The Villainess is my fiance: But she is gentle towards me

The celebration was slowly coming to an end.

The music was softer now, the lights a little dim, and everyone had relaxed.

It felt like the night would finish with nothing more than a last drink and a few calm smiles.

Then the emperor cleared his throat.

"We talked about the engagement between my daughter and Vivian," he said, his voice steady.

He looked around the hall as he spoke.

His eyes moved over nobles, ministers, soldiers… and then stopped on Charlotte and Vivian, standing so close their sleeves touched.

Now that the announcement was out, everyone was thinking the same thing.

When and where will it happen?

The emperor gave a small nod, as if answering all their thoughts at once.

"The engagement will be held in the capital," he continued. "And the date…"

He paused, ready to speak the next words...but the doors at the far end of the hall slammed open.

A guard rushed inside, armor clinking, breathing fast.

The change in the room was sudden.

The nobles straightened up, the music stopped, and the warm celebration feeling vanished in an instant.

He dropped to one knee in front of the emperor.

"Your Majesty," he said, his voice tight with urgency, "forgive me for interrupting… but someone has arrived at the palace claiming to be an envoy from House Tramplin."

The hall went silent.

Completely silent.

Smiles froze. People stopped moving. Even the chandeliers felt still.

House Tramplin's envoy? Here? At this moment?

Heads turned. Eyes widened. Soft whispers started spreading like fire on dry grass.

Could it be… surrender?

Did they come for peace?

Or was it something else?

No one knew. But everyone understood one thing: the night had just changed.

The emperor's expression didn't move an inch. No surprise. No fear. Just the same calm control he always carried.

"Tell them to enter," he said.

"As you command, Your Majesty."

The guard bowed quickly and hurried out of the hall.

The nobles leaned forward without meaning to.

Vivian felt Charlotte tense beside him, her fingers brushing her dress. The whole room held its breath.

After a short moment, the guard returned.

And behind him walked a man, not a knight, not a high-rank officer, just a normal soldier of House Tramplin.

Normal in strength, maybe, but not in appearance.

His clothes were elegant, almost princely, and he carried himself with the steady confidence of someone trusted with dangerous tasks.

His hair was streaked with grey, showing his age, but his steps were firm.

He entered the hall as if he had walked into enemy territory before and lived to talk about it.

Reaching the center, he bowed low before the emperor.

"I greet His Majesty, the Emperor," he said, voice clear and steady.

"Rise," the emperor replied, still calm, still unreadable.

The envoy stood. He didn't look around the hall. He didn't show fear or pride.

His face stayed neutral, like he had practiced this moment over and over.

From inside his coat, he slowly took out a rolled scroll, sealed with the crest of House Tramplin.

The nobles stiffened at the sight of that seal.

The envoy unrolled the scroll.

But before reading it aloud, he lifted his eyes, silently asking the emperor for permission.

The emperor gave a small nod.

Everyone watched. The nobles. The guards. Vivian. Charlotte.

No one dared to blink.

The hall felt frozen, waiting for the words that could shape the fate of the kingdom.

The envoy cleared his throat.

His voice stayed calm, but every word he spoke tightened the air in the hall.

"To the Emperor of the Indrath Empire," he began.

"I, Ravan Tramplin, from today onwards… announce that my territory, starting from the north, is now independent."

The words slammed into the hall like a hammer.

Gasps burst from every corner.

A few nobles leaned back as if struck.

Others shot to their feet before realizing what they were doing.

"Impudent!"

"Such nerve!"

"Has he gone mad?!"

Their outrage filled the air, hot and angry, but the emperor lifted his hand, and the entire hall dropped into silence so fast it was almost painful.

"You may continue," he said.

Not a hint of emotion touched his voice.

The envoy didn't flinch. Didn't smirk. Didn't tremble.

He simply bowed his head slightly and kept reading.

"I also offer the nobles of the empire the chance to join my new Kingdom of Tramplin…"

This time, the shock didn't explode, it sunk in, deep and cold.

Some nobles paled.

Some clenched their fists.

Some glanced around the room as if checking who would even consider such a thing.

The envoy's tone didn't change as he read the final line.

"…and I announce war against the Indrath Empire."

A sound followed, small, sharp, like the snap of a thin thread pulled too tight.

It wasn't from the nobles.

It was the silence itself breaking.

The hall froze.

No one breathed.

Even the musicians stood like statues, instruments forgotten in their hands.

War.

Declared in the middle of an engagement celebration.

Declared in the emperor's own hall.

Declared with a calm voice and steady hands, like it was nothing more than a simple message.

Vivian felt Charlotte stiffen beside him.

The warmth from before had vanished, replaced by something colder, heavier, like the lights above them had dimmed without touching the flames.

Everyone waited.

The envoy lowered the scroll.

The emperor didn't blink.

The hall stood on the edge of something new, something dangerous, and the next words would decide which direction the world would turn.

The emperor didn't flinch. His face stayed calm, almost too calm, as if he had already expected this outcome.

'So… he understood the situation.'

He knew Ravan Tramplin wouldn't bend.

The emperor lifted his chin slightly and spoke, voice firm and clear enough to shake the hall.

"Very well. I, the fifteenth emperor of the Indrath Empire, Gray von Indrath, announce that the empire will go to war against the former Duke Tramplin. And anyone found supporting him, or linked to him in any way, will be declared a traitor."

His words rolled across the hall like thunder, steady and heavy.

Nobles straightened.

Guards stiffened.

No one dared to question him.

Vivian clenched his hands until his knuckles turned white. A weight pressed on his chest, thick and cold.

This was what he had wanted.

He had done so much to make this war happen.

He wanted the Tramplins crushed.

He wanted them erased.

He wanted their blood on his own hands.

But now, standing here, he didn't feel even a spark of victory.

All he felt was… frustration.

And a quiet, sharp pain he couldn't swallow.

He wasn't allowed to fight.

His father had already refused him.

Until Vivian reached the Grandmaster stage, he couldn't step onto the battlefield.

And who knew how long that would take?

Years?

Dozens of battles later?

The entire war might end before he even touched the edge of that realm.

He wanted to kill every single Tramplin himself, tear down their house, destroy their pride, end their bloodline with his own sword.

But now everything was slipping away from him.

Would the Tramplins even survive long enough for him to catch them?

Very unlikely.

The empire was at least fifteen times stronger.

Once the army moved, the north would fall fast, too fast for him to reach the level he needed.

The thought stung deeper than any wound.

It felt like watching the revenge he lived for drift out of his hands, far beyond his reach, swallowed by time he didn't have.

Charlotte saw the change in him before anyone else did. The way his jaw tightened.

The way his fingers curled in on themselves.

The way his eyes dropped, not in fear, but in a sharp, quiet anger that had nowhere to go.

She stepped closer without thinking and slipped her hand into his.

Her touch was warm. Gentle. A small anchor in a hall that suddenly felt too big.

She didn't say anything at first. She didn't have to.

She had followed him through every struggle, every wound, every stubborn fight he'd picked with fate itself.

If anyone in the room understood what was burning inside him, it was her.

But she felt something else too, something she tried hard not to show.

A bit of relief.

A bit of selfish joy.

Yesterday she had asked him if he would join the war against the Tramplins.

He had answered without hesitation that he had to.

The thought of him riding into battle had left her helpless, even scared, though she never let it show.

She knew he wouldn't listen if she told him to stay safe. He never had.

But this morning, when he told her his father had refused him permission to fight, she had felt a quiet happiness slip into her chest.

Just a small one. A selfish one. But real.

She knew he was crushed.

She knew revenge was the one thing he chased even in his sleep.

Still… she couldn't help the tiny sense of relief.

Now she squeezed his hand a little tighter.

She let out a soft sigh and leaned closer, her voice low enough that it didn't disturb the heavy silence around them.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "You will get your chance."

Her words weren't loud or dramatic. Just steady. Warm. A promise slipping gently into the storm building inside him.

And it was enough to pull his gaze back to her, even for a moment, even in the middle of a hall waiting for war.