A mad girl

Reynand's jaw dropped in disbelief. Elara had spoken of marriage so plainly, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. But that wasn't what enraged him.

"What did you just say? I hope I misheard you."

Elara hesitated, pressing her lips together before murmuring, "To be your wi—wife—"

"No, before that. What rumor did you hear?"

She swallowed, then answered, "Ah… That the Marquess doesn't like women. It's just—" She gasped, realizing too late how offensive her words might have been. Lowering her gaze, she stammered, "F-For-Forgive me, Your Grace."

"For fuck's sake, who's the blighted bastard spreading that treacherous lie?"

Elara gaped. Of all the things she had imagined about the esteemed Prince, hearing him curse like a common rogue was not one of them. A small smile played on her lips—how very unprincely of him.

Not even in her wildest dreams had she thought she'd ever speak to someone as extraordinary as Reynand. Yet here he was, hands on his hips, ranting like a man robbed of his last coin. Her gaze drifted lower—no sword at his waist. That, more than anything, was why she secretly admired him.

It was no secret that Reynand could cleave through five monsters in a single strike, even without magic. The training grounds near her estate had given her plenty of opportunities to peek him from afar, like a treasure she alone had discovered.

His swearing—an impressive string of curses invoking every wild beast in the forest—snapped her back to the moment. Perhaps she had taken her teasing too far. But for the first time in her life, she had spoken her mind without overthinking.

Uncle Bruse came just as Elara adjusted the hood of her cloak, ready to take her leave.

"Rey, where is the de—eeaarr, uh oh, who is this young beauty?" Bruse's eyes widened, his words tumbling out in a jumbled mess. 

Whatever concern he had about his lost dinner vanished the moment he laid eyes on Elara, her beauty dazzling enough to make him forget the deer entirely.

Reynand shot his uncle a sharp look. "Someone who just proposed to me."

"Whaat?"

Elara dipped her head, voice steady despite the absurdity of the moment. "Forgive my impudence, Your Grace. And please, forget it ever happened. Consider it the desperate ramblings of someone unwilling to become a corpse. I… I shall take my leave."

"Wait."

Reynand's voice made her halt mid-step. She turned back.

"Were you joking?"

A flicker of amusement danced in Elara's eyes. "Shall I not, then?" Their gazes locked for a lingering moment before a faint smile touched her lips. "I should not have pointed out your flaws like that, Your Grace. Please, spare me your mercy, for I am about to pawn my soul."

With a graceful dip of her head, she turned and strode away, disappearing swiftly among the towering trees, leaving Reynand and his uncle standing in stunned silence.

Bruse blinked. "What did that beauty mean?"

Reynand scoffed, his expression darkening. "She's just a mad girl. Flaws, she said?" His lips twisted into a bitter smile before his gaze snapped to his uncle, eyes blazing. "Uncle Bruse, tell me—why does even a mad girl know the rumor that I don't like women, yet I have not heard of it myself?"

His uncle let out a loud, unrestrained laugh. "You didn't know? It must've started at the brothel—when you didn't so much as flinch, even with a naked woman paraded before you."

Reynand's face turned crimson, heat searing up his neck as he clenched his jaw. A mix of rage and humiliation twisted in his gut. How had he been so oblivious to such a rumor?

The warm summer breeze stirred, the setting sun casting long shadows over the forest. Without another word, nephew and uncle continued their trek back to the training grounds.

Bruse was slightly disappointed about losing his venison dinner that night, but Reynand's recounting of the cliffside encounter with Elara—and her absurd, out-of-the-blue marriage proposal—was enough to keep him entertained. 

Their conversation, filled with Reynand's furious cursing over his tarnished reputation, carried them into the training grounds.

"And why don't you just accept her proposal, Rey?" Bruse asked, setting down his hunting gear.

"Not this again, please." Reynand barely acknowledged the question, handing over the meager results of their hunt to the cook, who gave him a halfhearted smile upon seeing only five rabbits in the sack.

"Listen, the real reason you won't marry is because all the candidates are from reputable noble-born, right? You're afraid it'll entangle you in the royal politics against the crown prince, aren't you?"

Reynand's expression hardened, his stance shifting as he listened while striding back into his tent.

"But what if you marry a lady from a disgraced family? No one would care, no political strings attached. And from what I gathered from your story, it'd be a win-win situation for both of you. She must've been desperate enough to say something so bold."

Reynand clenched his jaw as he changed clothes, taking his time to process his uncle's words. Brow furrowed, he weighed the logic of Bruse's argument.

"But she said she was just joking." Reynand scoffed, lips curling into a smirk.

"And who would dare refuse if it was the prince himself extending his hand in marriage?"

"From bastard prince?"

Bruse shot him a pointed look. "Rey, you underestimate your reputation. A bastard prince is still a prince—a king's son, a marquess, and the youngest general this kingdom has ever seen."

Who didn't know that? Likewise, his bastard title wasn't a matter of self-esteem—it was simply a convenient excuse to avoid marriage, the last thing he'd ever want to deal with.

His uncle's gaze held firm, met with Reynand's low smirk. With a firm clap on his shoulder, Bruse turned to leave the tent. But just as he reached the entrance, he glanced back.

"And you'd best kill that rumor before it grows into something worse—like The Marquess died on the battlefield as a gay man." His grin widened just as Reynand hurled a towel at him—one he dodged with ease.

Reynand let out a deep sigh, his mind spinning with endless possibilities. The memory of her teary hazel eyes coiled around his chest, tightening with an unfamiliar pull that sent a jolt down his spine.