Chapter 527: A Matter of Public Opinion

By noon, news of the incident at the grand theater had spread through the capital’s like wildfire.

Everyone was talking about Heinrich Bramwell’s desperate, violent downfall. The rumors, as they always did, fractured into a dozen different versions depending on who was doing the whispering.

Some nobles leaned over their porcelain cups in shock, marveling with genuine awe at the reports coming out of the guard house, specifically how Cherion Antel had dodged a blade thrust and knocked Heinrich flat onto the floor using nothing but his bare fists before the guards even managed to break down the door. Others, however, merely sniffed into their lace handkerchiefs with cynical indifference, dismissing the whole event as vulgar squabbling among notorious names.

"Just one rotten noble attacking another rotten noble," a senior marchioness was overheard muttering over her card game. "Why is anyone surprised when stray dogs bite each other in the street? The Antel boy was a terror for years, and the Bramwell boy was a desperate fool. It’s a miracle they didn’t tear the entire theater down."

Regardless of the cynical gossip circulating out there, the atmosphere inside the main reception hall of the Avery estate was bright, lavish, and buzzing with excitement.

Marchioness Avery was hosting a long-scheduled afternoon tea gathering for several prominent noble omegas and their children.

Derrick sat near the center of the drawing room, holding court with an audience of eager, wide-eyed young nobles. He was practically vibrating with animated energy, gesturing wildly with his hands as he recounted the event for what felt like the fourth time that day.

"I’m telling you, it was incredible!" Derrick declared, leaning forward with an exaggerated gasp that drew the whole room’s attention. "One second I was just washing my hands at the basin, and the next, this complete lunatic Heinrich comes out of nowhere with a sleeping powder pipe! I didn’t even have time to yell or draw a breath before my knees gave out. But Cherion? Cherion didn’t panic for even half a second!"

A few of the younger omegas gasped softly, pressing their hands to their chests in high-society shock.

"Lord Cherion fought him off bare-handed? Without any guards inside the room?"

"Bare-handed!" Derrick beamed proudly, looking for all the world as though he were bragging about his own elder brother. "He dodged the guy’s knife, blocked a direct swing, and slammed him into the floor tiles so hard the whole washroom echoed! If Cherion hadn’t possessed such insane reflexes, I could have been seriously hurt or dragged off while I was out cold. He was a total hero!"

Across the seating area, Marchioness Avery offered a warm, approving smile as she poured fresh tea for her esteemed guests. "Lord Cherion acted with extraordinary bravery and composure. Our family will forever hold a deep debt of gratitude toward him for protecting Derrick."

"It really is astonishing," commented Viscountess Caelia, taking a delicate sip from her cup. "To think Heinrich Bramwell would sink so low as to carry illegal lower-district toxins into a public theater. The sheer shamelessness of that fallen house is appalling. He deserves to rot in the deepest cell."

"Agreed," another noble omega chimed in, shaking her head in disgust. "Attempting to harm Duke Valtrane’s fiancé and the heir of House Avery in broad daylight... it’s absolute madness."

Sitting quietly near the corner was Philia.

Philia sat with his usual flawless, gentle posture. His hands were folded neatly in his lap. Throughout all the dramatic storytelling, Philia had remained perfectly quiet. He hadn’t chimed in with loud praise, nor had he gasped in shock. He simply sat there, listening with a faint, polite smile playing on his lips, his dark brown eyes reflecting nothing but quiet, unreadable attentiveness.

Viscountess Caelia, who had been darting glances at Philia every few minutes, finally saw her opening. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes flashing with a mix of high-society curiosity and subtle, deliberate provocation.

"Speaking of Heinrich..." the Viscountess began, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial pitch that instantly quieted the rest of the drawing room. "Lord Philia, my dear... you’ve been so unusually silent over there in the corner. You haven’t said a single word since young Derrick began his story."

Philia slowly blinked, his eyes shifting toward the Viscountess with a perfectly pleasant expression.

"I am simply enjoying Lord Derrick’s spirited recounting, Viscountess," Philia replied softly. "It is a relief to see him in such high spirits after such an ordeal."

"Yes, of course," Viscountess Caelia smiled, though her tone remained sharp, fishing for a reaction. "But surely you must feel quite deeply conflicted about all of this, don’t you? We are all dying to know your opinion on the matter."

Philia tilted his head slightly, the faint smile still resting effortlessly on his face. "Conflicted, Viscountess? What do you mean?"

"Well, everyone in court remembers how vocal young Heinrich used to be in the past," Viscountess Caelia pressed on, fanning herself lightly as the other nobles leaned in to listen. "Before his family completely fell from grace, Heinrich was practically shouting from the rooftops about ’defending’ your honor whenever Lord Cherion acted out at social gatherings. He made such a massive, public show of standing up for you back when Lord Cherion was... well, back when Lord Cherion was far more difficult and unmanageable. To have your past defender end up in a dungeon cell for attacking the very man he used to berate on your behalf... it must be quite a strange position for you."

A heavy silence settled over the drawing room. The trap was obvious: if Philia showed even a shred of pity for Heinrich, he would look like he sympathized with a criminal who attacked House Avery. If he condemned Heinrich too harshly, he might look cold and ungrateful to someone who once championed him.

How predictable, Philia thought quietly to himself behind the serene mask of his face. These nobles operate like ravenous vultures, hunting for the smallest tear in a silk gown. They want drama. They want a tragic, dramatic line from the Prince’s fiancé to whisper about at tomorrow’s court reception.

Philia let out a quiet, delicate breath, a soft, sad sigh that sounded so genuine, so full of heartbreaking vulnerability, that it made him look like an angel burdened by the harsh realities of the world. He lowered his eyes for a fraction of a second before lifting his gaze back up to meet the Viscountess’s probing eyes with absolute, crystal-clear calm.

"I understand why people might recall those past events, Viscountess," Philia spoke softly. "And it is true that back then, when Lord Heinrich offered kind words or stepped in during tense, uncomfortable moments... I was young, naive, and foolish enough to feel deeply grateful for his concern. When you are quiet, any hand extended in protection feels like a blessing."

He paused, letting the emotional weight of his words settle over the room, watching the Viscountess’s sharp expression melt into quiet fascination.

"However," Philia continued, his soft tone firming into an absolute, unyielding stance of moral nobility, "gratitude for past kindness cannot, and will never, excuse criminal madness. What Lord Heinrich did yesterday at the grand theater was entirely reckless, dangerous, and unforgivable. He targeted innocent lives, brought foul toxins into a public venue, and attempted to harm two important figures."

Philia looked around the luxurious drawing room, his gentle, brown eyes locking onto each noble in turn with complete, earnest sincerity.

"Lord Cherion protected his companion and defended himself with commendable strength and courage," Philia added smoothly, his lips curving into a soft, admiring arc. "Lord Heinrich broke the law of the realm and thoroughly disgraced whatever standing he had left. He must face the full, unyielding severity of imperial justice for his actions. There is no excuse for what he did, and I hold absolutely no sympathy for his downfall. My heart lies entirely with the safety of our realm and the peace of our houses."

A quiet, collective hum of deep approval rippled through the drawing room. Several Marchionesses nodded in fervent agreement, completely won over by Philia’s perfect, flawless response.

"Well said, Lord Philia," Marchioness Avery said warmly, her eyes shining with admiration. "You possess a truly remarkable sense of justice and clarity."

"Indeed," Viscountess Caelia conceded with a polite nod, completely stripped of her gossip-seeking leverage. "It is a relief to know you see things so clearly, my lord."

"Of course," Philia murmured softly, dipping his head with quiet, humble grace as he finally reached for his porcelain teacup.

As he raised the fine cup to his lips, taking a slow, elegant sip of the warm tea, his eyes drifted out toward the large glass windows, staring into the sunlit garden terrace outside.

Behind the saintly, gentle smile that had captivated the imperial court, Philia’s mind was somewhere else entirely.

Heinrich was an idiot, Philia mused coldly in the silent sanctuary of his own thoughts, his gaze unblinking as he watched a white butterfly land on a rose blossom. A desperate, clumsy fool who acted out of blind, unrefined emotion. He thought a cheap sleeping powder and a rusted blade would fix his ruined life. How pathetic. True power in this capital is never wielded with a desperate knife in a washroom... it is built quietly, piece by piece, until no one even realizes the trap has closed.

Philia set his teacup down, his face returning to its soft, radiant, and utterly innocent warmth as Derrick resumed talking about his upcoming plans.