Azielle's Real Intentions

Richard kissed Evangeline, his tongue exploring hers in a deep, passionate kiss. He pulled away as she sighed, trying to catch her breath.

"Enough. Nothing will happen... so calm down," he said softly, caressing her cheek again. "You'll collapse if you get too agitated. What matters is you getting better, and facing Dominic for what is rightfully yours." He kissed her forehead tenderly. She clung to his waist, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

"I feel lost..." she murmured, wiping away her tears. "I can't let that man stay here, but everyone is on his side—including George..."

"Try not to resent Sir Dominic too much. Without his help, the country would be in danger, and your family's precious business would crumble," Richard replied, pulling her into a hug. But Evangeline pushed him away, anger flickering in her eyes.

"His help?" she spat, scoffing. "I never wanted his help, not from the start. Grandma decided everything herself..." She turned away, her frustration mounting.

"I know he's capable," she continued, her voice shaking with resentment. "He's achieved what I couldn't, all because of my parents' deaths, my poor health... and because he's a Brusward. As far as I know, they're good at business, but let's not forget their criminal acts." Evangeline suddenly facepalmed, chuckling darkly, as if on the edge of madness.

"He's capable, yes... but he's dangerous," she whispered, her words dripping with venom. "It might look like he saved the country as Viceroy, but mark my words—his true colors will show soon enough. He'll either hand the position over to his wretched family, deceiving my grand-uncle in return for cutting ties with them, or he'll sell the hotel to them. And if I stand in his way..." She let out a manic laugh, her pupils dilating as her hand throbbed against her temple, overwhelmed by the storm of thoughts.

"He'll kill me," she declared, laughing bitterly, her voice rising in hysteria. "I'd rather die nobly with my family's legacy intact than watch it fall into the hands of the Bruswards. George will see his true colors soon enough, and he'll have Dominic executed. That would be the better option."

Her eyes trembled, wide and haunted, as if on the verge of snapping completely. She blinked rapidly, squatted down, her dress spreading across the floor. Clutching the hem tightly, she laughed to herself, a hollow, manic sound escaping her lips.

Evangeline's mind was unraveling, the weight of her grandmother's decisions pressing down on her. The deep-rooted resentment toward Dominic was fueling her descent into madness. Years of being treated as fragile, of watching Dominic excel where she felt she had failed, had fractured her sense of self. Now, all of it came crashing down, threatening to tear apart the delicate remnants of her sanity.

"She's gone crazy... her mental illness has kicked in again," Richard thought as he cautiously approached her, extending a hand to help her stand. But before he could reach her, she raised her hand, signaling him to stop.

"My beloved house... it's fading away," she murmured, her voice shifting from manic laughter to a deep, sorrowful tone. Her mood swung sharply, the manic energy dissolving into sadness as she fought back tears, her fragile mind torn between reality and her illness. The weight of her despair was almost palpable, as if the crumbling legacy of her family and her mental unraveling were becoming one and the same.

Azielle sat in the office opposite Dominic, her legs elegantly crossed as she held a glass of champagne, sipping from it slowly while her gaze lingered on him. The room was quiet, save for the soft clink of her glass when she set it down.

"You've handled the country's affairs and business matters far more carefully than I expected, especially with the dealings involving the eight families," she said, interlacing her fingers and leaning back in her chair. "It was something I had wanted to manage myself, but... life didn't give me that chance." Her voice held a hint of regret as she glanced briefly at the glass she had set aside.

Dominic tapped his slender fingers rhythmically on the arm of the sofa, his expression as neutral as ever. "No worries, Your Grace. I have a backup plan for that. It's my duty to protect your granddaughter, our marriage, and keep the country stable." He let out a quiet sigh, his calm demeanor betraying none of the pressure he was under.

Azielle picked up the champagne glass again and took another sip, studying him. "I suppose you won't get that signature from Evangeline anytime soon. Will that be a problem?" she asked, pouring more champagne from the bottle into her glass.

Dominic brushed a hand through his hair, giving a slight shrug. "It's fine, My Lady. I only asked to test her composure a little..." His tone remained emotionless, as if discussing the weather.

Azielle paused with the glass near her lips, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? Evangeline must be giving you quite a bit of trouble. Everyone knows she has a rather public crisis with you," she said with a sigh, exhaling in mild exasperation.

"Not at all," Dominic replied, his voice steady as he folded his arms. "Rather than withdrawing or giving up, I actually prefer her lashing out and fighting back. That's her way of protecting the family's legacy from me. It's what she has always wanted—as a Sarogath and a high lady, it's justifiable."

Azielle smiled faintly, impressed by his indifference. Setting her glass down on the table, she picked up a small case and opened it, pulling out a cigar and offering it to Dominic. "Would you like one?" she asked, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

Dominic turned his head slightly, refusing with a calm but final gesture. "I quit long ago—before I married Evangeline."

Azielle chuckled softly, withdrawing her hand. "You're such an interesting man, Dominic. You must have had quite the determination to quit this devilish habit," she said, lighting the cigar for herself and taking a long, leisurely drag, the smoke swirling in the dim light of the office.

Dominic watched her in silence. The scent of the cigar reminded him of a time before, when he, too, indulged in the habit. But that was a different Dominic—a man less bound by duty, less controlled. His decision to quit had marked a turning point, just as his marriage to Evangeline had.

Azielle exhaled a cloud of smoke, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him once more. "You've changed, Dominic. Whether that change is for better or worse, I suppose time will tell."

"I told you before, you should stop smoking. It's affecting your health," Dominic said, standing up and reaching to take the cigar from Azielle. But she quickly moved her hand away, waving it dismissively with a soft chuckle.

"Stubborn, just like Evangeline..." Dominic thought, shaking his head slightly. His attention snapped back as Azielle's voice cut through the moment.

"Well, I'll quit—under one condition," she teased, her eyes glinting with mischief. "You and Evangeline should behave like a normal couple, mate and make love, and have children. Give this old lady some peace of mind, would you? My time is running out." She smiled, amused by her own suggestion, while Dominic stiffened slightly, clearing his throat.

"Not this again..." he thought with an inward groan, knowing full well the storm that would follow such a request. Convincing Evangeline to even consider having children with him would be no small feat, especially given the resentment she harbored toward him since their arranged marriage. The wounds of that decision still ran deep.

Nodding out of respect, he replied, "I'll do my best, Your Grace."

Azielle's lips curled into a satisfied smile as she leaned back, content. "That's a good son..." she said, taking another puff from the cigar before a cough escaped her, betraying her declining health.

Dominic settled back into his chair, watching her carefully. He could feel the weight of her expectations pressing on him, but there was no denying it—this wasn't going to be easy. His relationship with Evangeline was complicated, fractured from the very beginning. She had never wanted this marriage, and he had been thrust into it by forces beyond his control. Now, the prospect of children seemed more like a battlefield than a bridge.

Azielle, perhaps sensing his hesitation, shifted in her seat. "Look, dear, don't resent Evangeline too much. I know I forced this marriage on you both. I never expected you to be affectionate toward each other." She paused, her eyes softening. "My first love was painful too, especially as someone from the royal family."

Dominic listened but remained silent, his thoughts racing. He understood all too well the pressure of duty and sacrifice. But what Azielle didn't fully grasp was the depth of the tension between him and Evangeline—how every interaction was a dance of control, defiance, and buried emotions. Her request for children was not just about family legacy; it was a demand that would open up old wounds for both of them.

Azielle took another drag from her cigar, the smoke curling between them like a reminder of time slipping away. The old lady may have been nearing the end of her days, but Dominic's challenge had only just begun.

Flashback

Azielle, at 29, walked arm in arm with a striking man of 26, his golden blonde hair shining in the sunlight as they strolled through the lush grounds of the Verdaselles estate on their honeymoon. The breeze caught her raven-black hair, sending it dancing behind her, a perfect contrast to the pale lavender dress that framed her tall, slender figure. Her dark eyes sparkled with a mixture of happiness and serenity. She was a picture of elegance and strength—a woman who had served as Viceroy during her younger years, ruling with grace and firm authority. Her husband, Dominic Barnyen, had come from a royal family in a distant land, his handsome features defined by sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and striking grey eyes that seemed to hold an entire world within them.

Dominic Barnyen's presence was commanding yet gentle, his broad shoulders and noble bearing signaling his royal lineage, but his soft smile and warmth were reserved for Azielle alone. He carried himself with the effortless grace of a warrior and a diplomat—a man destined for greatness.

As the wind played with Azielle's hair, she reminisced aloud in the present, her voice tinged with nostalgia as she spoke to Dominic. "It took me a while to recover from it... I married late, spending much of my youth focused on work, serving as Viceroy. I devoted everything to my duty, and by the time I married, I was nearing my thirties."

She paused, her gaze drifting as if she could still see the young, carefree days of her life playing out before her. Dominic sat quietly, listening but showing little outward reaction, though he sensed the weight behind her words.

"Then I had Evangeline's mother, Adrielle, later in life, well into my thirties..." Azielle's voice softened, almost wistful. "I lived a happy life with Adrielle and my husband, Dominic Barnyen. He was your namesake."

Dominic blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the revelation, though he kept his composure. His grandmother had never spoken much of his namesake before, and now, with this new understanding, it felt as though an invisible thread had been tied between them.

"My happiness was cut short," Azielle continued, her voice lowering. "My husband had to prepare for war, to represent his royal family alongside his brother, the king of Ishva. He died on the battlefield, fighting for his kingdom. And just as I was trying to process his loss, another war broke out in Verdaselles. King Claude led the charge on the front lines. It was a dark time."

In the flashback, a younger Azielle stood dressed in mourning black, her once lively eyes now shadowed with grief. She held her two-year-old daughter, Adrielle, in her arms. The little girl, innocent and unaware of the chaos around her, slept peacefully with her tiny finger in her mouth, her head resting on her mother's shoulder. Azielle's long black gown flowed like a dark river around her feet, and she stared out the window, overthinking every possible future, her mind racing with worry.

"I was anxious," Azielle continued in the present, her voice cracking slightly as she recalled the fear that had consumed her. "I held my baby girl close to me, afraid of what might happen. I was getting older, struggling with a medical condition. I feared that if something happened to me, Adrielle would be left alone, an orphan in the middle of war."

The image of young Azielle, standing by the window, watching as the world outside crumbled, was a heartbreaking sight. Her once powerful and decisive self had been stripped away by grief, leaving her vulnerable and terrified. She was a woman torn between her duty to the people she ruled and her desperate need to protect her daughter.

The older Azielle took a deep breath, her fingers lightly trembling as she picked up her glass of champagne once again. "I didn't want to leave her... but in times of war, nothing was certain."

The weight of her words hung in the air as Dominic processed the story of his namesake and the sacrifices Azielle had made. He knew that convincing Evangeline to bear children, as his grandmother had requested, would be no easy task. The distance between him and Evangeline was far greater than any war or political struggle. It was a personal battle—a fight for understanding, for trust, and for a future that neither of them had willingly chosen.

"I considered the business I had spent my whole life building, aside from my duties as Viceroy," Azielle began, her voice reflecting both pride and sorrow. "I placed Adrielle into the world of work early, ensuring she followed my path. I gave her a strict upbringing, at least in terms of learning the business and understanding the nuances of politics. My anxiety drove me to push her harder than most mothers would, but I did it with love—always with love."

In the flashback, a young Adrielle, no more than seven years old, sat at a study table, her porcelain-like skin and raven-black hair framing her face in an angelic way — Adrielle's , deep blue eyes were focused intently on the heavy books surrounding her. Her small hand gripped a quill as she carefully followed her mother's instructions, practicing her letters and calculations on paper. The study was filled with an air of determination, a young girl striving to meet her mother's high expectations.

Azielle, watching her daughter's concentration, allowed a rare smile to grace her lips. She leaned down and gently patted Adrielle's head, smoothing back her silky hair. "She was a fast learner," Azielle continued in the present, her voice softening with the memory. "And, luckily for me, she developed a natural interest in politics. It wasn't just duty for her; she enjoyed the challenges it brought."

As Adrielle grew, she captured the attention of her father's royal family. "We often received visits from her father's side of the family," Azielle said with a knowing look. "They showered her with gifts, hoping she might one day become the next in line to be Queen of Ishva. She carried herself with such grace and intelligence that it wasn't hard to imagine."

Hearing this, Dominic's thoughts drifted to Eliza and her connections to Ishva. The story felt familiar, and he remembered her mentioning a trip to that country not long ago.

Azielle's voice broke into his thoughts again. "As for Adrielle… once she finished her training, still at a young age, she traveled to Rovensth. It was there that she met the love of her life—Norman Lushford, a renowned Major General. He was one of the three highest-ranked military men in the history of Rovensth." Azielle's smile deepened as she recalled the fond memory of her daughter's happiness.

Adrielle, in her prime, was the very image of beauty and poise. Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down her back, and her fair skin, almost glowing, gave her an ethereal presence. She had inherited her mother's sharp intelligence and her father's natural nobility. Wherever she went, she commanded attention, yet she was always gentle and kind.

"Norman was a perfect match for her. Together, they made a formidable pair, both in politics and in love," Azielle said with a wistful sigh. "But life, as you know, has a way of taking away the things we cherish most."

Her voice trailed off as her thoughts returned to the present, her gaze resting on Dominic, who absorbed the weight of her story.

Flashback

Adrielle, radiant as ever, stood at the altar next to Norman, her ethereal beauty reminiscent of Snow White—her raven-black hair cascading in soft waves over her pure white gown. The delicate lace of the gown shimmered in the light, and her fair skin glowed with happiness. As they exchanged vows and sealed their love with a kiss, Azielle watched from the front pew, her heart swelling with pride. She clapped, her joy overflowing, as she congratulated the couple. It was one of the happiest days of her life.

Azielle paused, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for her glass, the weight of her memories heavy on her shoulders. "Adrielle married young," she began, her voice filled with both pride and sorrow, "and she had Evangeline and Zard. Her husband, Norman, took time off from his duties and traveled to Verdaselles to spend more time with his family. Zard, like his father, got involved in politics and royal matters, working closely with Claude in Venian."

Azielle's smile faltered slightly as she continued. "Adrielle wanted her children to experience freedom, something she and I never had. She didn't want Evangeline subjected to the same harsh training she had endured, so she let her attend ballet classes, art lessons, and even martial arts—Evangeline admired her father's work in that area. Her ballet skills made her graceful, but it was her martial arts training that gave her strength. Adrielle allowed her to be a child, to have a normal life before preparing her for the politics and responsibilities of inheriting the Viceroy position. Zard, on the other hand, was trained for the throne, taking on the pressures that came with his royal title. Despite the different paths they walked, Adrielle supported both of her children, nurturing them in any way she could."

Dominic listened intently, his fingers drumming lightly on his chair as he absorbed the weight of the story. His mind wandered momentarily, connecting the dots. "No wonder Evangeline acts spoiled at times... it's a royal trait. Just like my own mother's family, strict with tradition," he mused, reflecting on the legacy tied to their sacred hair color.

Azielle's voice brought him back. "Adrielle always said she would teach Evangeline the burdens of leadership when the time was right. She wanted her daughter to have the chance at a fulfilled life, unlike the one she and I led."

Flashback

Young Evangeline, just a child, twirled around the dance studio, her hair flying behind her as she executed a perfect pirouette. She was light on her feet, her movements fluid and graceful. Across the room, Adrielle watched with a loving smile, her heart swelling with pride. At that moment, Evangeline was free—a child lost in the joy of her dance, unburdened by the weight of politics and duty. It was the life Adrielle had longed to give her daughter—a childhood filled with freedom and joy.

Azielle's expression darkened as she recalled the moment her world came crashing down. "But life had other plans," she said, her voice trembling. "There was an emergency. Norman had to assist with military matters, and Zard's coronation as Crown Prince was approaching. I never expected that shipwreck to take them both from us so soon." Her words broke as she struggled to keep her composure, her grief still raw after all these years.

Dominic, sensing her sorrow, handed her a tissue. She nodded in thanks, dabbing at her eyes as tears threatened to fall. "Evangeline was only eleven... barely thirteen when they passed. It was nearly impossible for her to manage the Viceroy position and the hotel's business without proper training. She was still a child, and yet the weight of the world was thrust upon her. She was unable to sign a simple contract like her late mother at that age.."

Back in the present, Azielle took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I had no choice but trying to train Evangeline into the role much earlier than anyone could have prepared for. The child that was once free, twirling in her ballet shoes, was suddenly tasked with the same burdens I had carried all my life."

Her words hung in the air, and Dominic, though he remained composed, felt the gravity of the legacy and pain Evangeline had inherited.

Azielle's voice trembled as she recalled the painful memories. Her eyes, though now dull with age, sparkled with the sorrow she had carried for years. "It was a difficult time," she began, her voice thick with emotion. "The shipwreck claimed their lives... Adrielle, Norman, and Zard... though their bodies were never recovered. We made a gravestone in their memory, and I still remember the day of the funeral."

Flashback

It was a gray, overcast day. The sky seemed to weep with the mourners, the cold air carrying a sense of finality. Evangeline, just a young girl, stood before the three gravestones, her small frame shaking with sobs. Dressed in a simple black gown, her blonde loose over her shoulders, she seemed lost in the vastness of grief. Azielle, her own heart shattered, watched from a distance before she could bear it no longer. With a heavy heart, she approached her granddaughter, who was clutching a flower wreath in her tiny hands, her tears falling onto the wilted petals.

Azielle knelt down beside Evangeline, wrapping her arms around her tightly. She stroked her granddaughter's hair, trying to soothe her. "It's alright, my darling," she whispered, though she herself wasn't sure if anything would ever be alright again. Evangeline continued to cry, her small sobs the only sound breaking the silence of the funeral.

"That loss," Azielle continued, "it broke her. It was too much for a child so young. After that day, she wasn't the same. It affected her... psychologically. She developed health problems, and I fought desperately to help her, to protect her fragile mind." Azielle paused, taking a shaky breath. "I had to find a way to shield her. I encountered enemies, enemies from all sides—especially the Vorenforth family. I came up with the idea of a marriage alliance, hoping it would provide some security for her."

Flashback

Years passed, and Azielle watched helplessly as Evangeline's once-bright spirit dimmed. At sixteen, Evangeline stood tall but wore the same black gown of mourning, as if her heart had never left that funeral day. Azielle, now growing weaker herself, struggled to keep the hotel and the Viceroy's responsibilities afloat.

Azielle's coughing fits worsened. One evening, as she worked late in her office, blood splattered across the documents before her. The crimson stained the papers—contracts, letters, all meaningless in the face of her deteriorating health. As the blood dripped from her lips, the door creaked open. Evangeline stood there, her face pale, her dark eyes wide with fear. She was frozen for a moment, watching her grandmother, before she snapped into action.

"Grandmother!" Evangeline cried, rushing into the room. Her voice broke as she called for the servants, her hands trembling as she grabbed the telephone. "Please… someone help!" Tears streaked down her face, her eyelids swollen from crying as she waited for the physician to respond.

Evangeline knelt beside Azielle, holding her hand, tears falling freely down her cheeks. "Grandmother, please... don't leave me. Don't die." Her voice was barely a whisper, the desperation in her words breaking Azielle's heart. She wanted to comfort her granddaughter, but all she could manage was a weak smile.

Azielle blinked slowly, her vision blurring as she coughed again, each fit leaving her weaker. "I couldn't train her, Dominic," she admitted in the present, her voice cracking. "I didn't have the strength to even mourn my daughter, Evangeline was too young to sign contracts, too unprepared for the responsibilities her mother hadn't trained her for. I had hired people to manage the hotel, but everything was falling apart. Serenity Hotel, the Viceroy's duties... it was all slipping through my fingers."

Back in the present, Azielle's hands shook as she tried to light a cigar. "People were circling us, Dominic, like vultures ready to devour the remains of the hotel business. It was a living hell." The cigar slipped from her fingers as she coughed again, the strain on her lungs evident. Dominic quickly stepped in, pouring water from the glass jug into a cup. He handed it to her, his face calm but his eyes filled with concern.

Azielle took a sip, her frail hands barely steady enough to hold the cup. Dominic gently patted her back as she continued, her voice softening. "King Claude tried to help, doing what he could to find a husband for Evangeline. The country's finances were crumbling, and the weight of it all fell on me. I didn't know how much longer I could last."

Azielle's eyes met Dominic's. "And then… you came," she said with a faint smile. "You walked into our lives, and somehow, you saved us. You lifted the burden I had been carrying for years. You saved me from the darkness, Dominic."

Dominic remained silent, his mind racing as the weight of Azielle's words settled on him. He had unknowingly become part of this tangled web of tragedy and responsibility. And now, as he looked into Azielle's weary eyes, he realized just how much depended on him, and how deeply entwined his fate had become with Evangeline's.

The memory of that pivotal conversation replayed in Dominic's mind as he sat in silence, listening to Azielle's story. He had been just 21 at the time, though even then, his appearance had been striking—an ethereal beauty that turned heads wherever he went. His strawberry blonde hair, shining like spun gold, caught the light in a way that made it look almost unreal. His eyes, deep and feminine, carried a hidden intensity that made people pause, wondering what secrets lay behind them. His lips were soft, curved in a way that gave him an almost androgynous allure, making it impossible to look away.

Flashback

They had met at an elegant restaurant, the kind where the crystal glasses and polished silverware reflected the dim, flickering candlelight. Dominic arrived with his usual graceful stride, the world seeming to slow in his presence. His beauty had always been a topic of conversation—there was something otherworldly about him, something that set him apart from others. As he sat down across from Azielle, his posture impeccable, he could feel the eyes of other diners on him, though he was used to it by now.

Azielle, seated across from him, leaned forward slightly, her sharp eyes assessing the young man before her. She had heard much about him—about his family's notorious criminal past, the shadow that followed him despite his best efforts to distance himself from it. Yet there was something about Dominic that intrigued her. Perhaps it was the quiet confidence in his gaze or the way he carried himself with an elegance that belied his family's reputation.

"I have a proposition for you," Azielle began, her voice calm but firm. She wasted no time with pleasantries. "I need someone to handle the Viceroy's position and manage the Serenity Hotel. It's a monumental task, but I believe you're up to it. If you prove yourself, you'll marry my granddaughter, Evangeline."

Dominic's eyes didn't waver, but inside, his mind raced. He had known this meeting would be important, but the stakes were higher than he had anticipated. His gaze flickered down to his hands for a brief moment, then back to Azielle. His lips parted slightly as he considered his response.

"I'm aware of the burden," he said, his voice steady, though his tone was as soft and smooth as velvet. "But you must also know of the weight I carry... because of my family." He didn't need to say more. The Bruswards were a name whispered with caution in many circles, a family known for their ties to crime and corruption.

Azielle's expression softened, but only slightly. She had already weighed the risks. "I've thought about it," she replied, taking a sip from her wine glass. "Claude will need convincing. He'll likely put you under probation to see if you're worthy of marrying into the family. He knows where you come from, and it's no secret. But... I believe in second chances, Dominic."

Dominic's lips curved ever so slightly, a hint of a smile that was almost imperceptible. His beauty in that moment was disarming—feminine, delicate, yet with an underlying strength that Azielle admired.

"And if I prove myself?" he asked, his voice laced with both curiosity and caution.

Azielle leaned back in her chair, regarding him carefully. "If you prove yourself," she said, "you'll have not only Evangeline's hand but the full support of this family. You'll be part of something larger, something noble. But understand this, Dominic—you'll have to fight for it. Nothing comes easy, especially when it comes to earning trust."

Dominic nodded slowly. He knew the path ahead would not be simple. But he also knew that this was an opportunity, a chance to escape the shadow of his family's past and carve out a future of his own.

"I accept," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper but firm.

Azielle smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. She admired his confidence, his grace, and the quiet resolve in his voice. "Very well," she replied, setting her glass down gently on the table. "I'll inform Claude. He'll want to test you, but... I have faith you'll manage."

As they stood to leave, Dominic caught a glimpse of his reflection in the restaurant's window—the candlelight illuminating his strawberry blonde hair, his feminine eyes glimmering with a mix of ambition and uncertainty. For a brief moment, he wondered what kind of future lay ahead. But then, he pushed the thought away, reminding himself that he had already made his choice.

Outside, the night air was cool as they parted ways. Azielle glanced at him one last time, her eyes sharp and calculating, but there was also something close to hope in her gaze.

"Prove me right," she said softly before turning and walking away.

Dominic stood there for a moment, watching her retreat into the night. His heart was steady, his mind focused. He had been given a chance—a dangerous, precarious chance—but one that could change everything. And Dominic never let an opportunity slip through his fingers.

Back to the Present

Azielle sat at the head of the room, her posture still regal despite the toll age had taken on her body. She lifted her glass of water, her eyes flickering with a distant warmth as she spoke.

"I made a wise decision choosing you to marry my granddaughter and take on the role of Viceroy," she said, her voice calm but tinged with nostalgia. "I didn't expect you would become a friend to Zard as well. Even though Evangeline resents me, I have no regrets. Regardless of who your family is, you're not like them. I only hope that one day, Evangeline will see that. But I can't blame her for her feelings... as long as you protect her, I'm content."

Azielle smiled gently before taking a slow sip of water, the weight of her words hanging in the air.

Dominic, standing tall in front of her, nodded respectfully. His strawberry blonde hair caught the dim light of the room, casting a warm halo around his face. His feminine features softened as he responded, his voice measured and sincere.

"Your wish is my command, Your Grace. I will do everything in my power to protect Evangeline and handle the matters of the country." His eyes, usually guarded, reflected a rare moment of sincerity.

Azielle leaned back in her chair, her fingers grazing the edge of her glass. She sighed, a mixture of sadness and resignation in her voice as she continued. "What I'm trying to say, Dominic, is that I hope you can understand what Evangeline has been through. In a way, we used her. We married her off to protect the family's legacy, without her consent. Though she has some knowledge of politics from her father, it wasn't enough. Now, look at me, in this state, at this time of night..." She scoffed softly, a chuckle escaping her lips, though her eyes remained distant. "It's making me sentimental."

Dominic, sensing her emotions, walked over and sat down across from her. He crossed his legs, interlacing his fingers in a gentlemanly manner. His expression remained calm, but there was an intensity in his gaze as he replied. "I understand what you're trying to say, Your Grace. There's no need to worry about that. Focus on your health. And I appreciate you telling me more about Evangeline... beyond what you shared before our wedding."

Azielle nodded at his words, setting the glass down with a soft clink. She glanced at him, her voice lowering slightly. "Oh, and I have some news for you. King Claude will be coming to Verdaselles to see you. It's an urgent matter, but I can't disclose the details. You'll have to wait to hear it from him directly. Don't overthink it, son."

Dominic raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I wonder what it could be..." he muttered, his mind already drifting toward the possibilities.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the room, pulling them both from their thoughts.

"Come in," Azielle said, her voice sharp with curiosity.

The door creaked open to reveal a maid, her face pale and panicked. Her tone trembled as she hurriedly spoke, her words stumbling over each other. "My Lady... Master Dominic... it's Evangeline. She... she collapsed. The physician is on her way."

Azielle shot to her feet, her fists clenching as worry flashed across her face. "What happened?" she demanded.

The maid struggled to explain, her voice cracking. "Her mental illness... it's flared up again. She was crying uncontrollably and collapsed on her way to the library."

Before the maid could finish, Dominic had already stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he rushed to find Evangeline. Azielle watched him leave, her heart heavy. She let out a deep sigh, sinking back onto the sofa as her gaze drifted to the window. The rain had finally stopped, but the weight of the night remained.

"I suppose I'll be heading back to my manor," Azielle murmured to herself. Her voice was soft, almost defeated. "Evangeline wouldn't want to see me now..." She reached for a nearby glass of champagne, downing it in one swift gulp before leaning back, her eyes fixed on the darkened sky outside.