Golden Arrow - Chapter 8

8. A Belated Proposal

After finishing her short walk, Psyche returned to her room in a daze—quite the opposite of Eurus, who remained composed.

The life Psyche had envisioned for herself was relatively clear and straightforward. She liked certain realities and definite decisions. She had accepted the sudden prospect of marriage in the same manner. It was an unchallengeable royal command, a way to salvage her family’s decline, and something Scotlin nobles had turned their backs on. Her decision had solid reasons.

She had expected her future to unfold in a similarly clear and predictable way. A great noble family from Ingrint would have no particular expectations of her. Psyche planned to live fulfilling her role as a spouse, nothing more. She had excluded any romantic ideals from the start. There was no room for such sentiments in this marriage, and she had no complaints about it.

But after meeting Eurus, the clear boundaries she had set began to blur. His demeanor was ambiguous. It seemed as though he were observing her, yet indifferent to her. He seemed to know her, yet he also appeared not to know her at all. Psyche hadn’t expected this kind of behavior. Now, she found herself genuinely curious about the reason behind his words and actions. Sighing, she tried to gather the scattered thoughts Eurus had disrupted.

“My lady, you have a visitor.”

Clarissa entered the room, looking uneasy.

“A visitor? At this hour? Who is it?” Psyche asked in surprise.

“It’s Lord Wallace.”

“Malcolm Wallace?”

“Yes.”

Psyche staggered as she rose to her feet. Malcolm Wallace was the last person she wanted to see in this situation. He was the eldest son of Earl Wallace—the man who had flatly rejected her plea. While she bore no grudge against the Earl, she couldn’t help but feel hurt. It was a kind of betrayal, considering the Earl had been her late father’s long-time friend and her godfather.

Psyche had first met Malcolm Wallace when she was fourteen, and he had been sixteen. Her first impression of him had been that he was a kind man—nothing more, nothing less. He had been an innocent young man who couldn’t hide his flushed face whenever he looked at her. Their fathers often joked about their engagement, and each time, Malcolm’s face would turn red as if it were on fire.

The Wallace family had a proud history as warriors who led Scotlin in its wars against Ingrint centuries ago. Their founder, Billy Wallace, had been a hero and guardian of Scotlin. He had won countless battles and beheaded enemy commanders before he was captured by the Ingrint army, sentenced for treason, and executed by being torn limb from limb. After his death, his descendants formed the Wallace family and continued to earn the respect of the Scotlin people.

Yet, despite their storied legacy, the current Earl of Wallace had bent low under Ingrint’s rule. Malcolm Wallace despised his father for this. Upon reaching adulthood, he left the estate after being knighted, vowing to join the Scotlin independence army.

The Earl had, of course, hidden this fact as best he could. Publicly, Malcolm Wallace was said to be on a Grand Tour in Italine. If he were to cross paths with the guests from Ingrint, the consequences would be far graver than those of smuggling whiskey.

“Lead him to the garden. It’s better if I meet him there.”

Psyche quickly pinned up her hair again and chose a conservative dress that covered her neck down to her chin. She wore gloves to complete her outfit. With Eurus and his friend still in the castle, she dressed as modestly as possible before meeting another man.

As she stepped into the garden, a tall man emerged abruptly from the shadows of the trees. The stench of alcohol clung to him. Psyche pressed her lips together before greeting him as politely as she could.

“Lord Wallace. What brings you here at this late hour?”

“Is it true that you’re getting married?”

Malcolm Wallace’s tone was sharp, accusatory. His hostility annoyed Psyche, but she answered him with resignation.

“Yes, it’s true.”

“Why didn’t you ask me? I only just heard about this.”

“I recall sending a letter to the Wallace family.”

“That was my father’s doing. If I had been at the estate, this never would have happened.”

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s over.”

Psyche’s calm reply made Malcolm’s face twisted with anger.

“Call it off. Cancel the wedding now.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You’re a Scotlin woman. You don’t have to follow the damned Ingrint Queen’s orders.”

“Doesn’t the Wallace family also pay taxes to the Ingrint Queen?”

Malcolm Wallace fell silent at her words, his tightly clenched mouth twitching.

“Please leave. There are guests from Ingrint staying at the castle right now.”

“What does that matter?”

“Do you need me to explain? It could be dangerous. If they see you, they might call the Ingrint army.”

Psyche’s voice dropped to an anxious whisper as she glanced nervously toward the castle.

“I don’t care. Instead of worrying about me, you should worry about yourself.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

At her words, Malcolm’s expression softened into something more serious.

“I worry about you, Psyche.”

His voice was heavy, perhaps even trembling slightly.

“I’ve loved you for a long time. My situation… it hasn’t been stable, so I couldn’t tell you sooner.”

“Lord Wallace.”

Psyche looked at him calmly. She had always known his feelings. She hadn’t completely disliked him, either. But the timing of his confession could not have been worse.

“I love you, Psyche.”

“Please stop.”

Tears burned behind Psyche’s eyes at his heartfelt confession.

Even if her heart didn’t belong to him, she couldn’t help but feel grateful for his words. Knowing that someone had cared for the “ghost of Galloway Castle,” someone no one else had wanted, was a small comfort.

“It’s not too late.”

Malcolm knelt on one knee.

“For heaven’s sake, Lord Wallace, please don’t do this.”

But a proposal was another matter. She couldn’t allow the firm conclusion—“Psyche Stuart will marry Deimos Cavendish”—to be muddled like this.

“Marry me.”

“……”

Psyche opened her mouth but found no words.

“Come with me. Life in the independence army won’t be easy, but it will be better than being scorned in Ingrint.”

From his pocket, Malcolm took out two rings. They weren’t family heirlooms; they were crude, heavy bands crafted from spent bullet casings.

“I often thought of you during my training. I resolved that one day I would propose to you. I didn’t expect it to happen like this.”

He held out the smaller of the two rings, waiting for her to offer her left hand.

Psyche sighed. This pure-hearted man had no plan. Life in an independence army camp? What about the people remaining at Galloway Castle? What about the estate? The Queen’s command? The Wallace family? Even if she did run away with him, a mountain of insurmountable problems awaited her.

“I’m sorry, Lord Wallace. I cannot accept your proposal.”

She chewed on her lip, holding back the full extent of her thoughts. There was no need to argue.

“Why not?”

Malcolm stood up, striding toward her in disbelief. Psyche instinctively stepped back.

“Why can’t you accept my proposal?”

“It’s the Queen’s command. I won’t let others suffer because of me.”

“When did Psyche Stuart become a loyal servant of the Ingrint Queen? Is it because you share the same blood?”

The tender look in Malcolm’s eyes turned fiery again.

“Sorry, but I’ll head in now. Be careful on your way back.”

Looking straight into his heated face, Psyche offered a cold farewell. Any further conversation was meaningless. She took back her earlier thought of being grateful to him for loving the resident ghost of Galloway Castle. He was like an impenetrable stone wall that couldn’t be reasoned with.

“I can’t let you go.”

Malcolm shook his head and grabbed her arm tightly.

“Malcolm!”

Her voice made him flinch, but he quickly recovered and pulled her into the secluded corner of the garden. Psyche yanked off her glove, freeing her arm, and the glove dropped to the ground. Malcolm stopped and turned back to her. Without warning, he wrapped her in his arms.

“Malcolm, please! Don’t do this.”

The man’s burning body heat wrapped around her, pressing on every nerve. Psyche’s mind began to fray. If she screamed, she might draw attention from the Ingrint guests; if she didn’t, she felt as though she might be dragged off.

His large, thick hands fumbled down Psyche’s back and reached her waist. Her body, as she held her breath, felt like it was swelling up, on the verge of bursting like an overinflated balloon. She blankly stared at Malcolm’s lips slowly approaching her face, and when she realized what was happening, tension seized her.

It was at that moment—a single arrow narrowly brushed past them and embedded itself into the tree trunk right beside them.

***