The royal gala’s side corridor was quiet—too quiet. No music, no chatter, just the echo of Yvra’s heels on polished marble like the ticking of a countdown to my execution.
She stopped, back to me, hands clasped behind her like she was about to lecture an incompetent servant.
"You," she said softly.
I tried for charm. "Yes, me. The lovable rogue you—"
"—ruined an entire gala just to embarrass Sir Blayzeon?" She turned, eyes like cold steel. "Do you understand how exhausting it is to exist near you?"
"First of all," I said, "you picked him over me. That means I am now contractually allowed to be petty until the sun dies."
"That’s not how contracts work."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice so only I could hear. "You’re pathetic, Cecil. And worse—you’re predictable. You think this childish sabotage makes you clever, but all it does is remind me why I left."
Ouch. That one hit so hard I swear my spleen filed for divorce, too.
Before I could muster a comeback, Blayzeon himself appeared, still in full charming-knight mode. "Is there a problem here?"
"Yes," Yvra said without missing a beat. "Cecil’s still breathing near me."
"Wow," I said. "Romantic."
Lilith, who had clearly been eavesdropping from behind a decorative vase, popped her head out. "Hate to interrupt this post-divorce poetry, but security’s coming. And they look like the stab-first, ask-later type."
Yvra smirked. "Good. Maybe they’ll finally escort you somewhere you belong."
I bowed mockingly. "And maybe your knight will win a duel without falling in a puddle someday."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t take the bait. She just turned and walked away with Blayzeon, cape swishing like it had a personal vendetta against me.
I stood there in the empty hallway, watching her go, and felt... weirdly hollow. Not angry. Not smug. Just... hollow.
Lilith leaned on the wall beside me. "You okay?"
"Not plotting to crash her honeymoon."
The palace guards showed up in perfect dramatic formation—six of them, all shiny armor and zero patience.
"Sir... Cecil," the lead one said, glancing at a small parchment like it was my rap sheet. "You’re being escorted out on account of disturbing the peace, disrupting scheduled entertainment, and repeated references to a goat duel."
Lilith muttered, "Maybe let it go."
I didn’t let it go. "The people deserve to know the truth!" I said, raising my voice just enough for the nearby banquet hall to hear.
Unfortunately, the banquet hall was in full dessert service, which meant a bunch of nobles now turned their heads while holding plates of cake.
One noblewoman gasped, "Is that the Tumbling Knight?" and in her excitement, she dropped her cake. It landed frosting-first on a duchess’s gown.
The duchess shrieked. The duchess’s husband tried to help, tripped over a violinist, and sent the lute player into the champagne fountain.
The guards, naturally, assumed I had somehow engineered it. "Right," the leader sighed, grabbing my arm. "We’re going through the servant’s exit."
They frog-marched me through the palace kitchens, where I accidentally bumped a tray and sent forty profiteroles rolling across the floor like sugary marbles.
One cook slipped, cursed my name, and chased after me with a ladle.
By the time we reached the back alley, the guards shoved me out with the kind of force that said don’t come back unless you’re in handcuffs.
Lilith strolled out behind me a moment later, dusting her gloves. "On the bright side," she said, "I stole three bottles of champagne."
"Good," I said, taking one. "We’ll need it. Because tomorrow, we’re getting revenge."
She grinned. "You’re not over this, are you?"
I popped the cork. "Lilith... I was never over this."