Free Web NovelChapter 70: Would You Still Stay..?
"His Imperial Majesty?"
Penelope stepped closer, narrowing her eyes at Vincent with a look of sudden, intense scrutiny. "Did you do something?"
"None that I can think of," he replied, a bit offended that her first instinct was to assume he had caused an imperial crisis. "If I had done something, I certainly wouldn’t be requesting my wife to accompany me into the viper’s nest."
Penelope pressed her lips into a thin line, her mind instantly fracturing into a dozen different directions.
She had never set foot inside the Imperial palace before. To a mere Baron’s daughter, even receiving an audience from the king of Vandalia became possible when she married Vincent, and even that had felt like a distant, overwhelming honor. The imperial court was entirely different terrain, a place of absolute power, lethal politics and grand scale.
Yet, with the weight of the discoveries currently pressing down on her, she couldn’t be certain if she could afford to leave the estate, let alone the kingdom of Vandalia, for the capital.
The clock was ticking. She still had to return to the Parish tomorrow to deliver the domestic ledger to Father Thomas, and then there was the looming threat of the assassin they were actively tracking. If both she and Vincent vanish to the capital, who would watch the estate? Who would ensure the assassin didn’t strike while their backs were turned? Not to mention, she had no idea how long an imperial audience would even last.
"Can I give my response tomorrow?" She asked, looking up at him with a gentle, imploring gaze. "It’s just that there are complications here that require my presence. I have a time-sensitive matter to settle tomorrow. But if I can manage to make it work, I’ll let you know."
Vincent’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to read the subtle tension in her face. "Are you certain you don’t need my assistance with whatever this is?"
Penelope smiled softly and stepped into his space to lightly adjust the heavy trim of his cloak. "You are still unwell, Vince. Just because you’re up on your feet doesn’t mean you’re all healed yet. Please, use the two days to focus more on your recovery so you can present yourself to the Emperor in full strength."
She truly did not want to add any more to his burdens, not when a summons from the High Sovereign himself was hanging over his head. Navigating the Imperial Court would require all of his wits and energy; he didn’t need to be distracted by the messy, decades-old sins of the Viremont house.
Vincent stared down at her for a moment, clearly unsatisfied with her deflection but choosing not to push her. A faint, amused glint returned to his gray eyes.
"Then let us have dinner together," he said, extending his hand for her to take. "Or are you going to refuse this as well?"
Penelope shook her head at his silly words, a quiet laugh escaping her lips as she placed her hand firmly in his. Together, they turned and headed back inside the warmth of the estate.
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Following a quiet, pleasant dinner, and after shedding off their cloaks, the tension of the day soon began to melt. However, Penelope soon found herself being led somewhere.
"Where are we going?" She asked, looking up at Vincent as he guided her deep into the lower levels of the estate, past the familiar corridors, and down toward the manor’s foundation.
"You’ll see," was his only response, a faint, enigmatic smile that only made him appear more handsome playing on his lips.
They descended a wide, stone staircase where the air grew progressively cooler, smelling faintly of old stone and subterranean iron. Torches flickering in sconces cast long,dancing shadows against the rough-hewn walls, amplifying the rhythmic click of their boots.
Eventually, the winding passage opened up, and they stopped before a set of massive, reinforced iron doors that looked sturdy enough to withstand a siege. Vincent reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a heavy, intricately crafted key. He turned it in the lock with a resounding, metallic clack, throwing his weight against the doors to push them open.
The heavy iron swung inward to reveal a sprawling, dimly lit subterranean chamber.
"After you," Vincent murmured, bowing slightly at the waist, a quiet, courtly gesture inviting her to step across the threshold first.
Penelope returned the gesture with a graceful, inquisitive curtsy before making her way inside, her eyes wide with curiosity as she stepped into the hidden depths of his domain, and then her breath caught.
The first section of the hall was a grand, solemn display of his history, a private gallery of his greatest achievements. Banners from past campaigns hung like heavy tapestry from the vaulted ceiling, their edges singed by old fires.
Along the stone walls, polished glass cases housed gleaming medals, rare commendations bearing the royal crest of the king of Vandalia, and brutal relics from the front lines where he had earned his redemption. It was a stark, visual testament to exactly how hard he had fought to stay alive and rebuild his name.
"Whoa..." Penelope murmured, stepping closer to inspect the glass cases, the candlelight reflecting in her wide eyes. She traced the edge of a display housing a cracked, silver breastplate. "You achieved all of these? Vince, why on earth don’t you have them displayed in the drawing room for guests to see?"
Vincent leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her. "Are you surprised that I choose not to flaunt them?"
Penelope paused, thinking about the complex, guarded man standing before her, and then she slowly shook her head. "I suppose it fits you not to brag. But all of these are so remarkable. I fear I would be insufferable if I was the one who won them. For all the people in high society who continue to look down on you out of spite, you have done quite a lot to protect us."
Her gaze drifted past the official military honors, landing on a separate, shadowed shelf at the back of the case. It held a collection of strange, jagged weapons and foreign insignia that looked distinctly out of place.
Penelope pointed toward them, her brow arching. "Hm? What about those? Where did you get those ones?"
Vincent stepped closer, his boots clicking softly on the stone floor as his gaze settled on the jagged, foreign relics she had pointed out. "I acquired those after winning my first major campaign. I believe it was nine years ago." frёewebηovel.cѳm
"Nine years? But you were only seventeen at that time..." Penelope murmured, a chill running down her spine.
She too, had been a child then, but even in the quiet corners of Aelgard, she remembered hearing the breathless, terrified whispers of the nobility. His first war had been the talk of Vandalia—a bloody, desperate campaign that defied all strategic odds. At the time, she had tuned out the political gossip, but looking at the trophies now, the reality of it hit her like a physical blow. He had been a mere boy, thrown into a meat grinder.
"It was mandatory," Vincent said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion, as if he were reciting a line from a history ledger. "I had to win if I wished to continue breathing, let alone live as the Marquis. The Emperor made it a condition of my survival. Before I was adopted into the Devereux family, I was a government slave."
Penelope’s eyes widened completely, her breath catching violently in her throat at the word.
A slave?
She stared at him, her mind struggling to bridge the massive, impossible gap between the powerful, commanding Marquis standing before her and the horrific reality of a boy branded by the state. Vincent, the most feared man in Vandalia, had once belonged to the crown as mere property.
He caught the sheer shock frozen in her eyes, and a faintly amused, self-deprecating smile tilted his lips. He turned fully to face her, leaning back against the glass display case. "Is it truly that big of a shock?"
"Yes, absolutely," Penelope replied immediately, her voice trembling slightly.
In Vandalia, there was nothing good that ever came out of being a government slave.
Those poor souls were treated as expendable property, subjected to backbreaking labor, and broken down by relentless torment. To look at this proud, indomitable man and realize he had been a victim of such institutional torture was a truth her mind scrambled to process.
Vincent’s smile faded, replaced by a dark, searching intensity. "You must be wondering then... if the Devereux family spared me from such a terrible life, why would I resort to killing them? They gave me a name. They gave me freedom. They did so much for me. And what did I do in return? I slaughtered them all. I am certainly a monster—"
Before he could finish the sentence, Penelope stepped forward and pressed her palm firmly over his mouth to shut him up.
"N-no," she said fiercely, shaking her head as she looked up into his dark eyes. "Do not say that. You are not a monster. I may not know the full truth of why you did it, but I trust you must have had your reasons. I mean... take me for example. I just locked my entire birth family inside their own manor, stripped them of their status, and ruined them. Without context, that makes me seem utterly heartless, doesn’t it? If the world judged us solely on the blood on our hands, we would both be damned. That is why I choose to trust you."
Vincent paused, the warmth of her hand against his lips breaking through his icy armor. Slowly, he reached up, his fingers wrapping around her wrist as he brought her palm down from his mouth. But he didn’t let go of her hand, holding it firmly between them.
"And what if I was just a monster? What if I have no noble context to justify what I did?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, vulnerable whisper that vibrated in the quiet vault.
"Would you still stay with someone like me, Penelope?"
