Chapter 472: The Strange Invitation

"Good heavens, how much longer does that woman intend to spend considering the matter?!"

Iryna slammed her small silver spoon onto her porcelain saucer with a sharp, echoing clatter that vibrated across the marble table. The tiny porcelain tea set rattled violently, dark drops of herbal tea sloshing over the delicate rim and staining the pristine white tablecloth. She paced back and forth across the plush, hand-woven carpet of her private sitting room, her heels digging angrily into the intricate floral pattern as the heavy silk layers of her crimson gown rustled aggressively with every sharp pivot.

"A year? Two years? It’s a betrothal proposal, for goodness’ sake, not a multi-stage military siege!"

She threw her hands up, her intricate gold bracelets jangling loudly against one another. "All she needs to do is weigh the advantages and disadvantages, decide whether the arrangement is to her liking, and consider whatever terms she wishes to put forward. Then she can come here, speak with us, and settle the matter. How difficult can it possibly be?"

Across the table, Gillian sat leaning comfortably back in a deep velvet armchair, entirely unbothered by her dramatic outburst. Sunlight poured through the tall stained-glass windows behind him, painting warm golden patterns across his relaxed shoulders and catching the fine dust motes floating lazily in the quiet room. He casually reached into a small hand-painted dish in the center of the table, picked up a freshly baked butter biscuit, and took a small, crisp bite.

"Please, Sister," Gillian said, chewing before he spoke again. His voice remained calm, just as it always was. "It’s only been what... a few days? Let the woman think about it. A decision of this magnitude affects her entire lineage and the stability of her house. She needs proper time to discuss the details with her family."

Gillian gave her a long, thoughtful look before taking another leisurely bite.

Truthfully, it was rather unusual to see Iryna lose patience over something like this. Of all the people he knew, she was hardly one to rush another person’s decision. She could sit through an entire afternoon listening to someone explain the same matter from five different angles without once showing any sign of irritation. If anything, she was usually the one telling everyone else to slow down and give matters proper consideration.

Yet here she was, impatiently demanding an answer after only a few days.

He brushed a stray bit of flour from his knuckle, looking perfectly relaxed. "Besides, pushing a woman as strong-willed as the duke’s sister is a terrible idea. You know how proud she is. Push her too hard, and she’ll reject the offer simply because she doesn’t like being told what to do by the royal court."

Iryna stopped her pacing dead in her tracks and glared down at him, her dark eyes flashing with irritation. Her chest heaved under the tight boning of her corset as she stared at his utter lack of urgency. She took a deep, theatrical breath, trying to force her posture back into regal composure, before suddenly reaching out, snatching the half-eaten biscuit right out of Gillian’s fingers, and popping the remaining half straight into her mouth.

Gillian stared at his empty hand for a brief second, his fingers still curled around thin air where the biscuit had been a second prior. His face remained completely expressionless, not a single eyebrow twitching to betray his mild surprise.

"Rude," Gillian muttered under his breath, his deep voice carrying a dry, flat note. He didn’t even bother looking annoyed. He simply reached back down into the porcelain dish, picked up a brand new, perfectly golden biscuit, and took a fresh bite without missing a single beat.

Iryna swallowed the biscuit quickly, brushing a few stray butter crumbs off her fitted sleeve, before her sharp eyes narrowed down at him with genuine, calculating curiosity. The dramatic anger seemed to evaporate, replaced instantly by the keen, analytical mind that made her one of the most dangerous figures in the inner court. She dragged a heavy carved chair out from the opposite side of the table and sat down, leaning both forearms against the polished wood and tilting her chin toward him.

"Putting aside your questionable table manners," Iryna began, her voice dropping into a quieter, far more serious register, "did you really go out yesterday just to get a routine update from our soldiers stationed at the perimeter?"

Gillian took another slow bite of his biscuit, leaning his head back against the soft cushion of his armchair as if contemplating the taste of the butter. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I don’t know," Iryna murmured, tilting her head as she searched his face, dissecting every micro-expression. "I just feel like there’s something else going on. You were gone for much longer than you usually are, and you came back looking entirely too quiet. Even for you. You barely touched your dinner last night, and you’ve been staring out that window since morning, looking like you’ve been thinking yourself in circles."

She leaned in closer across the table, her tone sharpening. "A routine patrol report doesn’t make you look like you’re weighing a man’s life in your head, Gillian. Who did you actually meet out there?"

Gillian kept chewing calmly, using the thumb of his left hand to brush a tiny speck of sugar off his dark cuff. He didn’t answer immediately, letting the quiet hum of the afternoon fill the space between them until he finally swallowed his bite. The silence stretched out so long that Iryna’s fingers began to tap a restless rhythm against the wood.

He looked up, his eyes suddenly turning cold and unreadable despite his relaxed posture. The lazy ease he usually carried disappeared, and for a moment, there was nothing casual about him at all.

"Why don’t you come with me today and see for yourself?" Gillian asked softly.

Iryna blinked, caught completely off guard by the sudden, unexpected offer. Her tapping fingers went still. "Where?"

Gillian gave her a small, knowing smile and set the rest of his biscuit down on his saucer.

"To a place," Gillian murmured, leaning forward just enough so his voice wouldn’t carry toward the heavy doors where her personal guards stood posted outside, "that connects Auzelian and Solaric in a whole different way."