Chapter 20
The crowd, moments ago roaring with laughter, froze in shock, their eyes wide as they stared at the closed doors of the ballroom. Even the orchestra’s music halted abruptly.
“What… what was that just now?”
The ballroom fell silent in an instant.
Creak.
As every gaze locked onto the entrance, the heavy doors swung open.
“…!!”
Without announcement or fanfare, a familiar figure strode through the threshold. The crowd gasped, mouths agape in disbelief.
“I don’t understand why people keep going on about invitations when I’ve made it clear I’m not attending these things,” the woman muttered under her breath, clicking her tongue in irritation.
“…Lady Railaten.”
Someone whispered her name through parted lips, barely audible.
The woman who had crashed the ballroom was none other than Roshanne Railaten—the very person they’d been gleefully mocking just moments before.
“There you are.”
Roshanne’s eyes scanned the room, then lit up as they landed on Viscount Zichelia. With a warm smile, she strode toward him.
“R-Roshanne.”
Despite her smile, there was an unmistakable intensity in her presence that made the viscount flinch. He took an involuntary step back, cold sweat beading on his brow.
Where were the knights guarding the entrance? Why had there been that loud crash beyond the doors?
Was she furious about the betting pool opened without her knowledge? Or was she here to confront him for not inviting her to the ball?
Viscount Zichelia couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but he felt certain Roshanne was angry.
“Viscount Zichelia,” she said, stopping directly in front of him.
The crowd swallowed hard, their eyes fixed on her.
“I’d like to join the betting pool.”
“…What?”
Her words, however, were entirely unexpected.
“Thirty million gold on House Railaten’s victory.”
Roshanne smiled.
“I’m wagering thirty million gold.”
She had slipped away with a portion of Duke Railaten’s fortune to place this bet.
The ballroom plunged into a stunned silence. The place, meant to hum with noise and revelry, felt eerily still. Heads turned instinctively to gauge Brina’s reaction. The charming, radiant smile she’d worn moments ago had vanished; her lips were now pressed into a tight, furious line.
“Did you hear me?” Roshanne asked, waving a hand in front of Viscount Zichelia’s face.
The viscount, momentarily dazed by her entrance and the staggering sum she’d wagered, snapped back to reality.
“What did you just say, Roshanne?”
“I said I want to join the betting pool.”
“No, not that!”
Not that?
Roshanne tilted her head, replaying her words in her mind. But nothing else came to her.
Frustrated, Viscount Zichelia pounded his chest and shouted, “Who did you say you’re betting thirty million gold on?”
“House Railaten, obviously. Thirty million gold,” Roshanne replied, her voice calm and unshaken.
Viscount Zichelia’s jaw dropped, as if questioning her sanity. He wasn’t alone—every guest in the ballroom stared at her with the same incredulous expression.
Only Roshanne remained unfazed.
“Are you declaring war on Sir Mark right now?” a trembling voice cut through the silence.
Roshanne turned to see Brina glaring at her, her face a mask of disbelief and outrage.
“I just thought the betting pool sounded fun, that’s all. Declaring war?” Roshanne said lightly.
“You’re declaring war by saying House Railaten will defeat Sir Mark!” Brina’s furious voice echoed through the hushed ballroom.
Brina Fortlen was the leading candidate to become the future crown princess. Though not officially engaged, the nobility already treated her as such. Even against the empire’s only ducal house, House Railaten, Brina felt no fear. Especially not against this half-disgraced duchess who always kept her head bowed low.
Or so she had thought.
“If that’s the case,” Roshanne said coolly, “then everyone who bet on House Fortlen’s victory is declaring war on House Railaten, aren’t they?”
Roshanne’s voice was low and chilling as she fixed her gaze on Brina. In that moment, Brina felt as though an invisible hand had seized her throat, her breath catching painfully. Startled, she reached up to touch her neck, her fingers brushing against the delicate necklace she’d chosen so carefully for the occasion. It was the first time in her life she’d felt such overwhelming intimidation.
Her hand, clutching the necklace, trembled with fear.
Roshanne, who had been staring at her with an impassive intensity, ran a hand through her hair and looked away. Only then could Brina exhale the breath she’d been holding, her chest heaving with relief.
“Of course, that can’t be right, can it?” Roshanne murmured with a faint, mocking smile.
No one dared answer her question. To agree would mean making an enemy of House Railaten; to deny it would pit them against House Fortlen.
“It’s just a fun little bet, isn’t it?” Roshanne said, shrugging casually and turning away.
“Have a good time, then.”
As if her sole purpose for coming had been to place her wager, she waved a hand and strode out of the ballroom without a hint of hesitation.
In that moment, some of the nobles gathered there couldn’t help but think that Duke Railaten had been raising a hidden beast all along. Perhaps, they mused, the odds of this bet might shift in unexpected ways.
***
No sooner had the rumor spread that Roshanne had wagered thirty million gold than another whisper followed: an anonymous figure had bet fifty million gold on House Railaten’s victory. As the stakes swelled to staggering heights, the nobility’s attention became wholly fixated on the upcoming duel.
Yet, only Roshanne and this mysterious stranger had bet on House Railaten. Everyone else, eager to cash in on a sure thing, placed their money on House Fortlen, swayed by Sir Mark’s unmatched reputation and the circulating gossip that Roshanne still hadn’t found a knight to represent her.
Time passed, and the eve of the duel arrived.
“My lady, tomorrow is the duel! What are we going to do? Should we at least try to find a—” River began, only to be cut off.
“Don’t you dare mention mercenaries,” Roshanne snapped.
“A-a champion, then! Shouldn’t we find a champion? Everyone’s mocking you, saying you still haven’t found a knight for the duel!” River pivoted quickly, barely dodging disaster with her quick thinking.
“If this keeps up, you’ll lose!”
“Didn’t I tell you before? Life has its necessary defeats—”
“And you’ll lose thirty million gold!” River interjected.
Roshanne’s eyes gleamed at the mention of the sum. “Life is about victory. I won’t forgive a single defeat.”
“For that thirty million gold, you have to win! We need to find a knight!” River pressed.
“Why are you so passionate about this? It’s my duel,” Roshanne said, her tone half-amused, half-exasperated.
“Well, if you lose the duke’s thirty million gold…”
“What happens if I lose thirty million gold?”
“Then the allowance for jewels and accessories will shrink, and…” River trailed off, fidgeting nervously.
“Oh, you’re worried your share of the crumbs will disappear?” Roshanne teased.
River’s face flushed red as she bowed her head, caught dead to rights.
“That’s a proper reason. I like it,” Roshanne said with a nod.
“P-pardon?”
“If you’d given me some nonsense about suddenly liking me or pledging your loyalty, I’d have thrown you out on the spot. Keep being honest with me, River. If you start spouting ridiculous lies, I’ll dismiss you without a second thought.”
“I-I’ll keep that in mind, my lady,” River said, nodding earnestly as she took Roshanne’s words to heart.
“By the way, did you get the library key?” Roshanne asked, shifting the subject.
“The library key? Is that important right now?” River’s face crumpled into a pout.
“Then what is important?”
At Roshanne’s murmured question, River looked on the verge of tears. “They said not to give you the library key until the duel is over.”
“What? Who said that?”
“The duke. He said to settle the duel first…”
“Arrogant old man,” Roshanne muttered.
With rumors swirling so widely, there was no way Duke Railaten was unaware. He must know she hadn’t yet found a knight for the duel and was likely pressuring her to resolve that first.
“But here’s something curious,” Roshanne said, leaning back against the sofa, her earlier spark of excitement replaced by a languid disinterest. “How does everyone know I haven’t found a knight for the duel?”
“Pardon? Well, the rumors…”
“Who started those rumors?” Roshanne pressed.
“Who? Well…” River paused, tilting her head in confusion. She’d never thought to question it, assuming rumors simply spread on their own.
“I get that House Fortlen would let it slip about the duel with Sir Mark. But I never announced that I haven’t found a knight to represent me.”
“You’re… right,” River said, blinking in surprise.
Roshanne, as if she’d suspected as much all along, propped her chin in her hand and closed her eyes lazily. “It’s about time they showed up.”
“Pardon?”
Knock, knock.
No sooner had Roshanne murmured than a knock came at the door. River hurried to open it.
“I’m here to see the lady” a voice said.
Roshanne, who had been enjoying a quiet teatime in the parlor, opened her eyes. The visitor who stepped inside was none other than a knight of House Railaten—one who, just days ago, had endured all manner of indignities at her hands.
As River showed the knight in, she leaned close to Roshanne and whispered, “My lady, is this the person you meant when you said it was time?”
“Not him” Roshanne said, shaking her head firmly.
