Chapter 45 Julian Vances Sharp Tongue
The door of the lead carriage swung open. The sound of metal hinges clanking echoed loudly in the silence of the broken road. Julian Vance stepped out. He didn't look like a hero arriving to save a damsel in distress, he looked like a man annoyed that some trash was blocking his path.
He stood there, staring at the tilted Varranes carriage with a look of utter disdain. No offer to help. No pleasantries.
"If palace women can't tell the difference between a trail and a dance floor," his voice was cold, flat, devoid of emotion, "then they should just stay home. Don't burden others with your incompetence."
Gisella's face turned bright red. A vein bulged on her neck. She was about to lunge out and curse the guy until he had nothing left to say, but Ilse was faster. She gripped Gisella's arm tight, holding her back inside the carriage.
"Let go of me, Ilse! Who does he think he is?!" Gisella hissed, her voice shaking with rage.
Gisella didn't care anymore. She poked her head out, locking eyes with Julian. "Lord Julian, is it? I heard rumors that you were a polite gentleman. Turns out that news is a total lie. You have absolutely no manners!"
Julian wasn't angry. He didn't yell. He just stayed silent, his eyes scanning Gisella's face with a gaze that made her skin crawl. Cold. Judgmental.
"I don't know you," Julian said suddenly, his voice low. "But I hate your eyes."
Silence. The evening breeze blew, but the air suddenly felt frozen. Gisella gasped, tongue-tied. What the hell was that? I hate your eyes? Who did this guy think he was?
Julian just stared at her blankly, as if she were dust on his boot. He didn't care about Gisella's rage; he didn't care about his reputation. He acted as if she didn't exist.
Ilse let out a long breath. She realized they were walking on thin ice. If Gisella kept running her mouth, they might get left here to freeze to death.
With a calm motion, Ilse pushed Gisella back and stepped out of the carriage. She smoothed her clothes, straightened her back, and put on the professional mask she usually wore when negotiating with grain merchants or contractors.
Ilse looked straight at Julian. There was no fear in her eyes.
"Lord Vance," Ilse's voice sounded professional, flat, and no-nonsense. "We have no intention of blocking your way. We only have technical difficulties. If you could help fix this wheel, we will leave immediately and not waste another second of your time."
Julian turned. He looked at Ilse for a second, assessing her. There was something in Ilse's tone, the vibe of a businesswoman who knew how to solve problems without the drama, that seemed to pique Julian's interest.
After a few seconds that felt like an hour, Julian turned away and waved a hand at his guards.
"Fix the carriage," Julian commanded briefly.