CHAPTER 217: ELIZABETH VEYL [2]

Kyle stirred his coffee with slow, absent motions, the spoon tapping lightly against the porcelain.

The dark, bitter scent rose with each swirl, mingling faintly with the sweetness of vanilla drifting in from the café’s pastry counter.

He didn’t even like black coffee. But in a place like this. It felt like the proper thing to order.

’Noble etiquette’, he thought dryly.

’Smile politely. Sip something overpriced. Pretend you aren’t here to dissect someone’s political throat.’

A quick glance at his mana band.

[4:28 PM]

Two minutes to go.

The café hummed softly. Low voices, the gentle clink of silverware, the faint rustle of linen as servers moved between tables.

Sunlight poured through tall windows, scattering gold across polished wooden floors. White tablecloths. Thin porcelain cups. Waiters dressed as if they were auditioning for an opera.

It was the sort of place Seraphina had dragged him to on more than one weekend, insisting he "needed to appreciate refinement."

’Refinement.’

He almost smiled at the word. In reality, it was boredom, lacquered in elegance and served on a saucer.

Still, he’d dressed for the part.

Dark blue button-up, black slacks tailored just enough to restrict comfortable movement.

Luna had even taken it upon herself to fix his hair, fussing as though he were some prize hound being groomed for competition.

——"You can’t meet a future bride looking like you just rolled out of a dungeon," she’d said.

He resisted the urge to run a hand through it now. It looked too neat. It didn’t feel like him.

At least the café’s location, nestled near the Academy, offered one comfort. No one would be foolish enough to cause trouble with Principal Lucian and Vice Principal Seris still on campus.

Actually, scratch that. With Principal Lucian in the city, the whole capital might as well be under his shield.

A sigh escaped him. Quiet. Barely there.

’Why am I even doing this?’

The answer was simple.

Rylan Veyl.

A serpent with his coils buried deep in the heart of noble politics.

Kyle planned to cut off the head.

But first, he needed to get close. That meant playing the game. Nods, smiles, feigned interest in a marriage neither party truly wanted.

His fingers tightened around the cup.

’Patience.’

He took another sip of his coffee.

’Still bitter.’

With a faint grimace. He plucked another sugar cube from the porcelain dish and let it fall into the cup.

The swirl of white dissolved into the dark liquid, and he tried again.

’Better.’

A voice drifted through his mind, smooth and insistent.

"I want cake."

It was Zalrielle.

Kyle resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

’You already had two slices before we left. At this rate, you’ll turn into a fat cat.’

"W–what? How could you—"

’Alright, alright. Don’t make fuss. I’ll get you one when we get home.’

"..."

Silence. The smug kind.

’Women.’

’He’ll never understand them.’

He flicked his gaze to the mana band on his wrist.

[4:30 PM]

Right on time.

Chimmm...

The café’s front door chimed softly. A few conversations faltered. Chairs shifted. Heads turned.

Kyle looked up.

Elizabeth Veyl.

Solvayne Academy’s second-year ’Unattainable Black Flower.’

She stood framed in the doorway. The late afternoon sun casting her in a muted glow.

Midnight-black hair spilled over her shoulders in sleek, unbroken waves, so dark it seemed to drink in the light.

Her dress was deep violet, simple yet tailored to perfection, cinched at the waist. The sleeves brushed just above her wrists, elegant without trying.

But her eyes...

They were cold. Still. Impossible to read. Like a lake you could drown in without ever touching the bottom.

She scanned the café with deliberate precision, her gaze settling on him.

A faint curve touched her lips. It wasn’t warm or welcoming. It was calculating.

She moved toward him, unhurried.

Click. Click. Click

The click of her heels cut through the hush that had fallen over the room.

Every eye followed her.

Kyle leaned back in his chair, feigning ease, as if he hadn’t noticed the sudden shift in atmosphere.

She stopped at his table.

"Are you Kyle Valemont?"

Her voice was smooth, refined, like the glint of steel under morning light.

Kyle rose from his seat with a fluid, practiced motion. One hand pressed lightly to his chest, the other extended just so. A perfect noble’s bow.

"I am. It’s pleasure to meet you, Miss Elizabeth Veyl."

She met the courtesy with a graceful curtsy, her gown’s hem lifting just enough to satisfy propriety without inviting gossip.

"Likewise, Mister Valemont."

He stepped aside, pulling the chair opposite his own. "Please."

"Appreciated," she murmured, seating herself with an elegance that seemed less learned than instinctive.

Kyle followed suit, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than was polite.

Up close, her beauty was undeniable. It was honed, deliberate. Sharp cheekbones, a flawless nose, lips set in that faintly unreadable line.

There was a weight in her presence, something that made it impossible to look away.

A waiter appeared almost immediately, placing a porcelain cup before her and pouring from a silver pot with quiet efficiency.

"Your usual, Miss Veyl."

"Thank you, Liam."

’Your usual huh. So, she was a regular here.’

Kyle tucked the thought away.

The waiter bowed and vanished as quickly as he’d come, leaving the air still.

Elizabeth lifted her cup, sipping slowly.

Every movement was precise, rehearsed, as though even the act of drinking tea could be weaponized into poise.

Noble upbringing, through and through.

Kyle kept his hands steady on the table, refusing to fidget.

"So," he began, voice light but edged with curiosity, "You come here often, Miss Veyl?"

Elizabeth’s gaze flicked briefly toward the window, as if taking a moment to consider whether answering was worth her time.

Then her eyes returned to him with calm, composed and unreadable.

"Yes. Occasionally," she said smoothly. "They serve good green tea here. You should try it sometime."

Kyle gave a faint, polite smile. "Ahh. No, it’s alright. I don’t like green tea."

Her lips curved the slightest bit, just enough to suggest amusement without losing her poise.

"Oh my. That’s a shame, then."

For a second, she simply studied him, her gaze moving from the dark blue of his tailored shirt to the way his hair caught the sunlight spilling through the tall windows.

"I thought," she said, tilting her head slightly, "you had black hair. Like Instructor Aurelia."

Kyle gave a small shrug.

"Yeah. They used to be black, like my sister’s."

Her eyes lingered on him a moment longer, almost as if she were weighing something.

"Then how did it turn white?"

Kyle’s fingers tightened slightly around his coffee cup. His eye twitched just barely. A movement so small most wouldn’t notice. But Elizabeth wasn’t "most."

She was testing him.

He took a measured sip before replying.

"It’s a long story. One that isn’t very entertaining for a first meeting."

Her smile remained faint, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she shifted gracefully in her seat, letting her hands rest lightly on the table.

"You handle yourself well for someone with commoner background," she observed.

"And you seem remarkably observant for someone who hasn’t met me before," he returned smoothly.

Her dark eyes glinted, acknowledging the parry.

"Observation is a necessary skill. Especially for those of us raised in certain circles."

"Then perhaps," Kyle said, leaning back slightly, "you’ll tell me what your first impression of me is."

Elizabeth’s gaze flickered over him again.

"You’re polite. Well-mannered. But you watch people more than you should in polite company. It suggests you’re looking for something."

"Sharp," he murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Then I suppose I should return the favor."

Her brows lifted ever so slightly in invitation.

"You carry yourself like someone born into nobility," Kyle said, his voice light, conversational.

"But your posture... it’s too perfect. Like it was drilled into you, rather than grown naturally. You’re deliberate with every movement. Which means you’ve had to earn your place at the table, not just inherit it."

For the first time. He saw a flicker of something in her expression, not surprise, exactly, but a momentary pause before she answered.

"You read people well, Mister Valemont."

"I try," he said, letting the words hang there.

The conversation drifted into safer territory for a time.

They spoke of the Academy, carefully, without revealing too much.

She asked about his classes. He gave polite, unremarkable answers.

He inquired about her studies. She spoke of her affinity for precision magic. The kind that demanded patience and absolute focus.

They complimented the café’s pastries. Elizabeth recommended the lavender sponge cake.

Kyle, with a small smile, admitted he had a weakness for anything with dark chocolate.

The exchange was light, pleasant. Two nobles performing the dance expected of them.

Yet beneath the surface. Each was measuring the other.

Elizabeth’s fingers would occasionally tap once against her cup before she spoke.

A barely-there rhythm, as though she were marking time between questions.

Kyle, meanwhile, shifted his weight subtly, adjusting the line of his shoulders, testing how she reacted when he leaned in closer or sat back.

It was a slow game. One both understood.

And then, after a comfortable lull.

"Sigh"

Kyle let out a long, quiet sigh.

The kind that broke the polite veneer without being abrupt.

He set his cup down gently, leaning back into his chair.

His voice shifted. Not cold, but stripped of the soft edges nobles used when entertaining formalities.

"Let’s stop pretending, Senior Elizabeth."

Elizabeth’s brows drew together ever so slightly, though her voice remained calm.

"I’m not sure what you mean, Mister Valemont."

Kyle’s gaze locked onto hers. "You don’t want this marriage. Neither do I."

For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The quiet hum of the café seemed suddenly more distant. The clink of silverware muted beneath the weight of his words.

Elizabeth’s lips curved in the faintest, practiced smile.

"That’s a bold assumption to make at a first meeting."

"Not an assumption," Kyle said, his tone steady. "An observation."

Her fingers stilled against her cup.

He leaned forward now, elbows resting lightly on the table. His voice was lower, deliberate.

"I might have some information you’ve been looking for."

Her gaze sharpened, but her tone remained cool.

"And what would that be?"

Kyle didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied her, really studied her.

The way one would study a locked door, looking for the keyhole.

When he spoke again. It was with measured precision.

"Miss Elizabeth..."

He held her eyes. The moment stretching just long enough to demand her full attention.

And then, with the weight of a secret dropped into still water, he said it.

"...Duvain."

The name hung between them.

For the first time, her composure cracked.

Her eyes widened.

——————