Chapter 56: Cedric Valtaine
"Welcome to Moonlight Rest," one of them said with a courteous smile. "Table for two?"
"Yes," Isolde answered with the easy confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before.
Oliver, on the other hand, stood there stiffly, glancing around like he’d just walked into a noble’s mansion by mistake.
The host led them to a private corner table draped in white linen. The chairs were cushioned and far too comfortable for Oliver’s liking — as though they were designed to lull you into spending more money.
~~~~~
The menu was next.
Oliver frowned at the leather-bound booklet, scanning the contents with growing unease.
"Truffled basilisk stew... Bloodhawk egg omelet... wyvern tail roast..." he muttered, trying to sound them out under his breath. "Who the hell eats this stuff?"
"You do," Isolde said smoothly, already handing her menu back to the waiter.
"What did you even order?" Oliver asked suspiciously.
"You’ll see." She smirked. "Trust me, it’ll be good."
He sighed, closing his own menu in defeat. "Fine. Just don’t bankrupt me again."
~~~~~
The drinks arrived first — tall crystal glasses filled with sparkling wine.
Oliver eyed his cautiously. "This stuff is probably worth more than my boots."
"Then drink it slowly," Isolde teased, clinking her glass against his.
As the meal continued, Oliver started to relax. The food was fancy, sure — but it was delicious. Tender cuts of roasted wyvern tail, fresh vegetables drizzled with herb butter, and a dessert that melted on his tongue.
At some point, Isolde slipped off one of her shoes under the table and brushed her bare foot against Oliver’s calf.
He nearly choked on his drink. "The hell are you doing?"
"Enjoying myself," she said innocently, taking another sip of wine as though she hadn’t just sent his heart rate skyrocketing.
~~~~~
But just as the atmosphere had become comfortable — cozy, even — it happened.
A shadow fell across their table.
"Well, well. What do we have here?"
Oliver turned to see a tall young man in an elaborate noble’s coat, golden hair slicked back perfectly, every inch of him radiating the smug confidence of someone who had never been told no in his life. Behind him stood three attendants, sharp-eyed and dressed in matching black coats — clearly bodyguards or hired muscle.
The noble gave a shallow, lazy bow, as though bestowing them a great honor. "Good evening. Allow me to introduce myself — I am Cedric Valtaine, heir to the esteemed Viscount Valtaine of the Eastern March."
Oliver blinked, unsure whether he was supposed to clap or something.
Cedric’s sharp blue eyes shifted to Isolde, lingering far longer than polite. His lips curled into what he probably thought was a charming smile.
"You are far too exquisite to be dining in a corner table with... well, with company such as this," Cedric said smoothly, gesturing dismissively at Oliver as though he were a piece of furniture. "Why not join me at my table? I can assure you, my dear, your evening will be far more memorable."
Isolde’s crimson eyes narrowed. "No."
Cedric froze for a second, clearly not used to being refused. "I... beg your pardon?"
"You heard me," Isolde said, voice sharp as a blade. "No. I am not interested. Leave."
The nearby tables went quiet, whispers spreading as diners realized they were watching a confrontation.
Cedric’s expression darkened, his charm cracking to reveal annoyance beneath. He turned his gaze from Isolde to Oliver, looking him up and down as though he were some unwashed peasant who had wandered in by mistake.
"So this is your escort for the evening?" Cedric asked with mock incredulity. "Truly, what a waste. I would think a woman of your beauty would have higher standards."
Oliver’s jaw clenched. He felt heat rise to his face, half from embarrassment, half from anger — but he stayed seated, gripping his wine glass tight enough that his knuckles turned white.
"Leave him out of this," Isolde said coldly, her tone dipping several degrees.
Cedric smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. "Oh? And if I refuse?"
He leaned one hand casually on the edge of their table, lowering his voice just enough to make it sound intimate — but loud enough that everyone nearby could still hear.
"You could dine with me, you know. A Valtaine does not extend invitations lightly. I can offer you fine company, protection, influence..." His gaze flicked toward Oliver again, the smirk deepening. "...far more than whatever he can provide."
Oliver opened his mouth to retort, but Isolde was already standing.
She stepped close, close enough that Cedric’s smirk faltered just slightly — her presence was imposing despite her soft smile.
"You should walk away," she said softly, but her voice carried an edge that made Cedric’s attendants shift uncomfortably.
"Excuse me?" Cedric said, his tone dripping with disbelief.
"Before you embarrass yourself any further," she added, crimson eyes glinting dangerously.
Cedric’s smirk twisted into something darker, but the way he hesitated — just for a second — told everyone that the confidence he was projecting was starting to crack.
~~~~
Cedric’s fingers drummed lazily against the tablecloth, but there was nothing casual about the icy look in his eyes.
"So that’s how it is," he said finally, his voice dropping to a quiet, dangerous drawl. "You would rather stay with... him."
He turned to Oliver fully now, sizing him up as if he were a stray dog that had wandered into the establishment.
"You there. Boy," Cedric said, his words cutting. "Do you have any idea whose presence you’re insulting by sitting there like you belong? Do you truly believe you can keep the company of a woman like her?"
Oliver’s grip on his wine glass tightened. Every instinct in him screamed to stand up, to say something, anything — but before he could, Cedric leaned closer, his tone sharpening.
"I am giving you a chance," Cedric said, a cruel smile spreading across his lips. "Stand, walk away from this table, and I might even be generous enough to let you keep your dignity. Stay, and I promise you’ll regret it. People have... disappeared for far less."
Gasps rippled through the nearby tables. Even the restaurant staff had stopped pretending not to listen, some of them frozen in place.
Oliver’s stomach twisted, but before he could react, Isolde stepped between them.
~~~~
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Isolde’s crimson eyes glowed faintly, her mana surging just enough to make the chandelier above them tremble. The air thickened, pressing down on everyone present like an invisible weight.
Cedric’s smug expression faltered as he took an involuntary step back.
"You presume much for a man so small," Isolde said softly, her voice carrying like a blade’s edge through the silent restaurant. "You approach me without invitation. You insult the man I am dining with. And now, you dare to threaten him in front of me?"
Her smile was pleasant — far too pleasant — and that made it all the more terrifying.
"You talk about dignity," she said, her tone turning razor-sharp. "Shall we discuss yours?"
Before Cedric could react, she lifted one hand. A surge of mana wrapped around him like an invisible vice, yanking him a full step forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with her.
"Utter one more word from that filthy mouth of yours and you will curse your mother for bringing you to this world," she said.
Cedric’s face went pale, and a ripple of barely suppressed laughter passed through the restaurant.
"I-I..." Cedric stammered, struggling to recover his composure.
"Leave."
The word cracked through the air like a whip.
Cedric’s attendants immediately stepped forward to escort him away, clearly deciding that living to see tomorrow was more important than preserving their master’s pride.
As they retreated toward the door, Cedric turned back, his face twisted with rage and humiliation.
"This isn’t over," he hissed.
Isolde simply smirked, sitting back down gracefully as though nothing had happened. "Oh, I do hope not," she said lightly. "I’d hate for this to be our last meeting."
The restaurant erupted in hushed murmurs, all eyes still on their table.
~~~~
Oliver sat frozen for a moment, staring at her. Then he exhaled slowly and asked,
"...Why did you go that far?"
Isolde set her wine glass down, blinking at him as though the answer was obvious.
"What do you mean? You’re my man now. How could I just sit there and let some nobody insult my man?"
Oliver clutched his head with both hands, groaning.
"First of all — he was not ’some nobody.’ He was someone from Valtaine family. For your information, this entire town is under his family’s rule!". Even if may be some low-level member, that last names hold weight in this region. And if he is someone from direct lineage then we will surely be in some trouble.
Isolde just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"And secondly—" Oliver lowered his hands and gave her a flat look. "Do you realize how that looked? Me sitting there while the woman does all the fighting? You just made me look even more like a weakling in their eyes."
Isolde leaned back in her chair, clearly unfazed. "Then grow stronger fast," she said simply, swirling the wine in her glass. "So that next time, I won’t have to protect you."
Oliver’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as his frustration boiled over. "That’s not the—!" He stopped mid-sentence, rubbed his face, and let out another groan.
Isolde crossed her arms, crimson eyes flashing with pride. "And what if he is from a viscount family? I was a princess once. The princess of the strongest nation in the world."
Oliver glanced at her, his expression flattening further.
"Was," he said pointedly. "Not anymore."