Page 156 of Fallacies

Impeccable timing, really. It couldn’t be better if I had planned it.

Content to watch the interaction play out, I calmly take my seat, feeling the weight of the Countesses’ lingering glare. All I need is just one person to suggest that maybe⁠—

“Well, that can’t be a coincidence,” a short and stout man huffs, rolling his eyes as he tucks his napkin around the collar of his shirt with chubby fingers.

My eyes widen like it’s the idea of the century. “They were lovers, were they not?”

The question is directed at the Countess, who doesn’t reply at first. Seconds tick by, and her glare only grows more venomous. She exchanges a loaded glance with the woman to her right.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I unfold my napkin and lay it across my lap, gesturing to the main with the bib. “I think I agree with…”

“Fairbourne,” he chokes out.

“Yes.” I turn my attention back to the Countess. “I think I agree with Fairbourne. It can’t be a coincidence.”

Something I’ve come to realize when dealing with mortal emotions and insecurities is how effective it is to act unbothered. Indifferent. I have the Countess on the spot and in front of her peers, which means she’s under more pressure to keep up appearances. Coupled with her already festering fear of being undermined by her father, the last thing she’ll want to do is prove to the table that she isn’t capable of ruling this side of the continent.

I can tell it’s killing her. I can smell the anger rolling off her in waves. She wants so badly to fly across this table and shove my fork down my throat. I can’t confidently say I’d be able to sit here and take it.

“Something isn’t right here,” she says finally, unsettled by her own words as she shakes her head. “And it all started with you.”

“No, Gwendolyn, it all started with you. Your people. Your cruelty.” There’s no judgement in my tone. I’m simply reciting the facts. “You just want someone to blame, and I’m the easiest to point a finger at.”

Nobody speaks. The only sound is the odd utensil scraping a porcelain plate and the base of stemmed glasses thudding against the wooden surface.

I’ve been unwelcome in many places before, but never like this. The discomfort here swells, every member of the Countess's inner circle either glaring at me or avoiding eye contact altogether. The servants continue tending to the table, but they do so with trembling hands, sensing the energy weighing on the room.

I lean back in my chair, thriving in the atmosphere.

It reminds me of home—the constant being on edge, never certain of what will happen next. It’s the anticipation of it that I love. The rush of adrenaline that reminds my immortal soul what it’s like to be alive. After so long, you get used to the mundane, and the feel of your heart beating in your chest becomes significantly less precious.

The doors to the dining room burst open, and a Rogue storms through, wiping what appears to be blood off his knuckles. He grabs a roll of bread from a passing servant's tray, glaring at the Countess as he makes his way to his seat.

“You’re late, Vance,” she snaps at him.

Vance looks up at her, frustrated and incredulous. “You gave me an order, Your Highness.”

“An order?” The Countess looks equally lost, her attention shifting to the woman on her right. She shrugs, just as confused. “What order?” Gwendolyn asks Vance.

His roll is halfway to his mouth when he freezes, brows creasing. “You told me to⁠—”

My drink slips out of my fingers, glass shattering on the floor beside me.

All eyes swing in my direction.

“Oops.” I do my best to look apologetic, waving off the servant who hurries over to clean up my mess. “I’ve got it. Thank you.”

I’m not sure what Lucina has done, but I’m fairly confident we were about to find out.

My chair legs scrape the ground, disrupting the silence, as I lean over to gather the shattered pieces. Thankfully, when I look up, I’m still holding the room’s attention.

“Kato!” The Countess snaps, and a short, round Rouge appears at her side, thin glasses perched on the tip of his nose. Her yellow-eyed gaze remains fixed on me. “Send another letter to the King. Tell the courier it’s urgent.”

Kato follows Gwendolyn's stare all the way to me. I offer him my version of a polite smile.

“NOW!” The Countess urges, and he hurries off, nearly tripping over himself as he exits the dining room.

“I’ve had enough,” she grits out, and fists her hands at her sides. A decision has been made.