Chapter 124 A Declaration Before the Court
His hot breath brushed against the skin of my lips. The metallic scent of blood from his wounded palm mingled with the cold night air on the palace balcony.
Our foreheads were still pressed together. Those blue eyes, God, he had truly lost all reason. All that remained was a thick, possessive gaze that made my heart pound so hard it felt like heavy metal, threatening to break free from my chest.
"I don't care about your social diplomacy or your strange explanations," Claus whispered. His voice was husky and deep, resonating straight to my eardrums without the need for a microphone.
"But seeing another man touch you makes me want to destroy that entire ballroom. Do you still not understand?"
My mind short-circuited. Completely blank. Empty.
I stared at Claus, still trembling, half angry, half afraid.
"Claus, why are you like this? We're nothing to each other. I'm not yours, and you're not mine. Why go this far?" My voice was barely more than a whisper, but I forced it out despite my trembling lips.
"I'm madly in love with you, Ilse. I love you. Do you still not get it?"
Those words spilled from the mouth of a man who, in the original novel, was always described as the coldest, flattest, and least interested in women, unless it involved military strategy.
In the book, General Claus Valerius Maximilian D'Alecon was a classic tsundere, appearing only to defeat the nation's enemies.
Now I realized, truly realized, how far this damned novel's plot had strayed from its original path.
And whose fault was that? Mine. Because of a foolish extra who only ever wanted to read economic history books and live a quiet life in a corner, but instead was dragged into the empire's wildest scandal.
"Claus..." I squeaked, my voice nearly lost to the wind. My throat suddenly dry, not a drop of saliva left. "You really are crazy..."
"Yes," Claus replied quickly, without a hint of hesitation. "I'm crazy. And it's all because of you, Ilse."
Before I could catch my breath or protest again, Claus moved.
His movement was sharp and unpredictable.
He tilted his head slightly, then pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth, a brief, hard kiss, filled with absolute dominance.
There was no gentleness. It was pure territorial claim.
That quick touch knocked the breath out of me.
My heart felt like it had leaped out of my chest.
I had no time to protest, hit his chest, or even get angry about the sudden assault. Claus immediately pulled his face away, releasing his hold on the balcony wall.
But instead of giving me some space or letting me breathe, his large hand caught my wrist again. His grip was firm. He spun me around and dragged me back inside the palace.
"Hey! Where are you taking me now?!" I protested in panic, nearly tripping over my own dress as he pulled me rapidly through the corridor.
Claus said nothing. He marched forward with long strides, his stoic face looking even more stone-cold.
He shoved open the double doors of the main hall with such force that the remaining whispers among the nobles died instantly.
Everyone turned toward the door, their faces paling when they saw who had entered.
Claus didn't care about their stares. He walked straight through the crowd, pulling me behind him until we stopped in front of the main stage.
There, the King sat on his throne, scowling and barely containing his emotions.
The Queen, beside him, looked at Claus and me with shock, trying to remain composed in front of the guests.
Claus's own mother, Duchess D'Alecon, usually so graceful, had her hand over her mouth, eyes wide as if she might faint.
Claus stood tall before the King, not bowing or offering the formal salute a son should give his father. His left hand still gripped my wrist tightly, keeping me at his side as if I were prey he'd just secured.
"Father," Claus's voice broke the sudden silence in the hall. His tone was flat. Cold. But firm. "I've come to ask for one thing."
The King frowned deeply, clearly shocked to see his firstborn act this way. Surprised and barely able to believe Claus would dare cause such a commotion at his own father's birthday celebration. "What is it, my son? You seem incredibly emotional tonight at your father's birthday party!"
Claus wasn't fazed. He glanced briefly at me, then looked his father straight in the eye.
"Make Ilse de Varannes my official fiancée," Claus said, with no hesitation in his voice. "Starting tonight."