen her in passing might recognize her as the lord’s kin, but to most she would be anonymous. That was her aim: to sit in some quiet corner as nothing more than one guest among many. Yet the mirror told her otherwise. Whether Matthias was beside her or not, she was not a woman who could pass unseen. She sighed.

“My lady, Sir Matthias appears to be ready as well. Shall we go?”

Taking her cane, Odelliana followed Malena down the corridor. At the far end, near the banquet hall entrance, a man stood drawing every gaze. She stopped instinctively when their eyes met.

Ah.

His hair had been neatly combed, his forehead and brows bared, his features sharpened in their clarity. It was as though she were seeing him for the first time. The boyish charm was gone, replaced by the clean lines of a man on the verge of maturity. The strong brow, the even line of his brows, the smooth expanse of his forehead—all of it emphasized the man’s growing bone structure and hawk-like gaze. He might have passed for a young man already come of age.

They stared, wordless. Something in the silence was awkward, even warm. Both seemed caught off guard, both fumbling with their composure. Malena gave a little laugh, exasperated, and nudged Odelliana forward. Matthias extended a gloved hand toward her.

“Allow your pupil to escort you, my lady.”

Such a simple gesture, and yet it carried dignity. He moved with the ease of one born to it, aristocratic without pretense. She had never taught him etiquette herself, but knights were instructed in such things. Believing he had learned well, she placed her hand in his. His long fingers closed gently over hers.

Thus Odelliana entered the banquet hall on his arm. The hush that fell over the room was no illusion. It was clear that many recognized him. Even had they not, they would not have been able to look away.

Odelliana felt the weight of it already, the ceaseless gaze. She found herself glancing up at Matthias, almost unconsciously.

“Why are you staring like that?”

“I was only thinking… how handsome you are,” she admitted.

It was not some idle remark. She had never seen him like this before, not even in her past life. He had always been striking, but with this polish he was beyond measure—shamelessly so, as though utterly without conscience.

“You are only realizing this now?” His voice was warm with amusement, even sly. He spoke as though perfectly aware of his effect. The answer was bordering on arrogance, but his face left no room for contradiction.

“I always knew you were… decent enough,” she said.

“Decent enough?” His brows rose, as if offended. As though her faint praise were an insult to the face he bore.

Odelliana recalled how in her previous life she had dismissed him with some trivial remark—that he was nothing compared to Joslyn, but tolerable to look at. She nearly groaned aloud at the memory. Such was the blindness of infatuation.

“Very well, I shall amend it. You are strikingly handsome,” she said.

At that, his lips curved in a sly smile, teeth flashing.

“I am glad you have finally realized.”

His tone was insufferable, but she could not deny the truth of it.

“You don’t even bother pretending to be modest, do you?” she asked.

“I have eyes of my own,” he replied.

“Annoying, but fair,” she muttered.

He steadied her so easily that she hardly needed her cane. His stride slowed to match hers, his patience unshaken, his gaze fond as though watching a child’s first steps.

“You walk much straighter now,” he observed.

“I’ve practiced. So long as I don’t hurry, the limp is hardly visible, isn’t it?”

“Quite perfect. At this rate, you could even dance.”

“I’ll pass. If there’s one good thing about this leg, it’s that no one can force me into that wretched business.”

He paused, then smiled. “Well, at least it means no man will ever take your hand to dance. That’s something.”

“Then if you want to dance, find someone else. Even for you, I won’t be your partner,” she said firmly.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll likely never dance at all. Not once, not in this life.”

His eyes, cool and detached, swept the hall as he guided her to their seats. There he remained close, his gaze lingering not on the young women but on the men, watchful, almost possessive.