Chapter 161: Furious King Antonias
King Antonias stood in the doorway.
Blood covered his nose and streaked down from a cut on his forehead. His hair was disordered. One side of his embroidered collar had been torn loose, and his face was red with drunken fury.
The guards beside the doors stood behind him, their hands outstretched as though they had tried and failed to stop him.
As the crowd parted away, Antonias’s eyes fixed immediately on Ulrich.
Then on Kaliantha.
The music faltered.
Albert stopped mid-step with Camellia still in his hand.
Antonias staggered into the ballroom, blood dripping onto the floor as he pointed toward Ulrich.
"Ulrich," Antonias said.
His voice carried across the stunned hall.
"You bastard."
He continued forward with an unsteady gait, drunk and perhaps still dizzy from whatever had happened to him. Blood trickled from his nose, and his face was flushed a deep, ugly red beneath the mess of his hair.
He looked dreadful.
Yet he did not appear to care.
His eyes remained fixed on Ulrich with such open rage that several nobles near the center of the hall stepped back. Antonias did not hide what he wanted to do. His hand kept lifting at his side before falling again, his fingers curling and uncurling as though he could already feel them closing around Ulrich’s throat.
Ulrich did not move.
He stood where he was, composed beneath Antonias’s stare, his posture unchanged despite the King’s approach.
So Antonias had seen him.
Perhaps he had caught sight of Ulrich before the blow had sent him into darkness. Perhaps it had not been part of Ulrich’s plan at all. Or perhaps, somewhere beneath conscious thought, Ulrich had made certain Antonias would remember exactly who had put him on the ground.
If Antonias had not seen him, he would have turned on Louise first.
He would have demanded answers from her. Pressed her until she had no room to escape his questions. He would have put her in a position where every word could be used against her.
Ulrich’s eyes moved past Antonias and across the gathered guests.
Louise stood with the sisters near the edge of the ballroom. Her body had already shifted forward, as though she meant to step into the center of the hall and speak before Antonias could drag her into the matter himself.
Ulrich gave the smallest shake of his head.
Louise stopped reluctantly.
"Husband."
Kaliantha recovered from her surprise before anyone else could speak.
Her voice was not loud, yet it reached Antonias clearly.
"Father, what happened?" Albert asked, staring at the blood on his father’s face. "Are you all right?"
Antonias ignored him.
He passed Albert and Camellia without so much as a glance, his attention fixed on Ulrich. His pace accelerated despite the sway in his steps.
It looked as though he meant to strike Ulrich.
Kaliantha saw it.
The intention was plain enough that she did not need to understand its cause. Whatever Antonias believed Ulrich had done, she could not allow him to raise a hand against a Count in the middle of the royal ballroom, before half the kingdom’s nobility.
She stepped directly into his path.
"Husband."
This time, her voice came colder.
Antonias stopped.
He stood only a short distance from her, blood still slipping down from his nose. His chest rose and fell heavily. He looked past her shoulder toward Ulrich, as though he expected Kaliantha to move aside if he stared long enough.
"You are bleeding," Kaliantha said.
"Yes," Antonias spat. He pointed past her toward Ulrich. "Thanks to that bastard over there."
Every gaze in the ballroom turned toward Ulrich.
Albert’s hand loosened around Camellia’s. The nobles who had been whispering fell quiet. Even the guards near the doors appeared uncertain whether they should be watching their King or the Count he had accused.
Ulrich met Antonias’s stare without changing expression.
"You dare to hit me, Ulrich?" Antonias demanded. "You dare?"
His voice rose as he tried to move around Kaliantha.
She stopped him again.
"Have you lost your mind?" She asked.
"I have lost it, yes!" Antonias shouted. His voice rang against the whole hall. "A mere Count raised a hand against a King! I want his head! Guards!"
The nearest guard flinched.
He took one uncertain step toward Ulrich and reached out, though his hand did not come close enough to touch him.
Ulrich looked at the guard.
That was all it took for the guard to freeze where he stood. His arm remained suspended in the air for a brief second before he slowly lowered it.
Ulrich then turned his gaze toward Antonias.
"These are very grave accusations, Your Majesty," he said.
Antonias glared at him.
"What?"
"I said they are grave accusations." Ulrich’s voice remained calm. "I would not dare strike the King. The thought is absurd."
"What did you say?!"
"Antonias," Kaliantha said again.
"I saw him, Kaliantha!" Antonias shouted. "He hit me against the wall!"
"Why would he do that?" Kaliantha asked.
"I do not know!" Antonias threw one hand into the air, nearly losing his balance as he did so. "Why are you questioning me? Ask this bastard!"
Kaliantha turned toward Ulrich.
Her mismatched eyes fell on him with a stare sharp enough to make the nearby guests lower their heads.
"Is that true?" She asked.
"It is not."
Antonias gave a rough, furious sound.
"Are you saying I am lying, you cunt?!"
"I never said that," Ulrich replied. "Your Majesty is, however, very drunk."
His gaze moved toward the two knights who had entered with Antonias.
"Where did you find him?"
The knights exchanged a glance.
One of them swallowed before speaking.
"U-Um... on the ground, my lord. His glass was shattered beside him. There was wine spilled across the floor."
Kaliantha looked back at Antonias.
Her expression did not soften.
"Wait!" Antonias’s eyes widened. "Do you think I just fell on my own?!"
"Did anyone see you with Ulrich?" Kaliantha asked.
"T-That’s..."
Antonias stopped.
His eyes shifted through the crowd, searching from face to face. Then recognition flashed across his bloodied expression.
"Yes. Louise was there!" He turned sharply. "Where is she?"
"Your Majesty..."
Louise had no choice but to step forward.
She moved out from beside the sisters and into the open space left by the crowd.
Antonias pointed at her.
"You were there, weren’t you?" He asked. "Tell her! You saw Ulrich hit me, right?! You must have seen it!"
Louise looked at him.
"Your Majesty," she said, "I remember having a pleasant chat with you before we parted ways, but I do not remember anything else."
Antonias’s eyes widened.
For a second, he simply stared at her.
Then he turned toward Louise, anger rising across his face as he took a step in her direction.
"You—"
"Antonias. Enough."
Kaliantha stopped him again.
Her voice did not rise. It did not need to.
Antonias turned toward her with a furious, bloodied face, his chest heaving beneath the disordered folds of his ceremonial coat.
"She is lying!" He shouted. "You saw her go with me, did you not? We both left this hall alone!"
Silence fell following his words.
The words spread through the ballroom more quickly than any whisper could have. Faces stiffened among the gathered nobles. A few ladies lowered their eyes. Others looked toward Louise, then immediately away again.
Kaliantha did not move.
Her gaze fixed on Antonias, colder than it had been when he first stumbled through the doors.
It was one thing for him to disappear from his daughter’s celebration with another woman. The insult had already been visible to anyone observant enough to notice their absence.
But to announce it himself before every nobles...
To speak of it loudly, shamelessly, as though he had no wife seated upon the royal dais and no daughter waiting for the dance.
He placed disgrace upon himself, upon Louise, and most of all upon Kaliantha.
"Your Majesty," a voice said from beside him, "we should leave."
Count Marten Van Bentheim stepped forward.
He had remained close enough to Antonias to watch every ugly moment unfold, though he had wisely held his tongue until now.
He was Antonias’s closest companion.
Some called him the King’s most loyal ally. Others, less charitable, believed Marten had spent years feeding Antonias every flattering thought that passed through the King’s mind, turning arrogance into certainty and childish resentment into royal command.
Even Marten, however, understood that this had gone too far.
He reached for Antonias’s arm.
"Come," he said quietly. "This matter can be addressed elsewhere."
Antonias shook him off.
His attention returned to Ulrich.
Ulrich had not moved from his place.
He simply watched Antonias.
There was nothing in his expression. No fear. No concern. No unease at the accusation of striking the King. His face remained composed, his posture loose, his hands at his sides.
He gave Antonias nothing.
Not even the smallest sign that what had happened in the corridor mattered to him.
It was as though Ulrich had never laid a hand on him.
Or worse, as though he had done it and considered Antonias too insignificant for the act to deserve a second thought.
Antonias stared into Ulrich’s deep red eyes.
There, in that stillness, he saw exactly how little Ulrich thought of him.
His red face darkened fast, veins protruding from his face.
Ulrich noticed the change immediately, and he definitely reveled in it.
The corner of his mouth moved imperceptibly.
It was barely a smile.
But Antonias saw it, or rather Ulrich showed it.
Antonias’s eyes widened, and he dug his nails into his palm.
Whatever restraint had remained in him broke.
He rushed forward.