Calvinel exhaled sharply, a hand brushing back through his hair as a nervous chuckle slipped from his lips. "Ha… ha, very funny, Your Highness," he said, trying to smile but failing to hide the unease tightening in his voice. He looked at her, then away, his usual composure cracked. "But could you imagine? Someone like me—some no-name knight—marrying you? That's… that's insane, right?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, his charisma truly faltering for perhaps the first time.
Zara didn't blink. "It's not a jest, Sir Calvinel," she said coolly, her voice as level as a drawn blade. Her gaze held firm on his. "And you know it isn't. So I suggest you take this as seriously as I do."
With a slow, deliberate grace, she sat back down. Her legs crossed, her body leaned forward just enough to draw the eye. Her clothing—chosen with precision for this moment—shifted with her, accentuating the curve of her figure. Every part of her posture said: Look at me. Want me.
*Men like him respond to lust,* she reminded herself. *So respond.*
Calvinel gulped, his throat bobbing visibly. He raised both hands slightly as if surrendering. "I… I'm sorry, Your Highness. But I can't accept."
Zara froze.
She masked it well, but the flinch in her shoulders was undeniable—too slight for most to notice, but not him. She hadn't expected to hear no.
"I see," she said softly, lashes lowering. "Is there a reason?" Her voice quivered, just enough to sound fragile. "Or is it simply… me?"
She knew the answer didn't matter. The question was the tool.
Calvinel shook his head vigorously, hands raised again. "No, no—it's not that. Please don't think that, Your Highness. Don't ever look down on yourself." He pressed a hand to his chest. "It's me. I'm the problem here, not you. I don't want to be married. I'd be a terrible husband."
His voice faltered, his expression etched with regret.
"I know it hurts to hear it. Goddess knows I hate saying it. But if we did this… it'd hurt so much more later. You'd come to regret it, and I swear, I couldn't live with myself if I caused that."
Beneath the table, Zara's hand twitched. Her nails dug into her thigh, hard enough to break skin. *This pompous, self-pitying, insufferable bastard—*
She forced herself to inhale slowly. *Stay in control.*
"I-I was just… taken by you," she whispered, eyes shimmering with tears—tears she'd summoned by digging her nail in deeper. Her voice trembled. "When I saw you fight in the tournament, I… I thought you felt something too."
Calvinel's face twisted with guilt. His lips parted, as though he wanted to offer comfort, but his body stayed locked in place. He couldn't reach for her. Not like this.
"I'm sorry," he said again, softer this time. "Your Highness… I truly am. But this really is for the best. You'll be happier—freer—without someone like me holding you back. You won't have regrets. Not like the ones you'd get if you married me."
Zara's hand slid slightly across the underside of the table, searching for a weapon she didn't have. Her jaw clenched. Her composure threatened to snap.
But instead, she whispered, "I see…"
Her voice cracked—just enough to sound real.
"I really am worthless."
This time, there was no pretense in her tone. It rang low and bitter and small, like an echo in a cold room. "No one wants me. Not my family… not even the man I love."
She nearly gagged on the word, love, but swallowed it with a tight throat, watching him carefully. *Come on. Take pity already.*
And it worked—almost. Calvinel's shoulders slumped. His eyes glistened faintly with remorse.
"Your Highness…" he murmured, bowing his head forward until his forehead nearly touched the table. "I'm truly, deeply sorry."
"Ah…"
The sound slipped from Zara's throat like a breath that had been broken in two. She blinked once—slowly—then lowered her eyes to the table. "I see…"
Her voice carried the exact tone of a girl crushed under the weight of rejection. Delicate. Fractured.
But inside, her thoughts were a roaring inferno.
*I'm going to fucking kill you!*
Her fingers curled as she rose slowly to her feet, her movement hesitant and laden with practiced sorrow. *I'm going to rip your goddess-damned spine out through your smug little back and shove it down your fucking throat! I will flay your family in front of you! You ungrateful, thick-skulled, half-witted son of a whore!*
She kept her head bowed, her body trembling ever so slightly as if straining to hold in the heartbreak. Then she gave a shallow, pitiful bow.
"I'm sorry for wasting your time."
She said it loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear. People turned. Heads tilted. Curiosity spread like a spark in dry grass.
"What is happening?" Clara murmured from across the room. Not expecting this.
"Crap. Was the wine too strong?" Xain muttered beside the bar, glancing around in growing panic.
Zara straightened slowly, keeping her gaze pinned to the floor like a shamed child. Then, with painstaking slowness, she turned on her heel. Her hand came up, dabbing at the corner of her eye with two fingers—dry as bone, but played with such grace that it didn't matter.
More people stared now. A couple had even gone quiet mid-bite. The tavern, once filled with light laughter and conversation, hushed beneath the weight of the unfolding scene. Zara didn't look at any of them. She kept her eyes down and her shoulders slumped, pausing just long enough at the door to give Calvinel a chance.
*Come after me, she thought through gritted teeth behind the veil of false grief. Chase me, you idiot.
But he didn't move.
Zara stood there a moment longer.
Nothing.
Then she stepped outside, her teeth clenched so tightly her jaw ached.
The second the door closed behind her, the silence she left behind turned into a low swell of whispers and glances—all directed at the man still sitting at the table, face pale, guilt bleeding from every inch of his posture.
Calvinel let out a deep breath, slow and burdened, and rubbed a hand down his face. His eyes scanned the room before landing on a familiar figure near the back.
He motioned with two fingers. "Ulrich."
The Bandit Lord raised a brow. He was mid-drink, one foot lazily propped on the leg of another chair, but he set the mug down and got up.
As he approached, he gave Calvinel a look that bordered between amusement and exasperation. "Let me guess—you turned her down for me?"
He clapped a hand on Calvinel's shoulder. "Because let me tell you now, I'm not interested. Maybe for a single night, sure, but getting married doesn't exactly bring freedom."
Calvinel shook his head sharply, groaning. "Goddess, no. Just—just shut up and listen."
He leaned in, his voice lowering as his expression shifted to something harder.
"I need you to do something for me."