Previously
Aracella Hugo visits her sister Iris in prison, where Iris faces execution for the treason of her husband, Oscar Vandermeer. Aracella wakes up realizing this was a precognitive dream triggered by her magic, forewarning her of a disastrous arranged marriage between their families.
At dusk, the sky turned a shade of orange.
Someone knocked on the door of Damian’s office, where he was working through paperwork after the afternoon training.
It was Isaac Wind, vice-commander of the Red Falcon Knights and eldest son of Count Wind.
Damian asked indifferently, not lifting his eyes from the document.
Lit by the setting sun streaming through the tall window, his face was truly handsome.
He had silver hair that seemed woven from moonlight, gentle golden eyes, and red lips beneath the sharp bridge of his nose.
His appearance alone was enough to captivate the hearts of countless women and win the admiration of men.
Isaac pulled a lavender envelope from his pocket and handed it to Damian.
Damian paused his reading for a moment, his brow twitching when he saw the name written on the outside of the envelope.
At Isaac's urging, Damian opened the letter with an astonished look.
Written in a rather fluid hand across high-quality paper, the contents read…
<To Lord Vandermeer.
I believe we will have to marry soon, so let us see each other before the ceremony, shall we?
I have something important to tell you. Let us meet whenever we have some free time.
For your information, I will be free starting in three days.
—Aracella Hugo, daughter of Marquis Hugo.>
The contents were so absurd that he burst into laughter.
Damian tossed the letter onto the desk.
Unable to suppress his curiosity, Isaac edged around the desk to catch a glimpse of the letter.
At the icy reprimand, Isaac pressed his lips together and lowered his head.
Yet when he saw Damian pick up the documents again, his lips slowly parted once more.
In other words, even if he ignored Aracella's letter, there was no need to worry about strange rumors spreading through social circles.
Naturally, Damian would never go to such lengths, so he resolved to ignore her letter.
The question made Isaac's blood boil.
Not only was it unacceptable, it was downright humiliating for a knight.
Isaac bowed politely and left the office.
Damian looked down at the letter once more and clicked his tongue softly.
Unlike knights, who tempered their bodies sweating under the open sky, mages were a lot who shut themselves in dark rooms like the Magic Tower, engrossed in obscure research.
Then, out of nowhere, a mage would unleash their experiments and attack people, causing accidents or even rebellions.
He stood up and tossed the letter into the fireplace.
The parchment caught fire at once and crumbled to ash.
Just like that, Damian completely forgot the letter from the mage.
Three days later.
The training ground of the Red Falcon Knights was busier and noisier than usual.
It was all because of a woman standing near the entrance, holding a parasol and wearing a yellow dress suited for spring.
Given her striking presence, which was impossible to overlook, none of the men could begin training. Instead, they gathered in twos and threes, murmuring among themselves.
Unable to stand the sight any longer, Isaac stepped forward.
Aracella cut off her maid, Audrey, from answering on her behalf and stated her business directly.
Her beauty had been obvious even from a distance, but seeing her up close surpassed anything Isaac had imagined.
Isaac spaced out, staring at her face before catching himself and regaining his senses.
Aracella offered an artful smile, smoothly cutting Isaac off as he tried to usher her away.
Isaac was momentarily rendered speechless by her audacity to insult the Commander in the middle of his own knights.
Startled by those words, Isaac looked at Aracella again.
Judging by her mention of the letter, this had to be the peculiar mage who had sent that bizarre missive to the lord a few days ago.
Since Aracella rarely appeared in high society, Isaac had been thoroughly bewildered upon seeing her for the first time.
Damian had disregarded her letter on the assumption that it was the raving of a madwoman, leaving him nothing to say in return.
Just as Isaac hesitated over what to say next, his gaze caught something in the distance. He promptly bowed his head and shouted at the top of his lungs.
Audrey, who checked to see who was behind them, jumped in surprise and bowed her head.
Aracella turned around at a leisurely pace.
In her field of vision, she saw the hem of her dress fluttering gently and her lace parasol, and as she raised her eyes, she was met with the chest of a man in uniform.
Aracella lowered her parasol and lifted her chin.
Her glass-blue eyes locked directly with his deep golden ones.
The man’s face, towering far above the average height of a woman so that she had to look straight up, was as flawless and striking as a sculpture.
Aracella parted her lips and delivered a solemn greeting.
Damian answered calmly.
With a dry smile, Aracella neatly preempted any discussion over the purpose of her visit.
In truth, even if Damian had sent a proper response to her letter, she would have come here anyway.
Keeping his gaze on her small face, Damian addressed Isaac.
Isaac meekly accepted the punishment. He turned back to assemble the knights.
Damian spoke again.
For a while, only the clinking of teacups echoed between the two seated across from each other on the sofa in the office.
In the end, it was Damian who broke the silence.
Having offered a formal apology, he cut straight to the point.
In response to his flat rejection, Aracella took a sip of her tea as though she had expected nothing less.
With slender, pale fingers, she set the glass teacup back onto its saucer without making a sound.
She was a mage of an unusual sort, someone so consumed by magic that she had neglected her duties as a noble lady.
Yet despite the criticism she drew from the nobility, Aracella's bearing was elegant and irreproachable.
Aracella was not in the least deterred by his immediate refusal. Instead, she sighed and shook her head.
Before Damian could even respond to her tone, which sounded as if she were humoring a stubborn child,
Aracella asked as though she genuinely could not comprehend his stance.
The words rolled off her plump, red lips smoothly and with pride.
She made it sound so effortless and natural that, for a fleeting moment, Damian wondered if she was boasting about someone else.
Aracella lightly swept back her soft, wavy, pale-purple hair so Damian could get a clearer view of her face.
Of all the boasts she had listed, that last one was delivered with the most undisputed confidence.
Her features, looking as though they had been brushed onto canvas, were so exquisite that he had never seen anything like them, even in renowned paintings.
Aracella smiled confidently.
Not stopping there, she treated the marriage as a foregone conclusion.
“Marry me, Lord Vandermeer.”
And with that, she laid out a loveless proposal.
Damian drew back at her words.
A ripple of agitation stirred across his face, which had seemed carved from ice.
Internally, Oscar had already been designated the successor to the Duke of Vandermeer.
Damian had held his breath, concealing his claws to squeeze through whatever opening Oscar might leave in the future.
Outwardly, he remained in the capital and led the Red Falcon Knights as if he had no ambition, while behind the scenes, he watched for every opportunity like a falcon.
How on earth could a noblewoman he was meeting for the very first time today know something known only to a handful of his closest confidants?
Damian's eyes sharpened.
Yet as if oblivious to the menace directed right at her face, Aracella remained entirely composed.
Damian, who had been staring at Aracella as she waited for an answer with that calm smile, slowly parted his lips.
Aracella was caught off guard by a question so far beyond her expectations.
Naturally, she had assumed he would accept her proposal. Her face instantly twisted in indignation.
Unable to endure any more, Aracella sprang to her feet and shouted.