“Your Highness Crown Prince Cecil, Princess Consort Bertia, thank you for your gracious contribution to our kingdom this evening.”
No sooner had we parted from Lysonna and Aleis than Prince Ramtak appeared, glass in hand, his smile sharp enough to draw blood.
To our kingdom, huh?
At a wedding like this, the polite phrasing would normally be “thank you for celebrating the Crown Prince’s marriage,” or something in that vein. But no. His words were deliberate. By framing his gratitude as “for the sake of the nation,” he was distancing himself from Aleis entirely.
His tone was smooth. But deep in his eyes, I caught a flicker of something dark and restless. Jealousy, maybe.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I replied evenly. “My wife is overjoyed to have been able to celebrate her dear friend, Princess Consort Lysonna’s happiness. If anything, we should be the ones thanking you for inviting us.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Bertia’s posture shift ever so slightly.
She wasn’t smiling anymore. Her chin lifted, her fan flicked open in a crisp motion, and she covered her lips with it, her expression transforming into that cool, regal composure she called her “villainess mode.”
To anyone else, she probably looked every bit the dignified princess. But I knew that look. She was on guard.
I stepped forward, just enough to place myself between the two of them, subtly shielding her.
The prince’s eyes narrowed fractionally at the gesture, his lips curling into a smirk.
Ah. So that’s how he’s choosing to interpret it.
No doubt he thought I’d stepped in to prevent my “willful wife” from saying something inappropriate in public. That was how his kind always thought, measuring others through their own pettiness.
In truth, I simply didn’t want him near her.
He’d made his dislike of Bertia plain enough in the past, though always behind polished manners and a princely smile. But for all his arrogance, Ramtak had one fatal flaw: he could only ever see what he wanted to see.
“Well, well,” he said. “I’m relieved to hear you’re enjoying yourselves.”
“Seems like you’re enjoying yourself quite a bit, too,” I remarked.
Prince Ramtak followed my gaze toward the nearby group of noble ladies he’d left behind. Among them, Lady Margone and Princess Bistona had been watching us far too intently, no doubt hoping for some kind of scene.
The moment Ramtak’s eyes flicked their way, the cluster of women perked up with eager, expectant little gasps of “My!” and “Oh!”, their fans fluttering like startled birds.
I had no intention of approaching them and certainly no interest in acknowledging whatever they thought they were witnessing. Did they truly not see the woman standing beside me? My wife was the only company I needed this evening.
“Oh, I’m having quite a wonderful time,” Ramtak said. “And I plan to continue enjoying myself thoroughly for the rest of the night. You should join me, Your Highness Cecil.”
He leaned in slightly as he spoke, voice dropping low, his smirk twisting into something oily and suggestive.
The meaning behind the words was unmistakable.
I felt my brow tighten, irritation flickering sharp beneath my calm exterior.
To say such a thing to me, standing here with my wife, was nothing short of disgraceful.
Even in a country where multiple consorts were culturally acceptable, such an insinuation toward another man’s spouse, at a royal wedding no less, was a gross breach of decorum.
What mattered was that he had just tried to humiliate her—my Bertia.
And that, I couldn’t let slide.
“Lord Cecil?” Bertia’s voice trembled slightly beside me.
She must have noticed the faint tension in my shoulders, the way my expression had hardened. Her eyes searched my face for a clue.
Of course, she hadn’t caught Ramtak’s hidden meaning. Her kind heart would never have assumed such ugliness from polite words.
But I could. I’d heard every venom-laced nuance. And I wasn’t about to let her stand another moment in this man’s company.
“Tia,” I said softly. “Miss June has been trying to catch your eye for a while now. See? She looks eager to speak with you.”
Across the hall, June stood frozen halfway through a conversation, her gaze darting between us with concern. She must have sensed the tension in the air. Even from this distance, she looked worried.
Standing beside June was Prince Izlarich, watching with the same worried frown.
If I had to entrust Bertia to anyone in this hall, it would be those two.
When our eyes met, I gave a small, deliberate nod. Izlarich understood at once. His posture straightened, and both he and June began walking toward us to meet Bertia halfway.
“Eh? But…”
Bertia hesitated, her voice small and uncertain. She could read my mood better than anyone, and the tension in me must have been obvious. She didn’t know why I was angry, but she was worried nonetheless.
I slid an arm around her waist and bent close enough that only she could hear my voice.
“Prince Ramtak seems to be plotting something unpleasant,” I whispered. “I’m going to find out what it is. He’s wary when you’re around, so it’s better if you go on ahead.”
Then, before she could protest, I brushed a kiss against her cheek.
Her eyes widened, color rising fast from her neck to her ears until her entire face was crimson. She dropped her gaze in flustered embarrassment, fingers fidgeting at her fan.
No matter how long we’ve been married, her innocence never ceased to charm me.
“T-Then… I-I shall go and speak with Lady June!” she stammered, voice pitched awkwardly high.
Her words tumbled over themselves, but the sight of her acting so adorably flustered drew an involuntary smile from me.
“Good. I’ll join you shortly.”
Still half-dazed, Bertia turned and began to walk toward June and Izlarich, her steps light but a touch unsteady until they met her halfway.
Once she was safely away, I turned back to face Prince Ramtak.
Even though my irritation had been plain enough for anyone to notice, his self-assured smirk remained plastered on his face.
He’d misunderstood completely. He thought that by sending Bertia off, I was tacitly accepting his indecent proposal.
“Tell me, Prince Cecil,” he drawled, closing the distance between us with lazy confidence, that oily grin never leaving his face. “What kind of women do you prefer?”
Though every fiber of my being wanted to pull away from him, I forced myself to endure. There were things I needed to say to him, after all. A small token of thanks for the courtesy he’d shown to my wife and me.
I smiled brightly, letting none of my irritation show.
“My tastes have never changed,” I said evenly. “In the past, now, and for all the years to come, I prefer women who are as unique and charming as my wife.”
The corners of his mouth twitched downward. His fake grin slipped away, replaced by a dull, disappointed look. Only now, it seemed, did he realize I had no intention of entertaining his proposal.
“Well then,” I said lightly. “What about you? I hear you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Princess Bistona lately.”