Chapter 490: The Not-So-Subtle Lady

A gentle breeze drifted through the Valtrane estate garden, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and white chrysanthemums. Sunlight fell softly across the garden, warming the small stone table beneath the trees.

On the table sat a porcelain teapot and a woven basket filled with fresh, warm butter pastries dusted with sweet powdered sugar.

Marielle leaned back on the stone bench, lifting a small pastry between two slender fingers. She took a delicate bite, letting out a soft, satisfied hum as the light crust flaked away.

"The chef outdid himself today," Marielle remarked, wiping a trace of powdered sugar from the corner of her lip with a linen napkin. "It has been quite some time since I sat outside like this."

Across the table, Cherion brushed a stray strand of light hair from his forehead, holding his warm tea with both hands. "Enjoy it while it lasts. Once this betrothal thing in the capital completely settles down and everything is officially set in place, we will be packing our carriages to head south."

Marielle tilted her head, a soft flicker of surprise crossing her face. "The South? I know we have trade routes down there, but why so suddenly?"

Cherion lowered his gaze, his thumb tracing the smooth rim of his porcelain cup. The faint breeze rustled the leaves above them as a quiet, heavy calm settled over the table.

"My family’s death anniversary is coming up," Cherion said softly, his voice quiet, steady, and devoid of any bitter weight. "It was apparently a tradition for me to return there every year."

Marielle stopped, her eyes softening instantly. A shadow of deep empathy and quiet guilt passed over her brow, and she set her teacup down gently.

"Cherion..." Marielle murmured, her expression softening with genuine sorrow. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t know."

Cherion looked at her, seeing the genuine ache in her eyes, and a quiet, complex warmth bloomed in his chest. Deep down, a strange, silent thought brushed against his mind. He was an outsider who had transmigrated into this world, occupying the body and taking over the life of the OG Cherion.

In a strange, ironic way, Marielle felt far more weight and sorrow over the tragedy than he ever could.

He didn’t want her burdening herself with the grief.

"Please, Marielle, do not apologize," Cherion said quickly, reaching across the small table to gently press his palm over her knuckles. His light eyes were remarkably soft, offering her a calm, warm smile that instantly cut through her rising guilt. "There is no need to feel sorry or wear such a heavy face. Truly. I am at peace with it now."

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before pulling back to pick up his tea. "The past is where it belongs. I am not dwelling on dark memories, Marielle. I simply wish to go down there, lay some fresh flowers by their stones, have a little chat, and let them know their son is somehow doing just fine. That is all."

Marielle searched his face for a long moment, studying the absolute serenity in his expression. The tension in her shoulders finally began to melt away, and she let out a quiet, relieved breath, nodding softly. "Of course. We will go together."

"That is why I want to make sure your betrothal with Princess Iryna is completely finalized first," Cherion explained, his tone shifting back to his usual thoughtful, protective tone. "Once everything is settled and the royal council has nothing left to debate, our minds will be completely at ease. We won’t have to worry about court games or sudden summons while we are away in the South."

"You are always thinking five steps ahead, little healer," Marielle said softly, a fond, reassuring smile returning to her lips as she leaned back against the stone bench. "Very well. Once everything is secured here, we head south."

"Speaking of securing things..." Cherion murmured, picking up a small folded parchment note from his coat pocket. "When are we paying our formal visit to the royal palace? We could take the carriage to the palace tomorrow morning."

"No," Marielle interjected smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. "Not tomorrow. Not so soon."

Cherion looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? Why the delay? Wouldn’t it be more reassuring to get this finished as soon as possible?"

"Precisely why we should not rush," Marielle replied, a confident smirk spreading across her face. "We do not want to appear overly eager, Cherion. If we march into the palace this soon after the request, those paranoid old lords will think we are desperate to lock in our political leverage. We give them a day or two to simmer. When we arrive, we will look calm, composed, and entirely unbothered."

Cherion watched her for a moment before letting out a soft, low chuckle. He set his note aside, folding his arms as a mischievous glint entered his eyes.

"Is that truly your grand political strategy, Marielle?" Cherion asked, his tone dripping with lighthearted irony. "Or are you simply holding back because you want to play it cool around Princess Iryna? You don’t want her thinking you’re too eager to be with her?"

Marielle froze for a second, her hand hovering halfway to the pastry basket. She cleared her throat, though a faint, barely noticeable flush touched the top of her high cheekbones before she quickly smoothed her expression back into cool indifference.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Marielle said flatly, taking a slow sip of her tea.

"Right," Cherion chuckled, leaning forward with a smug smirk. "You definitely don’t want her to think you’ve been eagerly waiting to see her. ’Oh, Princess Iryna, I was just casually passing through the garden, I completely forgot we were betrothed.’"

"Cherion, be quiet," Marielle said, shooting him a sharp look that held zero actual anger. "I am a high lady of the North, not some lovestruck maiden."

"Whatever you say, Marielle," Cherion teased softly, his chest rising and falling in a quiet laugh. "Your secret is entirely safe with me."

Marielle shook her head, though a small, fond smile betrayed her strict facade. "You have grown far too bold since we returned to the estate, little healer. I wonder why."

"Someone has to keep you grounded, Marielle."

Cherion smiled and reached for another pastry.

For now, they could enjoy the quiet, because soon enough, the palace would be waiting.