Chapter 360: A Meeting with Oliver

Isolde lay sprawled on the soft training hall mat, panting heavily. She was completely drained. Before Oliver had arrived, she had already been training for over half an hour, and sparring with him had taken another thirty minutes. It was clear—she had been neglecting her training lately. Her stamina had dropped significantly.

Oliver sat beside her, gently wiping the sweat from her forehead. “I heard you lost your temper today,” he remarked.

“Yes,” Isolde turned to face him. “Got a problem with that?”

“Regret,” Oliver sighed.

“Regret? It’s not too late. She hasn’t left yet,” Isolde huffed.

“I regret not witnessing your moment of glory firsthand,” he teased, giving her nose a playful pinch. “What did you think I meant?”

“I thought you’d be reluctant to see her go,” Isolde chuckled.

Oliver scoffed. “I wanted her gone ages ago. If you hadn’t stepped in, I would’ve thrown her out myself.” His voice carried an unmistakable edge—his home had no place for another woman, not even in name.

“She’s still here for now, but I doubt she’ll last another two days,” Isolde mused.

“I heard Arthur had some harsh words today.”

“Hattie told you?”

“Mm.” A fleeting chill flickered in Oliver’s gaze.

Isolde propped her forehead against her hand. “Did Hattie also tell you that I had harsher words for him?”

“She said you stood up for me.”

“I’m protective.”

“Thank you.” Oliver’s smile softened, warm and genuine.

“I thought you’d blame me for bringing that up.” After all, when he was publicly rejected, he had kept his emotions in check, but she knew—he had felt humiliated.

“Blame you? Why would I? Having someone as fierce as you on my side is an honor,” he said. Having her was enough to erase any past humiliation.

Happiness glowed on his face as he gazed at her, her cheeks flushed from exertion, her eyes gleaming with vitality. Fingers entwined, Isolde rested her head on his lap and let out a long breath. “Morning court tomorrow?”

Cristina’s matter seemed to have blown over. But not entirely. Cristina was unwilling to give up so easily. She sent word, requesting to see Oliver. He refused outright. “There’s nothing to say to her.”

Unyielding, Cristina turned to Allan. She sincerely admitted her mistakes and declared that she was leaving, but before she left, she only wished for a final meeting with Oliver—to settle past grievances so neither would hold resentment.

Allan, seeing her repentant, softened. Since she was leaving anyway, there was no harm in a last conversation. He sent word to Oliver, asking him to go.

Oliver had no intention of going. But Isolde said, “Go ahead. I can already guess what tricks she’ll try—nothing worth worrying about.”

“I have nothing to say to her.”

“End things properly.”

“Lady Isolde, are you afraid of offending Allan?” Hattie asked.

“It’s not about fear,” Isolde replied calmly. “Allan has always been good to Oliver, treating him like his own grandson. He’s been kind to us—I respect that. Why offend him over something so trivial? It’s not worth it.”

Oliver found her reasoning sound. “Fine. I’ll go and be back soon.”

He grabbed a cloak, called for Miniro, and left. As soon as he stepped out, Hattie turned to Isolde. “Can you guess what Cristina is planning?”

“I can.”

“The usual—cry, scream, threaten suicide?”

“She wouldn’t do that in front of Oliver. She’s always looked down on him. She wouldn’t lower herself like that. No, she’ll hold her head high and make a grand accusation. If I’m not mistaken, she’s probably burning incense in the room right now.”

Hattie’s expression darkened. “Incense? That’s low.”

“That’s the only way she can stay in the Valen family.”

“She’s not afraid you’ll make her suffer?”

“Arthur might believe her, but she doesn’t believe I will. A pampered noblewoman like her knows the world. She thinks that if she and Oliver…consummate their relationship, he will protect her.”

Isolde pondered for a moment before beckoning Hattie closer. Lowering her voice, she whispered, “Hattie, if she really has lit the incense, don’t rush in right away. Let’s see if he can resist it.”

“Good point.” Hattie turned and left.

Cristina’s schemes played out exactly as Isolde had predicted. Her belongings remained unpacked, but that evening, she sent Mell to buy aphrodisiac incense. She had to stay. Not because she had nowhere else to go—if she returned home, she could still find another marriage. But after realizing she had no hope with Johnathan, after her heartbreak and despair, something changed. When Oliver returned from his victorious campaign in Zloimond, he suddenly seemed….different. The man she had once dismissed, the man she had never deemed worthy—was now appearing in her dreams. She no longer dreamed of Johnathan. Now, it was Oliver. Even the memories of his ragged blue robes, his defiant, unrestrained demeanor—everything about him made her heart race.

Cristina knew she had made a mistake. She regretted it. But she would never admit it. She could not bear the humiliation. Unlike her obsession with Johnathan, she was convinced Oliver could never truly ignore her. She believed it was Isolde who refused to let her stay, who had seized the chance to drive her out the moment Oliver was away. Yet this time, it was different. She did not want to serve Oliver—she wanted him to serve her. To love her, to worship her, to suffer for her. It was this very pain that made her fall even deeper. And so, she was willing to risk everything.

After returning from Allan’s, Cristina carefully applied her makeup, meticulously painting her brows, dressing herself in a deep red gown. In the copper mirror, her reflection was exquisite—flawless skin, delicate features, a beauty far superior to Isolde’s. She did not believe Oliver would remain unmoved.

“Lady Cristina, he’s here,” Mell hurried in.

Cristina’s eyes sharpened. In a steady voice, she commanded, “Light the incense.”

She took a piece of sandalwood, set it alight, and placed it inside. The incense began to burn. Mell and Evie dabbed oil beneath their noses as protection, then stepped aside.

The room was warm, a charcoal brazier glowing in the corner. Two candles flickered, their light casting shifting shadows across the walls. When Oliver entered, Mell and Evie greeted him and then retreated, closing the door behind them.

“The wind is strong,” they murmured. “Lady Cristina is delicate.”