Chapter 117 A Line Crossed
Lysandra's head throbbed. The palace's drawing room had truly made her feel sick to her stomach.
Didier's empty words and the morning paper with Ilse Varannes's face kept replaying in her mind.
Unable to keep pretending in front of her fiancé, Lysandra decided to leave on her own.
She exited the hall, walked through the empty corridor, and headed toward the palace's back garden.
She had only one goal: to find some fresh air before her mind exploded.
Unfortunately, peace was just a myth. That evening, the garden was quiet and damp from the leftover drizzle. The grass was wet, staining the hem of her expensive silk dress with mud. Her steps carried her farther, to the central fountain surrounded by white marble pillars.
That was where she saw him.
Lysandra's heart dropped the moment her eyes spotted the tall figure in a black military cloak.
Claus.
He stood alone, his back straight, facing away from Lysandra. The cold aura around him was enough to send chills down anyone's spine, even from afar.
For a moment, a strange urge welled up inside Lysandra, a mix of her old obsession, curiosity, and wounded pride. This was a rare chance. No Didier to interrupt, no one else watching.
Just her and the general. Lysandra took a deep breath. She fixed her slightly messy hair, then put on her sweetest, most cordial smile—the fake one she always used at court. She stepped softly over the damp grass, approaching Claus in silence.
"Your Excellency, General Claus...?" Lysandra called out gently, intentionally making her voice sound as sweet as possible.
He didn't move at all. Rigid.
Lysandra stood two steps behind Claus. She peeked from the side and gave a faint smile. "I didn't expect to see you here. Alone, too. While everyone else in the palace is busy discussing this morning's news."
Silence. Only the sound of the fountain broke the stillness. Claus remained wordless, but slowly, he turned to the side.
Those blue eyes landed on Lysandra.
In that instant, Lysandra stopped breathing. No greeting, no blink, no expression. Just empty and cold. Yet the stare was so sharp, it felt as if it could slice her throat without a sound. It was not the gaze of a human, but as if she were being dragged into a den of hungry beasts.
Still, Lysandra was too stubborn to back down now. Her pride had already been trampled by gossip, so she forced herself to speak.
"Ah... about last night's news." Lysandra continued, her laugh forced.
"People do tend to exaggerate things. But as the Grand General, your actions at that party were quite surprising. Especially for the royal family. I mean, you intervened directly for the young lady from House Varannes—doesn't that ruin your reputation?"
Lysandra was baiting him. She tried to belittle Ilse subtly, spinning a narrative that the girl was nothing but a burden who would tarnish Claus's name. She wanted to see Claus recoil or be disgusted by Ilse, so Lysandra could still feel valuable as a noblewoman.
"Ilse is unworthy to stand beside you, General," Lysandra said sharply. "She's just a girl from a lowly family who craves attention and causes trouble. Someone like her does not deserve to be in the palace, let alone near someone as important as you. I'm sure everyone at court thinks the same."
Lysandra looked at Claus, hoping for his agreement.
Claus didn't budge. He simply looked Lysandra up and down, as if the girl before him was nothing but dirt at the tip of his military boots.
"You talk too much, Miss Fontaine," Claus's voice finally rumbled out. It was soft. Heavy. Hoarse. "And none of what you say matters."
Lysandra's smile froze. Her lips trembled. "I-I just... meant..."
"Listen carefully," Claus cut her off, turning his body to fully face Lysandra.
Suddenly, the distance between them felt suffocatingly close. The scent of gunpowder mixed with the cold evening air stung her nose. Those blue eyes locked onto her with merciless intensity.
"Whatever I do, whoever I touch, and anything that concerns Ilse Varannes," Claus whispered sharply, each word cold and threatening, "is none of your business. Don't you ever dare mention her name in front of me again, or talk about her behind my back."
Goosebumps rose all over Lysandra's skin. Her blood felt frozen. Her knees went weak; she could barely stand.
"If I hear you try to bother or attack her again with any cheap tricks..." Claus continued, his tone flat and terrifying, "I won't care about your status as the crown prince's fiancée. I'll personally make sure you never see the sunrise again."
That was not an empty threat. It was a death sentence from an executioner on the battlefield.
Lysandra took a step back, gasping for breath, her eyes wide with fear. Her throat tightened. Without another word, she turned and fled the fountain, her gown trailing behind her.
Her heart pounded wildly. In her flight, Lysandra realized one thing: Claus was not a man who could be manipulated. And she had just made a grave mistake by crossing the line.