The group at the round table enjoyed their meal and drinks while watching the performance prepared especially for the night. Ammalia Cassalanter smiled often, chatting with Charles about the city’s latest gossip, while Charles responded with witty banter—as if they were not old rivals but longtime friends. Both host and guest seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves.

Time ticked by unnoticed—nearly three hours slipped away. Charles showed no sign of being drunk, but to be polite, he pretended to be a little tipsy.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, he prepared to take his leave. "Thank you, Lady Ammalia, for your wonderful hospitality tonight, but it’s getting late, so..."

As he said this, he saw Ammalia Cassalanter’s face suddenly tighten with urgency. She stood up quickly, trying to keep him a little longer: "Lord Charles, please, don’t rush off! Sit down, there is still something else I must discuss with you."

At Charles’s side, Sephera watched her carefully, a sly smile flickering deep in her eyes. Charles sat back down. "What is it?" he asked.

"It’s like this, Lord Charles. Truly, I invited you tonight because I have a rather difficult favor to ask," Ammalia Cassalanter said.

Charles’s expression shifted slightly. "Go on."

Ammalia seemed to weigh her words. "You were able to protect those girls involved in the incident and shield them from reporters who are experts at twisting the truth. For that, we’re truly grateful."

"But, you see, many of those girls are actually key members of my dance troupes. With upcoming performances, every lead needs to rehearse rigorously—but now..."

She gave an awkward smile. "A lot of the main performers are still with you. It’s seriously putting a damper on our artistic production."

"So, I wanted to ask—could you possibly find a time to bring those girls here, to my estate, so I can keep them safe myself?"

Ammalia offered the suggestion with what looked like genuine care, as though she was making a heartfelt appeal.

Of course, Charles would never agree. The moment he heard this, he put on a troubled look. "It’s not that I don’t want to let them all go home. Honestly, having so many girls in my monastery is starting to disrupt our daily routines and training as well."

"But the problem is, I really can’t risk letting them go out right now." He changed the subject. "My monastery is surrounded day and night by reporters, both obvious and covert."

"If I tried to move them, those people would swarm in, bombarding them with questions. And I can’t just use force to drive them off. If anything at all happened in the commotion, they’d make something up, no matter the truth."

He looked pained as he refused, shaking his head. "Sorry, but I just can’t guarantee it would work out safely. I must ask you to wait a little longer. Once the public’s attention fades and the reporters lose interest, I’ll get the girls to you right away."

Charles gave this excuse with such conviction that Ammalia seethed inwardly, but still maintained her gentle smile. "As expected, Lord Charles, you think everything through so thoroughly! I’m just being a bit too impatient."

She went on, "It is quite late. Lord Charles, Miss Sephera, why don’t you both spend the night here?"

Charles waved her off politely. "No, no, but thank you, Lady Cassalanter. I have plenty of business at the monastery—I can’t be away for long..."

Just then, Charles suddenly heard Sephera’s whispered voice in his mind.

Moments later, his eyelids began to droop uncontrollably, and his body slumped onto the tabletop—completely unconscious.

Beside him, Sephera’s head lolled to the side, and she too sank into a deep, deathlike sleep next to Charles.

Across the table, Ammalia Cassalanter clutched her chest in relief, exhaling heavily: "Gods, I thought I’d been sold fake poison!"

She looked at the two out-cold guests and couldn’t help but curse under her breath. "They can drink! I’ve been drugging him since his first sip, and only now, after three hours, does he finally collapse!"

"I was about to think this stuff doesn’t even work on him. Talk about nerve-wracking!"

Muttering to herself, she walked over and twisted Charles’s head, examining his face and snapping, "Pretty boy—gods know who you’ve buttered up to, that everyone values you so much!"

Behind her, her taciturn, scrawny husband finally murmured, "Can I go now?"

Ammalia waved him away irritably. "Go! Go play with your little toys, whatever."

The man got up and shuffled toward his room. Ammalia took a big breath, then called out, "Guards! Come cart Charles to the basement—I’m handling him personally later!"

Several guards entered, lifting the limp, completely unresponsive Charles and carrying him away.

At that moment, one of Ammalia’s sons approached, eyes glinting lecherously as he stared at the unconscious Sephera. "Mother, what about this woman? Maybe I could..."

"No." Ammalia instantly knew what her son meant. "He’s a noble now, and everyone saw him at our party. Nothing can happen to him or his company. Not a scratch."

"Put her in a guest room and keep her comfortable. When Lord Murphy finishes checking Charles, I’ll explain that he just got drunk, blacked out, and spent the night here."

She snorted after that, adding, "He’ll even get wasted, fool around with a few dancers, and take full advantage of our hospitality!"

"But I honestly don’t care as long as it ends there. He can’t come to any real harm, or the mess afterwards would be a nightmare!"

Every dancer performing at the banquet tonight had been picked to tempt Charles. Ammalia had it all planned: whichever he showed a preference for, those girls would be sent to his bed.

This, to Ammalia, was how noble schemes worked. She’d done the same thing to allies and rivals alike, and everyone knew to look the other way. In the end, no one truly got hurt, and nobody ever tore up their alliances because of it.

Her son, disappointed and sullen, stifled his lust. He sent several guards in to pick up Sephera and carry her to a guest room.

Left with no better outlet, he stomped back to his own room and summoned one of the other dancers to help him relieve his frustration.

Sephera, looking utterly drugged, was dead asleep as two guards carried her up to a clean and tidy guest room on the second floor.

They laid her on the bed, preparing to leave and summon a maid to undress her and settle her in. As one was turning to leave, the other suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Hey, man, you’re just going to walk away from a woman this gorgeous? Matriarch said hands off, but you’re really okay with that?" one of the guards muttered. "Are you even a man?"

The other hesitated. "But she’s an important guest. If we’re caught, we’re dead—"

"What are you scared of?" the first hissed. "She’s drugged out of her mind—she won’t feel a thing! We’ll clean her up afterward, no one will ever know."

"And if she does wake up? We threaten her to keep quiet. Simple. Don’t be an idiot!"

The suggestion was enough to break the other’s willpower. Driven by base instinct, he gritted his teeth. "Fine. Strip her."

But in that instant, Sephera’s eyes flew open—vertical pupils flashing like a serpent’s, pulsing with cold, murderous intent.

The two guards instantly felt frozen to the bone; it was as if they were facing not a weak young woman just roused from her stupor, but some ancient, savage beast.

In the next moment, a cloud of deadly green poison filled the room, swallowing them whole in the blink of an eye.

~~~

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