Strength in Unity: Dinner Revelations

The dining hall of Valenhart Estate was a masterpiece of grandeur. A high vaulted ceiling adorned with glowing chandeliers cast a warm light over the long mahogany table. The table was set with gleaming silverware and an array of delicacies, though the tension in the air made it difficult to fully appreciate the lavish setting.

Fredrick and Flora Valenhart played the perfect hosts, their polished smiles welcoming their guests.

Micheal and Magda sat on one side of the table, their dynamic an odd contrast. Micheal's playful attempts at conversation were met with Magda's frosty silence, a quiet cold war brewing between them.

Across the table, Ethan and Vivian exuded a sharper energy, their clipped exchanges laced with competition and irritation.

Flora, ever the peacemaker, attempted to shift the mood. "Magda, you look stunning tonight. That dress suits you perfectly. Doesn't it, Micheal?"

Micheal glanced at Magda, a soft smile playing on his lips. "She always looks beautiful," he said warmly.

His tone carried a hint of practiced flattery, and he continued with a touch of pride. "Magda has a way of standing out no matter where she is. It's almost unfair to the rest of us."

Magda, however, didn't take the bait. Turning to Flora, she replied curtly, "Thank you," her tone polite but distant.

Deep down, she wished Micheal would treat her as a wife, not like an elder brother doting on a younger sibling. Her silence only deepened the gap between them.

Vivian, already a few glasses into Valenhart's finest wines, leaned forward with a sharp grin.

 "Fredrick, do you remember our last campaign in the northern territories? That strategy with the heifers to lure away the minotaurs was ingenious."

Fredrick chuckled modestly. "You give me too much credit, Vivian. The real brilliance was in the execution, and that was all you."

Ethan's jaw tightened at the exchange. "Vivian is excellent at making everything sound grander than it was," he muttered, his irritation thinly veiled.

Vivian's emerald eyes narrowed. "Well, Ethan, not everyone can afford to give away achievements for something as frivolous as a dance."

Fredrick and Flora exchanged uneasy glances. The comment struck an old nerve. Ethan, unfazed by their discomfort, replied coolly, "Some of us have plenty of achievements to spare, thanks to others… screwing up."

The table fell silent for a beat before Vivian's retort cut through like a blade. "Some of us have to compensate for stubborn bullheads who refuse to consider any discrepancies."

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "I always plan for discrepancies, Vivian. It's called foresight. Something you'd appreciate if you didn't act like a loose cannon."

Despite the barbs, Ethan subtly pushed a dish closer to Vivian, ensuring she had enough of the food she liked most. As Vivian reached for another glass of wine, he quietly removed the lamb from her plate and replaced it with her preferred dish.

Flora noticed the gesture and raised an eyebrow. "You know, Ethan, the lamb is a Valenhart specialty. Surely you should let Vivian enjoy it?"

Ethan glanced at Flora, his tone matter-of-fact. "Vivian doesn't like lamb. It's better to give her something she'll actually eat."

Vivian, catching on to the exchange, leaned toward Flora with an exaggerated pout.

"Oh, he's been doing that since we were kids, most of the time he is good at sorting. But once, he left boiled carrots on my plate, and I ate them. I was sick for a whole day, Flora! Can you believe it?"

Ethan sighed, his voice gruff. "I was 14, Vivian. How was I supposed to know you liked raw carrots but hated them boiled?"

Flora raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "He's been doing this since childhood? That's quite the dynamic. Ethan, I didn't know you were so… attentive."

Ethan's tone remained flat but with a hint of exasperation. "It's not attentiveness. It's self-preservation. If I don't fix things, she complains nonstop."

Vivian, unfazed, laughed lightly and turned back to Flora. "Don't let him fool you. He doesn't pay attention to me anyway."

Ethan gave her a pointed look, his voice quieter but firm. "I pay attention to everything. Someone has to, with you around."

Fredrick leaned forward, his tone light as he addressed them. "So, Magda, Micheal, how are you finding Altona so far?"

Micheal smiled politely. "It's been wonderful. The hospitality has been exceptional." He turned to Magda, his voice softening. "Magda's enjoyed being here, haven't you?"

Magda's lips curved into a faint, polite smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Oh, the maids, seamstresses, and young healer's assistants have certainly made your stay very pleasant, haven't they, Micheal?" Her words carried a subtle jab, one that only Micheal would fully understand.

Micheal leaned in slightly, his voice calm and steady. "Magda, none of their smiles matter. Only yours does."

Fredrick's hearty laugh broke the tension. "Magda, you're starting to resemble your father more and more," he said teasingly.

Both Magda and Micheal turned to him, surprised. Magda's brow furrowed. "How so?" she asked, a mix of curiosity and defensiveness.

Fredrick grinned, leaning back with a knowing look. "The way you just handled that—sharp, calculated, and with a touch of imperial flair. Raphael would be proud."

Magda's cheeks flushed faintly, though she held her composure.

Micheal chuckled softly, his tone light yet thoughtful. "I'll take that as a compliment on her behalf," he said, though he remained keenly aware of Magda's earlier pointed remark and its underlying tension.

Across the table, Flora studied Ethan's interactions with Vivian. The way he argued with her, yet never let her glass run empty or her plate go untouched, struck her as oddly intimate.

Flora wasn't interested in Ethan anymore—she was happily married to Fredrick—but the difference in his behavior was striking. She recalled how the Duke had pushed her to marry Ethan, yet Ethan had always been cold and distant as her suitor.

Watching him now, she couldn't help but think, He treats his frenemy better than he ever treated her.

Fredrick leaned back, observing the Shelb brothers' furtive glances toward the ladies beside them. Micheal and Magda, though married, resembled playful childhood friends, while Ethan and Vivian, supposedly childhood friends, argued like an old married couple.

The contrast struck him, and he smirked. "You know," he began teasingly, "it's fascinating how submissive the Shelb men become in the presence of ladies. Almost… reverent."

Ethan frowned, visibly uncomfortable. He suspected the comment hinted at a nonexistent connection between him and Vivian and quickly changed the subject.

"Fredrick, why don't you tell us about your latest wine collection instead?"

Drunken Vivian found Ethan changing the topic annoying and let out a faint huff.

Fredrick's eyes gleamed mischievously. "Ah, but Ethan, I was under the impression you preferred tea to wine?"

Ethan shifted slightly. "I enjoy good wine in private."

Vivian smirked, her inhibitions lowered by the wine. "Ethan avoids alcohol like it's a battlefield. What kind of warrior misses out on good wine?"

Micheal interjected, his tone light but purposeful. "It's because we suffer from a family trait. Drunken amnesia. The next day, we have no memory of what we did. Adrian is the only exception to this, of course."

But beneath Micheal's casual tone lay a determined effort. He knew tonight could mark a pivotal moment.

According to the timeline of the novel, "Fake Rose Better Than the Real," Ethan was to die in the beast tide the day after tomorrow, making tonight a pivotal point. In the novel, Ethan had spent one last night feasting and drinking heavily with Fredrick and Vivian. Ethan's drunken night would lead to an irreversible mistake—the conception of a child in a fleeting, careless moment.

Micheal recalled how the timeline progressed: Vivian was killed mysteriously ten months later, by their father, who had no known grievances against the Whitestone family. Then, a year after Ethan's death, Flora brought a child who she claimed was Ethan's, the child's mother was said to be dead, using the child as a leverage she installed a puppet Duke von Shelb. The connection was undeniable; the events leading to the child's conception should take place tonight. 

Micheal's suspicions were confirmed when Hunter told him that Ethan's aura carried traces of only one woman—Vivian. No other woman had left a mark, physical or otherwise, on Ethan.

The logical conclusion was that tonight, under the influence of alcohol and the heavy atmosphere of camaraderie, the child must have been conceived and the mysterious dead mother would be Vivian.

Micheal wanted to change that course. From his brother's body language, he realized that Ethan subconsciously might have desired Vivian but also consciously liked her.

Micheal wanted Ethan and Vivian to have their child when they were ready, not under the looming shadow of Ethan's potential death in the beast tide.

He resolved to prevent his brother from drinking tonight at all costs, knowing how pivotal this moment was.

Ethan groaned. "Did you have to tell them that?"

Flora laughed lightly. "So that's why you never drank with me, Ethan! I thought you were just being prudish."

Vivian grinned. "Oh, Ethan's terrible when he's drunk. Worse than a child. Isn't that right, Ethan?"

Ethan shot her a warning look. "Vivian, maybe you should quit drinking."

Fredrick leaned forward, clearly entertained. "Wait, Vivian, you've seen Ethan drunk? Do tell."

Meanwhile, Magda sat in quiet contemplation, piecing together Micheal's comments.

She recalled moments from their past—their first meeting at her debut, when Micheal had seemed liked distant deity, almost ethereal and out of this world; the night at the Armond camp when he confessed his feelings. Could those have been moments influenced by his drunken amnesia?