Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 866: How do you know her?

Valeria chewed in reluctant silence, her jaw tight even as the flavors soothed the last tremor of frustration coiled behind her ribs. The pastry was too good for its own damn good—soft, layered, the kind of thing that demanded appreciation even when she didn’t want to give it.

She swallowed.

And—against her better judgment—some of the tension left her shoulders.

Lucavion, of course, noticed. He didn’t say a word. But the glint in his eye deepened, like a cat that had successfully nudged a cup just far enough off the table.

The bastard.

She turned her gaze slightly, watching the crowd. The dancers, the nobles, the glittering rot of conversation spinning around them like gilded wheels. But beneath it all, she could still feel the burn of Elaris’s presence like a lingering scent in her lungs. Cold. Measured. Smiling.

Lucavion’s voice came again, soft, cutting through the orchestra of court life like the flick of a blade’s tip.

”They didn’t leave it at that, did they?”

Valeria’s body stilled.

But she didn’t answer.

Not because she was afraid.

But because speaking it aloud... felt like indulgence.

The weight of what Elaris had said—the veiled threats, the measured cruelty—it sat with her like wine left too long in the glass. Dense. Bitter.

And for some reason...

She didn’t want to talk about it.

Didn’t want to feel like she was recounting it just to show that she’d withstood it.

Like some child listing bruises for praise.

Why?

Why did speaking about it now feel like bragging?

Valeria exhaled through her nose and said nothing.

Lucavion tilted his head slightly, studying her expression with something almost unreadable—then, predictably:

”So... is she someone important?”

Valeria’s eyes narrowed faintly. ”You don’t know her?”

Lucavion raised an eyebrow. ”Do I need to?”

A pause.

And then the smallest, most internal sigh pressed through her.

’Right... this guy is like that.’

The man who could sense danger before it struck, who could name pressure points in a person’s soul with a glance—and yet somehow remained completely oblivious to the political strata of Arcanis. He could slice through a lie like silk, but would forget the name of a Count who ruled half a province.

He knew things no one dared say.

And didn’t know the things everyone else wouldn’t shut up about.

A strange man.

In every sense.

”...Her name is Elaris Vonte,” Valeria said at last, her voice low. ”Daughter of Countess Vonte. One of the Crown Prince’s closest supporters. She’s part of his inner circle—his whispering hand. He sends her when he wants something cut without blood on his boots.”

Lucavion blinked slowly.

Then bit into another pastry.

”Mm,” he said, mouth half-full. ”She’s the one who tried to behead you with compliments earlier.”

Valeria glanced at him.

His tone was dry. But not mocking.

And somehow, that helped.

”Yes,” she said. ”That one.”

Lucavion watched her a moment longer, eyes drifting lazily past the milling courtiers, before he spoke again.

”She doesn’t look scary.”

Valeria raised a brow. ”That’s because you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

He tilted his head, considering. ”Maybe. But a woman’s appearance is rarely related to her scariness anyway.”

That earned him a longer glance. Flat. Measured.

”What do you mean by that?”

Lucavion blinked. Innocent. Too innocent. ”What what?”

She narrowed her eyes. ”You speak like—like there’s something behind that sentence.”

He smiled. Slowly. Wolfishly.

”There is,” he said. ”Take you, for example.”

Valeria felt her spine straighten just a fraction.

Lucavion stepped a hair closer—just enough to lower his voice, just enough for his words to slip beneath the music and settle somewhere near her throat.

”If someone were to look at you,” he said, ”just at your face, your posture, the way your dress fits that—” a pause, deliberate ”—knightly frame of yours...”

She gave him a warning look.

He continued, undeterred.

”...they wouldn’t think enforcer, or sword-arm of Vendor.”

”And what would they think?” she asked dryly.

Lucavion smirked. ”That you were some sort of court muse. A lady meant to be painted beside fountains and marble lions. The kind that makes bards go poor trying to describe her properly.”

Valeria blinked.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks before she could stop it. A pulse of color, stubborn and immediate, rushing upward like it hadn’t learned restraint the way the rest of her had.

It wasn’t a soft kind of flush—it struck high on her cheeks, betraying her even as she straightened her back and tried to summon composure. But her expression had already twisted into that familiar, defensive scowl. Her lips pursed. Her brow tensed.

And then—

”W-What are you even saying?!” she snapped, voice dropping low but sharp enough to slice cleanly through the space between them. ”Don’t go saying such indecent things in public! Are you insane?!”

Lucavion laughed.

Open. Warm. Wicked.

The kind of laugh that rolled through his chest like a taunt dressed in silk, loud enough to draw a passing glance or two from nearby nobles—but not enough to care.

”Oh, stars, there it is,” he said. ”There’s the part where the knight draws her sword because someone dared say she was beautiful.”

”You make it sound perverse!”

”Depends on who’s listening,” he replied smoothly, still grinning. ”I’m fairly sure you’re the only one blushing enough to match your hair right now.”

”I—I am not—!”

He raised an eyebrow. She stopped.

Breathed.

Tried, desperately, to erase the color from her face through willpower alone.

Lucavion just tilted his head, that smile refusing to vanish, before—graciously, finally—changing the subject.

”But speaking of bold choices,” he said lightly, ”I saw you with Lorian’s little star just now.”

Valeria’s mouth closed.

Her expression cooled, just slightly. Controlled again. She folded her arms, gaze shifting toward the edge of the ballroom.

”...You saw that?”

”Of course I did.” Lucavion leaned against a marble column as if he’d been born to lounge in the presence of royalty and threats alike. ”Couldn’t have missed it.”

Lucavion’s gaze lingered on her a second longer—just long enough to make her suspicious—before his smile curved again, softer now. A little lazier. A little too satisfied for her liking.

”You know,” he said, voice low and annoyingly casual, ”you keep drawing everyone’s eyes tonight... but mine never seem to leave you.”

Valeria snapped her head toward him with a glare so sharp it might’ve dented steel.

”Shut up. You are cringe.”

He laughed again—quieter this time. But wholly unrepentant.

”Oh, come now,” he said, gesturing faintly as if to absolve himself, ”I’m just giving credit where it’s due.”

”You’re fishing for a slap.”

”Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said with a grin. ”Still worth it.”

Valeria scoffed and turned her face away, heat nipping at her ears again—but this time she didn’t fluster. Not fully. She held her ground, jaw tense. She wasn’t in the mood for his games tonight—not after what Elaris had done. Not after all those threads were suddenly winding toward her throat.

Lucavion read it. Felt it.

And so, after a pause, he dropped the grin.

”So?” he asked, leaning in slightly. ”What do you think of my opponent?”

Her body stilled.

And just like that, everything else drained.

Her gaze sharpened instantly. Not toward the crowd, not toward the chandeliers, but directly—cleanly—into Lucavion’s eyes.

A breath passed.

And then: ”That girl. Jesse.”

The air around them shifted.

Her voice was quiet. Controlled. But something in it struck down with the weight of an unsheathed blade.

”How do you know her?”