Hearing Valoa’s mocking and provocation from behind Crowell, Beatrice Hartwell instinctively gasped.
“I did think she was out of her mind from the moment she tried to lay hands on me at a ballroom full of nobles… but…”
Is her judgment center completely broken?
“No… does the Duke of Alex really have that much influence that even this can be covered up?”
Everything Valoa was saying couldn’t simply be dismissed as disrespect—it was far beyond that.
The person she had just turned into the center of a scandal was the Crown Prince of the Empire!
Of course, Beatrice had no intention—no matter what—of becoming entangled with Crowell in that kind of relationship. None at all. But!
Even if something like that were true, a normal person would simply pretend they neither saw nor heard it.
“Unless you have a death wish!”
And yet, Valoa Edvain Crawford had boldly exposed it.
The sudden commotion drew the surrounding nobles into anxious murmurs.
“What did I just hear?”
“So that burned area… did that woman really start a fire here?”
“And is she claiming the Crown Prince and Lady Hartwell are in an inappropriate relationship…? Good heavens.”
Apparently pleased with the reaction, Valoa curled her lips and gleefully continued slandering them.
“So there really was an old tree, a so-called lovers’ sanctuary? And today of all days, it’s a masked ball? Ha. No matter how much you’re head over heels, don’t you think you’re being a bit obvious?”
“……”
Stunned by the flood of insane accusations, Beatrice quickly gathered her thoughts.
If she didn’t act now, everything would go exactly as Valoa Crawford intended.
Forcing her tangled mind to work, Beatrice immediately clasped her hands at her chest and put on a pitiful expression.
“…That’s quite unfair.”
Her quiet voice stood out sharply against Valoa’s aggressive tone, drawing everyone’s attention.
Beatrice looked at Valoa in disbelief, then carefully wrapped her arm around Clyde’s.
“Whoever you are, how can you falsely accuse His Highness and me of something so filthy? How could you possibly misunderstand something like this…”
“…You…”
“I can recite every vow I exchanged with my beloved Clyde right here, right now.”
In truth, she could not. She had no idea how any wedding vows went. It was pure bluff.
Afraid Valoa might actually demand she recite them, Beatrice quickly pressed on with a shaky breath.
“And as for His Highness, this is not what you think at all! The Crown Prince was simply…”
“Simply assisting me as a friend with a request. Darling, you don’t need to worry that I’ll misunderstand you because of such slander.”
Clyde quickly matched Beatrice’s improvisation.
Like a romantic male lead from a novel, he held her hand firmly and continued in a sweet voice.
“Actually, I was the one who asked my darling to come here. You were surprised to see His Highness instead of me, right?”
“Ah—y-you…”
“Yes, that’s right.”
He gently pulled his arm away from Beatrice, then dropped to one knee and took out a small box from his pocket.
Inside was a necklace set with a light green gemstone identical to Beatrice’s eyes.
“I wanted to convey my feelings to you once again. My gratitude for being by my side.”
“Oh my goodness, Clyde!”
Beatrice covered her mouth with both hands as though deeply moved.
Gasps echoed around them as the surrounding nobles reacted in similar astonishment—some of them confirming what they had witnessed.
“Yes, that’s right! Lord Dalton has been preparing something here at the old tree for a while now.”
“Yes, and even at the masked ball, it was obvious how affectionate they were. A secret meeting? That doesn’t seem likely…”
The crowd’s opinion began to shift rapidly, causing Valoa to shout in frustration.
“I saw it! The two of them alone! I saw them with my own eyes! And you think you can protect your wife with such flimsy lies? Clyde Dalton, you’re completely insane!”
“Now I don’t know who’s the insane one. I can at least verify Clyde’s words. He did tell me to wait at the old tree instead of the ballroom…”
Cutting Valoa off at the perfect moment, Crowell handed Clyde a bouquet of flowers from nowhere and shook his head.
“Honestly, you’re the only one who would use the Crown Prince as a flower delivery boy.”
Their perfectly coordinated actions left Beatrice slightly flustered internally.
‘Wait… what is this? I wasn’t told about any of this backup plan…’
Still, thinking that results mattered more, Beatrice decided to ride the momentum and expose Valoa’s true nature.
Acting emotional again, she approached Valoa with a teary-eyed expression.
“Come to think of it, I don’t even know who insulted me and His Highness.”
“Don’t touch me. If you lay a finger on me, I’ll make sure your fingers disappear next time!”
Ignoring the threat, Beatrice reached up and removed Valoa’s mask.
The masked ball had a rule: when someone’s identity was revealed in a dispute, the other party had to reveal theirs as well.
“According to the rules, I will now reveal my identity. My name is Beatrice Hartwell. And you are…?”
“Shut up. I said shut up!”
“Oh dear, it seems you cannot remove your mask yourself due to the guards holding you. Let me help.”
Tap.
The mask slipped from Valoa Crawford’s fingers and fell to the ground.
The revealed face of Lady Valoa immediately triggered a reaction from the crowd.
“So it really was her…”
“Wait, does this mean the Crawford duchy is involved in treason?”
“No wonder she hated Lady Hartwell so much…”
Hearing the whispers, Valoa’s face turned bright red—not from shame, but from rage.
Her burning eyes locked onto Beatrice.
“You… youuu!”
“Ugh.”
“I’ll kill you! How dare you turn me into this spectacle?! I won’t let you get away with this!”
Like a madwoman, Valoa lunged forward—but before she could reach Beatrice, Clyde gently pulled Beatrice behind him and struck Valoa at the back of the neck.
Thud.
“Clyde Dal…ton… you…”
With a short, precise sound, Valoa’s body collapsed lifelessly.
Clyde looked down at her coldly for a moment, then deliberately spoke to Crowell.
“Your Highness, this is…”
“Yes. It appears to be self-defense while protecting his wife. We’ll dismiss it. Any objections?”
No one objected. Even the nobles could see Valoa had completely lost her sanity.
A burned garden, a collapsed noblewoman, Valoa Edvain Crawford—the scandalous lady at the center of it all—and Clyde Dalton with his wife, alongside the Crown Prince who had been dragged into it.
Every noble present understood the same thing:
This incident would become the hottest topic in high society for quite some time.
