Betrothed

On this particular morning, the Drexsic Estate was in chaos.

Servants and maids scurried through the halls, their hurried footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors. Feather dusters swept across ancient bookshelves, vacuums roared over the intricate rugs, and floral-scented air fresheners sprayed through the corridors, blending with the scent of wax polish and freshly laundered linens. Every detail had to be perfect.

A pair of butlers adjusted a grand chandelier, ensuring its glistening crystals reflected the warm light just right. Maids in crisp uniforms fluffed pillows, wiped every surface spotless, and adjusted curtains to let in the perfect amount of sunlight. The air buzzed with urgency.

"Move faster! The guests will be here any moment!" shouted a senior housekeeper, her voice barely rising over the clatter of hurried preparations.

In the middle of this frenzy, a young maid dashed through the halls, struggling to balance a large bundle of freshly folded clothes. Her breath was shallow, her mind a whirl of panic.

"Will we even finish in time?" she muttered under her breath, biting her lip as she picked up her pace.

But in her haste, she failed to notice the figure stepping out from the adjacent hallway.

She collided into something firm, and before she could react, her balance was lost. The bundle of clothes slipped from her grasp, and she braced for impact, expecting the cold, hard floor to greet her at any moment.

Yet—nothing.

Her fall never came.

She hesitantly opened her eyes.

The clothes, which should have been scattered across the floor, remained suspended in the air, held neatly in place by an unseen force. And then she felt it—a steady arm, wrapped securely around her waist, keeping her aloft.

Her breath hitched.

Her gaze trailed upward, past the strong hand supporting her, past the pristine black sleeve of an expensive coat, until she met a pair of cold, obsidian eyes.

Vryne El Drexsic.

Her young master.

His face remained neutral, unreadable, yet his very presence sent a shiver down her spine. His gaze, though not outwardly hostile, felt as if it stripped away every layer of her being, silently judging her.

She immediately averted her eyes, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. She had been careless. She had bumped into him—of all people. A scolding was inevitable.

But instead of reprimanding her, Vryne subtly pulled her closer. His hand, still resting at her waist, applied the gentlest pressure, steadying her as he helped her stand.

Her breath hitched again.

The action was careful, deliberate. She had never seen him act this way before.

A faint tremor ran through her as she stepped back onto solid ground, now able to stand on her own. Wordlessly, Vryne handed her the bundle of clothes, perfectly stacked as if they had never been disturbed.

She hesitated for a moment before accepting them, her hands slightly trembling.

"…Young Master?" she whispered, her voice laced with confusion.

"Are you hurt?" Vryne's voice was calm, almost gentle. "Does anything feel off?"

She blinked in disbelief. He was… checking on her?

"N-No," she stammered. "I'm fine, Master Vryne."

Vryne studied her for a moment longer, then gave a small nod. "Be careful next time."

And with that, he turned, walking past her as if nothing had happened.

The maid stood frozen, staring at his retreating figure, her heart pounding against her ribs. Then, as he disappeared from view, she clutched the bundle of clothes to her chest, pressing her face into them in an attempt to calm herself.

"Master Vryne…" she murmured, her cheeks still warm.

A moment of silence filled the corridor.

Then, unable to suppress it any longer, she whispered aloud—

"I think I enjoyed that…"

—

As Vryne continued his walk through the estate, he took note of the overwhelming activity around him. The normally composed staff were working twice as hard, their movements filled with an urgency he hadn't seen before.

His gaze swept over a maid struggling to push a heavy cart of cleaning equipment. He raised a hand slightly.

"You there," he called.

The maid flinched before quickly straightening herself, turning to him with a respectful bow. "Y-Yes, Young Master? How can I assist you?"

Vryne's eyes narrowed slightly. "What's going on? Why is everyone working themselves to the bone?"

The maid stiffened. Her hands clasped together nervously, and for a moment, she hesitated.

Vryne's gaze sharpened. He repeated himself, his voice carrying a quiet authority that left no room for avoidance.

The maid swallowed hard. "…A neighboring family is visiting today, Master Vryne."

His expression remained unreadable, though his mind immediately began to turn. "Which family?"

"The Greysteel family, Master."

Vryne stilled.

The name echoed in his mind, dragging forth memories—memories that were not his own but ones he had inherited from the body he now occupied.

The Greysteel family.

An aristocratic lineage known for producing warriors of exceptional talent. Their bloodline carried physical gifts far beyond normal humans, with many of them going on to become top-ranking officials, military commanders, and political leaders.

But that wasn't what made Vryne's thoughts pause.

It was because, within the story, the original Vryne was engaged to a Greysteel.

His betrothed—

A sharp, commanding voice suddenly cut through his thoughts.

"Drexsic!"

Vryne's head turned, and his eyes fell upon a woman who stood tall and imposing.

She was stunning—elegance and danger woven together in a single figure.

Her long, unruly hair, a fiery orange with streaks of electric blue at the tips, was pulled into a high ponytail. Her eyes, a piercing shade of teal, held a sharp intensity that seemed to challenge everything they landed on.

She was dressed in an ensemble that fused aristocratic regality with modern practicality—a tailored suit blended with the grace of a noble's attire, a long coat draped over her shoulders, and a sword holstered at her hip.

And despite her beauty, it was the weapon at her side that made Vryne's instincts scream with caution.

The woman scowled, her voice tinged with irritation. "Are you seriously ignoring me? Again?"

Vryne met her gaze, his expression remaining neutral.

Solara Van Greysteel.

His—or rather, Vryne's—fiancée.