The Villainous Marquis Is Obsessed With Me

Chapter 72: True Protectors

Vincent led her deeper into the room, the atmosphere shifting dramatically as they passed the relics of his youth. The air turned noticeably colder, sharper, carrying the distinct, metallic scent of oil and whetstone.

This was his personal armory.

Penelope followed closely behind, her eyes staring in pure wonders.

Racks of finely forged swords, heavy lances, and pristine suits of armor lined the stone walls like a silent vanguard. Yet, it was the centerpiece of the room that instantly drew Penelope’s eyes, demanding her undivided attention. She stepped closer, hands on her knees as she leaned in to observe the centerpiece.

Resting upon a dark, velvet-draped pedestal was a mask. It was exquisitely crafted, yet deeply unnerving—forged from a dark, matte metal that seemed to swallow the ambient torchlight. Its contours were sharp and aggressively angular, designed to completely obscure any trace of human emotion. Narrow, predatory slits served as eyeholes, tapering down to a stylized, skeletal jawline.

It was a visage undeniably engineered to strike absolute terror into the hearts of his enemies on the battlefield, yet it held an undeniable, intimidating majesty that she couldn’t look away from. In truth, she had never seen anything like it before.

Directly behind the mask, mounted securely against the stone wall, hung his true weapon of choice.

Unlike the traditional longswords or slender rapiers favored by the knights and noble warriors of the empire, Vincent wielded a massive twin scythe. The long, obsidian-dark staff was crafted from a dense, unknown material, culminating in a sweeping, brutally curved silver blade. The edge caught the flickering firelight, gleaming like a crescent moon against a midnight sky.

"What dark thoughts were you having to make a scythe your choice of weapon?" Penelope asked, turning her gaze back to him. She didn’t look horrified; instead, her eyes danced with genuine curiosity as her finger pointed toward the intimidating twin blades.

Vincent stepped past the pedestal and reached for the weapon. With a fluid, practiced ease that spoke of absolute mastery, he unmounted the twin scythes, wielding them both in a low, defensive stance. The heavy silver blades cut through the air with a faint, lethal hiss.

"It was during my military academy days," he murmured, staring down the length of the obsidian staff. "I read about the grim reaper in the old texts, and heard stories about what he does, and it caught my interest. Considering what I was bound to become, and what I had already done, I preferred the scythe a lot more. It is a weapon of execution. It does not look to parry or fence; it simply reaps."

Penelope blinked, trying to picture a teenage Vincent sitting in a prestigious academy library, calmly researching the personification of death. "Was it just a random, passing thought?"

"No," Vincent replied, a faint, sharp smirk touching his lips as he spun the weapon effortlessly before locking it back into place against the wall. "It was actually for a mandatory tactical presentation back then. I take every task given to me quite seriously, so I decided to bring my presentation to life on the training grounds. Taking down one of the senior knights with a peasant’s harvesting tool... it was one of my most satisfying moments."

"You must have been really occupied with your own world back then," Penelope said softly, realizing he must have gone through a lot in the military academy.

But as she stared at the terrifying mask and the executioner’s blades, a sudden, baffling realization hit her. She frowned, tilting her head.

"But Vince... How did we actually meet? I don’t recall ever encountering you until that day you suddenly marched into the barony to declare our marriage."

No matter how hard Penelope racked her brain, searching through every ball, tea party, and brief trip to the capital she had ever taken, she couldn’t recall a single instance where their paths had crossed. Surely, if she had met a man who carried himself like a walking shadow, she was bound to remember it. Right?

Vincent walked back to her, his long strides closing the distance until he was standing right in front of her. He leaned down slightly, looking directly into her eyes in a way that made her pulse skip a beat. She could feel a sudden heat rising to her face, utterly unable to help how flustered his intense proximity made her.

"Even if you remember, what is the use of the memory?" he asked, tilting his head with a look of quiet amusement. "We are married now. Besides, to be perfectly fair, you did explicitly label me your stalker."

"That’s not it," she muttered, quickly turning her face away to avoid his piercing gaze. A fresh flush of embarrassment burned her cheeks as she remembered her own words. Back then, before she had agreed to marry him, he had seemed to pop up in her life no matter where she went, trailing her movements with an unnerving persistence.

"But can you truly blame me for thinking that?" she argued, looking back at him defensively. "I barely knew you, and you just showed up at my family’s house out of nowhere, demanding to marry me. You even managed to get the King to change his mind regarding your arranged wedding with the Duke’s sister! I was just a baroness so well, I thought... well, to be completely honest, I thought you were sick in the head."

"A creep," he corrected smoothly, his tone dry and entirely unbothered by her past assessment of him.

Penelope chose not to respond to that, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

"My approach made perfect sense to me at the time," he said, straightening back up. "But I can see why it looked that way to you. I knew it did. You put up quite a good fight, Penny, until you finally changed your mind."

He exhaled softly, the low sound echoing in the quiet of the private armory. "If you wish to know why I was so persistent in marrying no one but you, Penelope... then I shall tell you."

Penelope’s eyes widened at that, her heart instantly picking up its pace. She braced herself, her hands instinctively curling into the fabric of her skirts as she prepared for whatever revelation he was about to unveil.

******

Meanwhile, leagues away from the quiet, shadowed depths of the Devereux estate, the atmosphere was entirely different.

Deep within the heart of the Imperial Capital, the sprawling white marble of the Imperial Palace gleamed like a fortress of glass and gold under the starry sky. Inside the grand audience chamber, where the air was thick with the scent of burning incense and heavy silk, a restless tension hung over the court.

Seated upon the massive, gilded throne was the Old Emperor. His posture was slightly stooped with age, but his eyes remained sharp, glittering with a cold, calculative intelligence beneath his heavy crown. He leaned forward, resting a ring-adorned hand on the armrest as he looked down at the kneeling court officials.

"Well?" the Emperor’s voice rasped, cutting through the low murmurs of his advisors. "The summons were dispatched days ago. When exactly is the Marquis of Vandalia expected to arrive at the palace?"

One of the advisors stepped forward, bowing even lower until his forehead nearly brushed the polished marble. "Your Imperial Majesty, he should be here before the week ends. Everyone else will also be arriving before the end of the week."

The Emperor coughed slightly, the sound hollow and rattling in his chest as he covered his mouth with a silk handkerchief.

The court held its collective breath. When he finally regained his composure, he lowered his hand, his eyes flashing with irritation. "It seems everyone is too preoccupied to heed my summons these days."

The advisors shifted uncomfortably, exchanging worried glances. It wasn’t just the lack of punctuality that concerned them, but the visibly failing health of their sovereign.

"They certainly will be here, Your Excellency," the advisor rushed to reassure him, his voice trembling slightly. "I heard some of them received the letters a little late due to the poor weather on the eastern roads, and that could also have led to the delay. That is the reason I firmly believe they will be here before the end of the week."

The Emperor leaned back into the heavy velvet cushions of his throne, his expression grim.

"When the Duke of Belgravia and the Marquis of Vandalia make their way here," he commanded, his sharp gaze cutting across the room. "Have me informed immediately. Those two are who I need to see the most."

The advisors bowed in unison, their voices echoing in the grand, quiet chamber. "Of course, Your Imperial Majesty."

The Emperor didn’t speak anymore. He simply stared out across the vast, empty expanse of the grand audience chamber, his eyes holding the haunted, distant look of a man who was already seeing a future that would not end well for his people.

The crown felt heavier on his brow than it ever had before, a physical reminder of the fragile peace he was desperately trying to hold together. He could feel the cold creep of mortality in his bones; he was already running out of time.

That was precisely why he needed them. The empire was teetering on a precipice, surrounded by sharks within the court and shadows beyond the borders. When the end came, he needed to know the realm would not fracture into chaos. He needed to see the Duke of Belgravia and the Marquis of Vandalia—the only two true protectors of the kingdom he could actually trust to hold the line, regardless of the blood it would cost.