My Soul card is a Reaper-Chapter 1046: Dreams of the Past: The Engagement Ceremony (Part-2)

Eon sat slightly to the side, dressed neatly, her expression calm, her posture composed, her Hourglass hidden beneath her cloak. She looked uninterested in the feast, uninterested in the nobles, uninterested in the political theater unfolding around her.

But the nobles were very interested in her.

She was House Garcia's daughter.

She was the twin of the groom.

And she was infamous.

Not for failure.

But for being powerful enough that even her failures became stories.

That was why whispers followed her, and why curious gazes kept drifting toward her, like moths circling a flame they weren't sure was safe.

And then Prince Loholt approached.

The crown prince of Camelot.

Fourteen years old, yet already carrying himself like he believed the world belonged to him by birthright, his blond hair styled neatly, his royal coat embroidered with symbols of Camelot's authority. His eyes were sharp, and his smile was the kind that looked charming until you noticed it never reached his gaze.

He walked toward Eon with a glass of wine in his hand, moving through the hall as if he was already a king, and several nobles shifted aside instinctively, making space for him like servants.

Eon didn't move.

She didn't even straighten.

She simply watched him approach with the calm gaze of someone watching a child walk toward a lion.

Loholt stopped before her and bowed slightly, not deeply, not respectfully, but just enough to pretend.

"Lady Eon," he said smoothly, his voice loud enough that the nobles nearby could hear. "It's been a long time. I didn't expect you to attend, considering your… unfortunate performance in the World Tournament, three years ago."

A faint silence spread outward, like ripples in water.

Eon blinked slowly, then tilted her head slightly.

"My performance?" she repeated, her voice calm, almost curious.

Loholt smiled wider, as if he thought he had struck gold. "Yes. I recall you were eliminated rather early, weren't you? It must have been quite embarrassing for House Garcia. I suppose that's why you disappeared from public events for a while."

Eon stared at him for a moment.

Then she smiled.

It was a small smile.

A dangerous smile.

"Prince Loholt," she said softly, "if your goal was to impress me, you've succeeded. I'm impressed by how someone can speak so much while saying absolutely nothing worth hearing."

Several nobles nearby choked on their drinks.

Loholt's smile twitched.

He recovered quickly, his pride refusing to let him back down, and his voice rose slightly. "Sharp tongue, as expected. But perhaps that is all you have left, since your strength clearly wasn't enough to win."

Eon's gaze hardened, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice still calm, but the air around her felt colder.

"Is that why Camelot sent you here?" she asked. "Because your tongue is sharper than your talent? It would explain why you've spent more time gossiping about my defeat than achieving anything worth remembering yourself."

Loholt's eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?"

Eon shrugged lightly. "Nothing. Just that I don't recall your name being spoken in any tournament either. Unless I missed the part where you became famous for losing quietly."

The nobles around them fell into an uncomfortable silence, but their eyes glittered with entertainment, because nobles loved conflict as long as it wasn't their blood being spilled.

Loholt's cheeks reddened slightly, his pride stung.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to sound intimate but still loud enough for the nearby nobles to hear.

"You're still arrogant," Loholt said. "But you should remember your place. Your brother is getting engaged today. You're no longer his priority. Soon, he'll have a wife. And you'll be nothing but an inconvenient sister clinging to him."

The words struck deeper than the insult about the tournament.

Because this time, Loholt wasn't mocking her skill.

He was mocking her bond.

Eon's eyes widened faintly, then narrowed sharply, and her smile vanished completely.

"That's a strange thing to say," she replied, her voice quiet. "Almost like you're jealous."

Loholt scoffed. "Jealous? Of you?"

Eon's gaze didn't move. "No. Of the fact that my brother would die for me without hesitation, while your own father would probably trade you for a better political deal if he had the chance."

Loholt's expression snapped.

His pride couldn't take it anymore, and his voice rose, sharp and bitter. "Watch your mouth!"

Eon stood up slowly, her chair scraping softly against the floor, and the movement alone made the air tense, because Eon did not stand unless she intended to make someone regret speaking.

"Watch my mouth?" she repeated. "Prince Loholt, the only reason I'm not humiliating you further is because we're guests in my brother's engagement banquet. Otherwise, you'd already be on your knees apologizing for wasting my time."

The commotion drew attention.

Heads turned.

Whispers spread.

The music continued playing, but now it sounded like background noise to a gathering storm.

Loholt stepped forward, his pride boiling, and he pointed at Eon with a shaking finger.

"You act as if you're untouchable," he snapped. "But you're not. You're just a girl whose only value is being born into House Garcia."

Eon's eyes turned cold.

"And you," she replied softly, "are a prince whose only value is being born into Camelot. The difference is, I actually have something beyond my bloodline. You don't."

Gasps spread.

Loholt's face flushed red, his fists clenched.

And then his voice sharpened into something cruel.

"Fine," Loholt said. "If you want to talk about value, let's talk about your brother. Do you really think Rael will always choose you? When the day comes, when he has to choose between saving you or saving his fiancée, what do you think he'll do?"

Eon's eyes widened faintly.

Not because she doubted Rael.

But the question itself was disgusting.

The nobles nearby leaned in subtly, pretending they weren't listening, but their eyes were hungry, because nobles loved watching bonds be tested.

Before Eon could answer, a calm voice cut through the tension like a blade through cloth.

"He won't hesitate."

Rael had stood up.

He had approached quietly, his expression calm but sharp, his eyes fixed on Loholt with a coldness that made the crown prince stiffen. Artaigne, still seated at the main table, turned her head slightly, her smile fading as she sensed something was wrong.

Rael stepped beside Eon, his body positioned slightly in front of her without even thinking, as if his instincts had chosen his place before his mind could.

Loholt looked at him, lips curling.

"So the groom finally speaks," he said. "Lord Azrael, tell me then. If you could only save one person in an extreme situation, who would it be? Your fiancéeia… or your sister?"

The hall went quiet.

Even the music seemed to soften, as if the musicians themselves had sensed the tension and dared not play too loudly.

Artaigne's eyes widened slightly.

Aurelius' gaze sharpened.

Arthur's expression became unreadable.

Remia stopped moving.

Every noble in the hall waited like vultures waiting for blood.

Rael didn't even blink.

He didn't look confused.

He didn't look conflicted.

He answered as if the choice had been carved into his bones since birth.

"My sister."

The words echoed.

A single sentence.

A single decision.

And it fell on the banquet like thunder.

Artaigne froze.

Her hand, which had been resting lightly against her wine glass, trembled faintly, and the color drained from her face so quickly that it was obvious even from a distance. Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but no sound came out, and her eyes turned glossy, wounded in a way that could not be hidden behind royal pride.

Eon's gaze flickered toward Rael, and for a moment, there was something strange in her expression, there is pride, there is happiness but there is also worry as she sensed everyone is looking at them at the moment

Loholt's smile widened triumphantly as if his mission was successful.

"You heard him, cousin," he said loudly, turning his gaze toward Artaigne. "Even on the day you engaged to this great warrior here, he still says that you are always his second priority without any hesitation. Funny, isn't it?"

Whispers erupted immediately.

Like insects crawling through the air.

Nobles leaned toward each other, covering their mouths as if hiding their words, but their eyes shone with satisfaction.

"How disgraceful…"

"Such a strange man…"

"That poor princess…"

"House Garcia is too arrogant…"

Rael's jaw clenched.

He could hear them.

He could feel their judgment pressing against his skin like invisible needles.

But he didn't regret what he said.

He only regretted that it had been said in front of Artaigne.

Artaigne then stood up abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the floor, and she didn't look at Rael, didn't look at Eon, didn't look at anyone. She simply turned and walked away, her steps quickening as she moved through the hall, her shoulders trembling slightly as if she was trying not to break in front of everyone.

Rael's heart dropped.

"Artaigne," he called.

She didn't stop.

She didn't even turn her head.

The doors of the hall opened, and she disappeared into the corridor, leaving behind a silence that felt like broken glass.

Rael stared after her, his chest tightening.