Ascension Of The Villain

The next morning, the grand halls of the imperial palace stretched before Vyan as he approached the trial that awaited him. The accusation of murder hung heavy with whispers, yet he walked completely unbothered and confident, as if nobody's scrutiny could touch him.

Clyde trailed behind. His presence was unusually quiet, and Vyan could practically feel the tension radiating from him.

"Do you think this plan will work?" Clyde asked, his tone more conversational than concerned, but Vyan caught the nervous edge in his aide's voice.

"Why wouldn't it? This is a noble tradition, after all," Vyan mused.

Clyde huffed a laugh, though it lacked true amusement. "It's absurd, really. The idea that you would take this path—"

Before he could finish, a figure caught his eyes at the far end of the hall. Her dress, once a regal shade of brightness, was now wrinkled and black, her lively face drawn and pale.

Daphne, Marquess Robin Mathew Ryen's wife, stood like a ghost before them, her gaze fixated on Vyan with an intensity that made Clyde's hand twitch toward his side, ready to step in.

Vyan held up a hand, stopping him. "I will handle this," he said softly, his gaze locked on the broken woman before him.

He moved forward, his previous sharpness tempered with something softer, though only slightly. When he stood before Daphne, her eyes, red and swollen from what seemed like endless tears, met his.

He offered her a warm greeting, one laced with a note of condolence, as though he could extend some small mercy in this twisted situation.

"Daphne," Vyan sounded convincing, though his heart felt none of it for her husband. "I—I am sorry for your loss. Truly."

The lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly. Robin had deserved his fate; an abusive man who wielded his power over his wife like a whip, leaving scars that Daphne wasn't able to show anyone.

Therefore, while he might not have gone to the lengths of murdering him, Vyan felt no guilt for his death, either. Nevertheless, his chest tightened at the sight of someone he once considered his sister.

And to think, her life shattered just after meeting him. That she was widowed for exposing Vyan.

It made him feel kind of responsible for her sadness. Because he knew that she was pregnant and she wanted to give birth to this child. But the stress that Robin's death has caused her…

Vyan just prayed that she didn't have another miscarriage like her previous two. He would feel terrible if he broke the love of his brother's life—

Daphne's bloodshot eyes narrowed, and her lip quivered with rage flooding through her. "How could you?" she hissed, her voice thick with both fury and despair. "How could you do this, knowing I am carrying his child?"

Vyan didn't avert his gaze, but behind his eyes, a flicker of something akin to pity stirred. Not for Robin, never for him, but for the woman who stood before him, bound to a man who had only ever brought her suffering.

"Daphne," Vyan began, "I didn't do this. I wouldn't—couldn't hurt you like this. Even if your choice was to stay with him, I wouldn't—"

"Don't lie to me!" she screamed, cutting him off, her voice raw with years of pain, of abuse she had learned to accept as love. "You… you don't understand! He wasn't… he wasn't a monster! He—he could be kind, he—he was my husband!"

Her words were desperate, the pleading tone of someone who had spent years convincing herself of a lie. Vyan didn't flinch as her anger washed over him, didn't move as her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

She looked at him as though he had torn her world apart, and in a way, perhaps he indirectly had—by freeing her from chains she didn't realize she wore.

"I know what you think," she continued, her voice shaking. "That he was some villain, that he deserved to die. But you didn't see him like I did. You didn't know him."

Vyan remained silent, letting her words crash against him like waves against stone. There was no point in arguing, no sense in telling her the truth she wasn't ready to hear. She wasn't shouting at him; she was screaming into the void left by the man she thought she wouldn't be able to tackle the world without.

Little did she realize that she alone was strong enough to rule the march. That this wasn't the end for her. This was only the beginning of a free life.

"I loved him," she whispered, her voice breaking as her tears began to fall again. "I loved him, and you took him from me."

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of her sobs. Yet, Vyan didn't offer her words of comfort, knowing they would mean nothing now. But in his silence, there was a strange sort of understanding—one that she would never see, but that lingered nonetheless.

Daphne stepped back, wiping her eyes harshly with the back of her hand. "I hope you know that your brother would have never condoned you for doing something like this. So, suffer for what you have done," she spat before she turned on her heel and fled down the corridor.

Vyan watched her retreat, his expression unreadable, his heart as still as the stone beneath his feet.

Clyde approached cautiously, glancing after Daphne before looking to Vyan. "Are you—"

"Fine," Vyan interrupted, his voice flat. "But I just need some fresh air before the trial starts."

———

Vyan inhaled the crisp air, letting the cool breeze wash over him, its refreshing touch settling his nerves. He hadn't realized how much time had passed until his gaze caught the sun dipping lower than expected. A sharp jolt of realization hit him.

"Shit."

Without wasting another second, he turned on his heels and rushed toward the imperial court.

The moment he entered, the atmosphere hit him like a wall. Every single head turned to look at him. For a split second, Vyan froze, his wine-red eyes scanning the room with an expression that could only be described as confused irritation.

"... What?"

His eyes then landed on the man in the center of the room, on his knees, wrists bound in handcuffs, his head lowered before Empress Jade, who sat regally on her throne. Stay updated via mvl

Vyan glanced around, spotting Iyana standing a few feet closer than Clyde. He moved swiftly and quietly to her side, leaning in with a low whisper. "What the hell is going on?"

Iyana subtlh shifted her eyes toward him, her voice barely audible but carrying weight nonetheless, "Someone just confessed to murdering Marquess Ryen."

For a moment, Vyan just blinked, his brain processing her words as if they were in another language. Then, his brows shot up, and a disbelieving whisper slipped from his lips.

"What the actual f—?"