The Transmigrated Villain Claims the Heroines!

Chapter 69: Faye’s Own Troubles

Today marked another day of the conclave. It was also the second day Faye had to endure without Cassian by her side, especially after he had been the one to excuse himself from accompanying her.

The rest of the empire’s nobles had already prepared themselves, like vultures circling helpless prey.

To them, Faye was nothing more than a naive noble putting on a brave front, a girl to be manipulated in hopes of earning the good graces of the legendary Duke Noctierre.

And they were well aware that the Duke himself was occupied in his capital, overseeing its defenses. To them, this was the perfect opportunity to prey on the Duke’s fiancée.

Faye smoothed the front of her dress, a deep emerald green that Cassian had chosen for her before he left, and stepped through the towering doors of the conclave hall.

The room fell silent.

Not out of respect. Out of assessment. She could feel their eyes on her, weighing her, measuring her, searching for the cracks they could wedge their claws into.

’Let them look.’

She lifted her chin and walked toward her designated seating, her heels clicking against the polished marble in a steady, unhurried rhythm. The dress whispered against the floor, the fabric catching the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead.

"Lady Amberlyne."

A voice called out before she’d even reached her seat. Faye turned, schooling her expression into pleasant neutrality.

Baron Vallencourt approached, his smile wide and his eyes narrow. He was a portly man with oiled hair and fingers heavy with rings, the kind of noble who had survived decades of imperial politics by attaching himself to stronger houses and squeezing until they noticed him.

"Baron Vallencourt." Faye inclined her head, neither shallow nor deep enough to be disrespectful. "I trust you’re well?"

"Well enough, well enough." He waved a hand dismissively, falling into step beside her as she resumed walking. "But the real question, my dear, is how are you holding up? With His Grace away, I can only imagine the burden on your shoulders."

"I’m managing."

"Managing!" He laughed, a wet, phlegmy sound. "Such modesty. Surely the Duke’s betrothed deserves more than mere ’managing.’ If there’s anything my house can do to ease your troubles, anything at all, you need only ask."

Faye kept her smile in place, even as Baron Vallencourt’s words slithered through the air between them. She’d heard variations of this speech a dozen times already.

Everyone wanted to help. Everyone had connections, resources, or influence they were eager to share. And every single one of them wanted something in return.

"That’s very kind of you, Baron." She reached her designated seat and turned to face him, not sitting yet. Standing gave her the advantage of height, even if only slightly. "I’ll be sure to keep your offer in mind."

Vallencourt’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. He’d expected her to sit, to invite him to continue the conversation. Her refusal to settle into the trap was a deflection he hadn’t anticipated.

"Lady Amberlyne—"

"If you’ll excuse me." Faye tilted her head toward the front of the hall, where other dignitaries were already taking their places. "I believe the conclave is about to begin."

She didn’t wait for his response. She sat, arranging her skirts with deliberate calm, and fixed her gaze on the raised dais at the front of the hall where the imperial representatives would soon speak.

Vallencourt lingered for a moment, his shadow falling across her. Then he huffed quietly and retreated to his own seat several rows back.

Faye’s hands, hidden in the folds of her dress, unclenched.

’One down. Gods only know how many more to go.’

The conclave hall filled slowly, nobles trickling in by twos and threes, their conversations a low hum beneath the crystal chandeliers. Faye kept her eyes forward, but she felt every gaze that lingered on her too long, heard every whisper that sharpened as it passed her direction.

’Cassian.’ She thought. ’You owe me for this.’

The imperial herald stepped onto the dais, and the hall fell silent.

"Esteemed lords and ladies of the realm," the herald began, his voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the chamber, "the Conclave of the Golden District is now in session."

***

As soon as the conclave ended, Faye made straight for the Duke’s carriage to return to his estate. With everything going on, she was the most vulnerable person in the empire.

That alone was enough for Cassian to insist she remain at his estate under the protection of his guards. As far as he knew, assassination was still a very real possibility.

"That went well... I’m surprised not many people tried to coax me into an affair this time."

Faye muttered to herself, her composure fraying under the weight of so many predatory stares. She did her best to take in the information discussed during the conclave.

But plenty of it slipped past her whenever some irritating fool took Cassian’s seat beside her for a bit of ’small talk.’

"Hopefully this’ll—"

FWOOSH!

The carriage suddenly ground to a halt in the middle of the road, catching Faye off guard and jolting her out of her slump.

"What’s going on...?"

"My lady... there’s a duke standing in the middle of our path..."

"What!?"

The carriage door swung open before Faye could respond, and a hand appeared, elegant, gloved in white, extended in invitation.

"Lady Amberlyne."

The voice was warm, cultivated, the kind of voice that had been shaped by generations of breeding and tutors. Faye looked past the hand and saw the man it belonged to.

Duke Valerius Marchel.

He was tall, silver-haired despite being barely past forty, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of winter. His coat was deep blue velvet trimmed in gold, and the crest on his collar marked him as the head of one of the empire’s oldest and most powerful houses.

In the novel, Valerius had been a background character. A rival to Cassian’s power, yes, but never a direct threat. He was too cautious for that, too patient.

"Duke Marchel." She didn’t take his hand. "This is unexpected."

"Is it?" He smiled, unbothered by her refusal. "I merely wished to offer my congratulations. Your performance in the conclave today was... impressive."

"I spoke three times. All on matters of logistics."

"And yet you commanded the room each time." Valerius let his hand drop, still smiling. "The other houses noticed. They’ll be watching you more closely now."

Faye’s jaw tightened. "Is that a warning?"

"It’s an observation." He stepped back, giving her space, his posture open and unthreatening. "The Duke Noctierre is fortunate to have someone like you at his side. I merely wanted to say so in person."

The carriage driver shifted uneasily on his seat, his hand hovering near the pistol at his belt. The guards riding escort had their hands on their sword hilts, watching Valerius with undisguised suspicion.

Faye understood their tension. Valerius had stopped them in the middle of the road. He’d approached without guards of his own, without any of the ceremony that usually accompanied an encounter between dukes. He was either very confident or very desperate.

"Your sentiments are noted," Faye said carefully. "Is there anything else?"

Valerius laughed, a low, genuine sound. "Direct. I like that."

He inclined his head, eyes never leaving hers. "No, Lady Amberlyne. That’s all I came to say. I look forward to seeing what you accomplish in the coming days."

He stepped back further, raising a hand in casual farewell. Then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of nobles and servants that still milled about the conclave grounds.

The carriage driver exhaled. "My lady, should we—"

"Close the door. Keep moving."