“Elena.”
The silence shattered—again—by Marten.
“Yes?” she replied quickly, startled. She swallowed a piece of salad that had been sitting in her mouth and turned to him.
Marten was still cutting into his steak, but he gave her a quick sideways glance. The sudden weight of everyone’s attention shifted toward him—Kennard and Serin included, both lifting their heads to watch him closely.
“What do you think,” Marten asked, voice casual, “about marrying me?”
Elena froze.
“What kind of nonsense is that?!” Kennard roared, his voice exploding across the dining room like thunder.
The sound slammed into the air, sharp and deafening. Every attendant in the room, including Lassino, froze mid-motion.
Marten didn’t flinch. He set his knife and fork down with deliberate calm and dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said mildly, as if the suggestion were the most natural thing in the world. “You can’t escape your duty as the Grand Duke of the Baruchella Empire. You’re the Emperor’s only sibling—and the strongest pureblood among the Black Wolves. Who’s going to accept you marrying a woman whose race is unknown?”
Kennard leaned back slightly, his jaw clenched. “If that’s the topic, I’ve already told you—I’ve heard enough of it from Serin. And I said my thoughts won’t change.”
At that, Serin shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat, glancing at Elena with clear unease.
Marten pressed on. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to avoid scandal altogether? You marry Hazel, just as His Majesty ordered. And I marry Elena. Problem solved.”
He shrugged, as if discussing a trade agreement rather than people’s lives.
“Unlike you, no one really cares whom I marry. Sure, people might gossip at first—about Elena’s looks, her background—but that’ll pass quickly.”
Elena kept her head down, her eyes fixed on her untouched plate. She couldn’t even begin to think of inserting herself into the conversation.
She had already accepted the truth: she would never be seen as a fitting match for Kennard.
No words of protest came to mind—just silence and resignation.
“Enough with that nonsense. Shut your mouth,” Kennard growled.
His voice trembled—not with uncertainty, but with barely restrained rage. His golden eyes blazed, flickering like a fire pushed to its limit.
Marten raised a brow, unfazed. “I’m seriously trying to offer a solution, and you tell me to shut up?”
He leaned back in his chair, settling in comfortably. His elbows rested on the armrests as he laced his fingers behind his head.
“We could each get married and just stay lovers on the side…” he began, smirking—
“Ugh—!”
The smugness vanished instantly. Marten let out a strangled groan as his body jerked forward in pain.
No one had time to react.
Kennard was already on his feet, his hand clamped around Marten’s face. His fingers dug into skin and bone with terrifying force, crushing one cheek inward. The blood drained from Marten’s face, the skin blanching under the pressure.
Marten gripped Kennard’s wrist with both hands, frantically trying to pry it off. But it was like trying to bend a steel beam. Kennard didn’t budge—not even an inch.
“Aa… agh…”
The sound was barely human. Marten couldn’t scream properly. His knees buckled beneath him, and he collapsed with a heavy thud onto the floor.
Still gripping his face, Kennard loomed over him, his expression unreadable except for the raw, murderous intent blazing in his eyes.
“Your Grace…!” Serin shot up from his seat, his voice tight with alarm.
But he didn’t move closer.
He stood frozen in place, clearly unwilling—or unable—to intervene.
Lassino, too, remained still. Silent. His expression unreadable, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening.
The rest of the attendants were paralyzed with fear. No one moved, no one spoke. They only stared, wide-eyed, as Kennard continued to press Marten into the floor with his bare hand.
Elena squeezed her eyes shut, her breath catching in her throat.
This was already the second time today Kennard had lashed out physically at Marten.
If this went on even a second longer, she truly feared he might crush Marten’s skull—and kill him.
Elena drew in a few steadying breaths, then slowly rose from her seat.
“I have something to say to Count Remid,” she said, her voice calm but clear—cutting through the suffocating silence like a breeze through smoke.
The room held its breath.
Had someone shouted or tried to pull Kennard away, he likely wouldn’t have moved. But her measured tone—gentle, composed—pierced through his fury like a needle through cloth.
Kennard’s head snapped toward her, eyes still blazing with wrath. But the instant his gaze met hers, something shifted. The rage in his golden eyes dimmed, and his clenched jaw eased ever so slightly.
“To Marten?” he asked, his voice low, skeptical.
“Yes,” Elena replied softly, her gaze shifting to the man still kneeling on the floor.
Kennard’s brow creased, displeasure flaring again at her answer. But after a long pause—and with visible reluctance—he finally released Marten’s face, shoving him back with a sharp, dismissive gesture.
“Are you out of your damn mind?” Marten wheezed, groaning as he slumped onto one hand and covered his aching face with the other.
“What are you even talking about?” Kennard snapped, shooting him another deadly glare.
Then, stiffening his shoulders, he turned back to Elena and faced her fully.
Elena met his gaze, her voice steady and unwavering.
“I have no intention of being anyone’s mistress,” she said firmly. “All I want… is to be by His Grace’s side.”
If you want to consider supporting Keopi Translations please check out our Patreon for advanced chapters. If you can, please also leave a review for this novel on Novelupdates. Thank you so much!~Keopi
