The group exited the private chambers of the lord; faces twisted in disgust and quiet repulsion.
MURMUR—
"Save it. Remember what I told you," Markam muttered, grinding his teeth. "We all have a code to follow, and we must adhere to it—no matter the cost."
The entire situation was far more messed up than what the knights had initially imagined. That expressionless face—it didn't mean shock.
It meant they were used to it.
They had heard of the lord's perversions, that much was common gossip. But this… this was crossing a line. A line so deeply human, even hardened knights found their resolve trembling.
One last push—just one—was all it would take for them to break the very code they were bound to. And Markam knew it.
But they couldn't afford that. Not now. Not when centuries of honor stood behind them.
"Sir Butler," one of the knights spoke up, unable to hide the disgust in his voice, "is such an act a... daily occurrence?"
The butler turned slightly, his expression still unreadable.
"I would prefer it if you refrained from such impulsive questions in front of the lord," he replied flatly. "No matter how it may appear—I am what I am. I am the lord's butler. I shall stand beside him as his caretaker and aide, even if... he is in the wrong."
Ram narrowed his eyes.
"He deflected the question. Just enough to sound loyal... but also enough to condemn it." He looked at Markam, his voice quiet. "Captain, he knows. He knows the lord's too far gone."
The captain said nothing. He simply stared ahead.
Their walk came to a halt.
"This is the young miss's residence," the butler said solemnly. "She never leaves her room. Per the lord's instructions, she is not to be disturbed unless deemed necessary. And—" he paused for a moment, voice heavier now, "—I must request... no remarks, no reactions in front of the lady."
There was grief in that final line. Grief that slipped through the butler's carefully constructed mask.
CREAK—
The wooden door opened, revealing a room grand in its own right—nowhere close to the lord's chambers, but still expansive and delicately maintained.
Soft lavender fragrances lingered in the air. A touch of feminine warmth, forced into place.
The windows stretched wide along one wall. And seated by the panel, staring out into the light beyond the glass, was a young girl—barely twelve or thirteen.
She had flowing violet hair cascading down her back, with cat-like ears perked up on top of her head, and a small furry tail hanging low. A beastkin. Her beauty was unnerving—too striking for a child her age. But her eyes...
Her eyes were cold. Ruthless. The kind that no child should ever have to wear.
Eyes that had long lost hope.
Ram froze.
A red-haired face flashed across his mind. A memory. A person. And suddenly his mood twisted.
He clenched his fist—absentmindedly staring at the girl for far too long.
And then... she stared back.
Expression blank. But piercing.
"Young man, is everything alright?" the butler asked, tone sharp.
…
"…Yes. Forgive my rudeness," Ram replied quickly, breaking eye contact.
"Good. Her name is Vadia," the butler continued. "She will be the next wife of the lord. Lady Vadia hails from the beastmen territory. I would like each of you to properly introduce yourselves."
One by one, the knights spoke their names. Vadia didn't even glance at them.
Ram followed suit, giving his name without expecting acknowledgment. His eyes lingered on the room for a second more, scanning everything quietly, before falling back into place with the others.
As the knights finished their introductions, the butler strode toward the young lady. Her gaze remained on the empty sky outside — distant, vacant. Like a bird that had long stopped trying to escape its cage.
He knelt down beside her, leaned in close, and whispered something in her ear.
Ram narrowed his eyes, trying to catch even a word, but the air around them shimmered faintly.
'Sound barrier,' he realized, gritting his teeth. 'Of course they'd do that.'
The three maids inside the room — elegant, perfectly dressed — remained motionless. They didn't acknowledge the knights. Didn't even blink. Their stillness was unnatural. Too perfect.
Ram clenched his hand at his side, something tight building in his chest.
The conversation between the girl and the butler ended with a nod from her. Nothing more. She didn't even glance their way.
The butler stood and turned to face the group once again.
"The lady is grateful for your presence," he said with a stiff smile. "She would now like you all to leave."
But just as the knights began to turn—SHINK—
A blade rang out.
In one smooth, deliberate motion, the butler unsheathed a slender blade from within his cane — the gleaming steel pointed directly at Ram's neck.
A few knights instinctively stepped forward.
"What the hell—"
Ram didn't move. He simply stared at the sword, then lifted his gaze to meet the butler's eyes.
Markam stepped in immediately, voice sharp. "Lower your weapon, Butler. You're testing the limits of this meeting."
The butler didn't flinch.
"Forgive me, Sir Captain," he said calmly, tone devoid of hostility. "The young miss feels this knight is not suitable for the assignment. She would prefer... he be excluded."
Ram let out a quiet breath and stepped forward, brushing the blade aside with two fingers. He didn't look at the butler.
He looked directly at the girl.
"Vadia, was it?" he said, voice cold and even. "Let me make this clear. I don't care who you are — caged princess, spoiled heir, victim or tyrant. But I'm not in the mood to entertain power plays."
He took a single step forward, locking eyes with her across the room.
"Have your people lower their blades. Stop the theater. We came here for a job — and I don't give a damn whose feelings get bruised in the process."
A long silence followed.
Then, with a short bow — stiff and mechanical — Ram turned and stepped back into formation.
The tension in the room thinned, but didn't vanish.
The butler, still wearing that unreadable smile, slid the blade back into his cane with a metallic click.
"Very well," he said. "We'll proceed with the rest of the tour."
But as they walked away, the air still felt thick. Like a string had been pulled taut — and no one knew how long it would hold.