In the Hall of Nobility, After the Silence—
Yui vanished behind the door. All that remained was a faint, lingering trail of perfume and a taut, resonant silence.
The hum of the crowd shattered, as if by the wave of a magic wand. The courtiers scattered like theatergoers fleeing before the real drama could unfold. Under pretexts of “urgent business”—cowardly rabbits, every one.
In the vast hall lingered only the members of House Eichenwald, Amanda, and a handful of loyal servants frozen against the distant walls.
Tywin von Eichenwald turned slowly toward his daughter. The iron mask of his face now betrayed a slight weariness. But his gaze remained sharp as a blade—cold and merciless.
“Well?” One word. With it, he severed all excess.
A mix of irritation and admiration flared in Roxana von Eichenwald’s chest.
“You have something to say, Roxana,” Tywin continued softly. “Out with it. All the words that have ensnared your tongue.”
Roxana smiled. A smile like a venomous bloom—dangerous and exquisite.
She approached the filigreed column with slow, graceful steps, leaning against it and, as if from boredom, twirling a lock of her long hair around her finger.
“Hm. Well, Yui certainly picked her moment, didn’t she?” Her eyes narrowed in mockery. She cast a swift glance at Amanda—immobile as a golden statue.
“You know, Father,” she began sweetly, but with a razor edge. “Yui didn’t come to console her betrothed. She came to stake her claim. Right here…” She nodded openly toward Amanda. “…in front of her.”
Her voice was like a poisoned needle—soft and piercing true.
“She is the fiancée. She has rights,” Tywin crossed his arms, his voice glacial. “This union fortifies our western border, secures House Lynn’s loyalty. Trade routes, steel. You know the figures, Roxana.”
“Oh, figures! I adore them!” Roxana arched a brow, her lips twisting. “Then here’s a new one for you. One.” She elegantly raised her index finger. “The number of glances my brother has spared this golden curiosity: one. On Yui: one. Do the math, you genius of strategy. It’s more eloquent than all your accountants’ ledgers.”
A deep furrow etched itself on Tywin’s brow. Denial was impossible. Randel von Eichenwald’s chill was too evident. Too personal.
“Randel is a warrior,” Tywin pressed on quietly, persuasively. “He has just returned from hell. His mind is filled with battle, betrayal, the agony of losing his finest knights. No time for romantic yearnings.”
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“Yearnings?” Roxana laughed softly—venomously, sweetly. “Father, you’re simply blind. It’s not about mood. It’s about utter disinterest. Complete, perfect, absolute zero.”
She pushed away from the column and advanced slowly.
“And do you know from when?” She slowed her words, savoring them like fine wine. Silence descended upon the hall. Roxana’s eyes flared like an imp’s. “From the moment he spoke of her. Of how she fought. How she shone. How she ‘gave hope.’ Did you see his eyes then? He wasn’t gazing at a deity. He was gazing at a woman. Even if she’s locked in gold and secrets.”
Tywin’s gaze faltered for the first time. And then, slowly…
The golden statue exhaled.
Amanda’s lashes beneath her helm trembled faintly.
“…Heh.” A quiet, husky chuckle. For the first time, her lips stirred.
Tywin whirled sharply. His voice dropped to a perilous whisper.
“Could it be… that my son, the heir of Eichenwald… harbors feelings for this… unfathomable entity?”
Roxana shrugged, her lips curling. “Hey, it’s as obvious as daylight. He’s not just grateful. He’s enchanted. In every sense of the word.”
She nodded toward Randel. “Look at him now.”
Their gazes slid to Randel von Eichenwald.
He seemed utterly oblivious to the conversation. He simply conversed quietly with Amanda, gesturing toward the inner chambers, his head tilted slightly. His gestures were attentive, gentle, almost nostalgic. A profound, intimate care reserved only for those who had passed through fire side by side.
“Foolishness,” Tywin spat low and sharp. “A frivolous, dangerous youthful impulse. It will fade.”
“Fade?” Roxana straightened, her eyes blazing. Crimson flame whirled in their depths. “Father, you completely miss the context. Brother didn’t bring home just a powerful ally. He brought the enigma itself. And this enigma he reveres. See his gaze now? It’s like a prophet beholding sacred fire.”
She paused, savoring the silence like the finest poison.
“Do you truly think it will fade? While she lives in this house, breathes the same air, her power shielding us day by day? Brother’s feelings won’t wither. They’ll blaze.”
She chuckled softly.
“And Yui? With her vapid smile and ‘soothing herbal tea’? Against the Guardian, she’ll look nothing but pitiful.”
Tywin fell silent. His gaze wandered over his son’s face, then returned to the frozen golden figure—the Guardian Amanda.
“…The alliance with the Lynns… Breaking the betrothal would be taken as an insult. Duke de Lynn will not forgive it. This means war.”
Roxana parried with an icy smile in an instant.
“War with the Lynns? And so? Compared to the power that single-handedly annihilated the Crimson Claw’s detachment? In this house, Father, resides a weapon before which the entire duchy’s army pales. And this weapon seems deeply bound to my brother. Which alliance do you think is the true one?”
Incredulity crept into Tywin’s voice.
“You propose staking Eichenwald’s future on… a youthful infatuation and an uncontrollable force?”
“I propose facing reality,” Roxana thrust sharply, mercilessly. “Reality one: Brother has never looked at Yui the way he looks at the Guardian. Reality two: This Guardian is currently our strongest asset. Their bond—to oppose it is to work against our own interests. Wisdom isn’t clinging to old oaths. It’s finding a stronger wind and hoisting the sails.”
She stepped closer to her father. Her voice dropped low, heavy as a hammer’s blow.
“Let this wind blow, Father. Don’t hinder it. No… harness it. If you try to stop it…” She smiled. A perfect, devilish smile. “…you’ll destroy not just the betrothal. You’ll destroy the new heir. And lose our golden storm. Then, against our enemies, we’ll have nothing to offer but numbers.”
Tywin, after a long silence, finally exhaled. The air escaped his lungs slowly, with the whistle of a weary forge bellows. A tempest raged in his eyes—calculation, pride, fear, and the cold, emerging acknowledgment of a new, inconvenient truth. The game had only just begun, but the rules had changed forever. And Roxana, his demon daughter, had just redrawn the map of this battlefield.