56: Chapter 56 Nightingale Under the Moon! The Fall of a Proud Noblewoman!

The performance ended with a lingering, resonant final note.

After a moment of silence, applause erupted like a tidal wave, more enthusiastic than any before.

Especially the noble young ladies and young matrons, who gazed at Rowan with burning eyes, full of admiration.

Rowan bowed modestly in acknowledgment and returned to his original corner seat.

As if that soul-stirring performance had been nothing more than a whim of the moment.

No sooner had he sat down than several ladies, moved by his singing and demeanor, took the initiative to strike up a conversation.

Some invited him for a drink, while others asked about the allusions in his poetry.

Rowan responded politely, while his gaze swept unobtrusively toward Elena.

He saw Elena sitting there, watching women constantly surround Rowan, her slender fingers unconsciously twisting her handkerchief, her lips pressed slightly together.

In those bright eyes belonging to a young girl, a hint of... anxiety and displeasure flashed clearly.

Finally, after Rowan politely declined another viscount's daughter—a [71] rating with a few freckles on her face—Elena seemed to have made up her mind.

She took a deep breath and stood up.

Then, under the surprised gazes of her companions, she walked straight toward the corner where Rowan was sitting.

Her actions caused the previously somewhat noisy salon to quiet down instantly.

Everyone recognized the newlywed Elena and saw the interest she was showing in that bard.

The atmosphere became subtle.

Elena walked up to Rowan, lifting her chin slightly to maintain the poise of a noble young lady, but her slightly trembling eyelashes and flickering gaze betrayed her nervousness.

"Your song... is very moving. I have never heard anyone sing 'The Nightingale Under the Moon' with such... nuance."

Her voice was softer than usual: "I wonder if I might have the honor of inviting you, sir, to step aside and discuss some... details of this poem alone?"

She had found an excuse that fit the etiquette of the salon.

Rowan looked up, his gentle eyes meeting her somewhat evasive yet expectant gaze, and he revealed a smile that felt like a spring breeze: "It would be my honor to discuss it with a kindred spirit such as yourself, beautiful lady."

Under the varied gazes of the crowd, the two left the main hall one after the other, heading toward a private room on the side of the corridor used for intimate conversations.

The door closed softly behind them, cutting off the sights and sounds from outside.

The room was very quiet, containing only a long sofa, and a vase of freshly picked lilies of the valley on the table gave off a crisp, faint fragrance.

The lights were dimmed, casting an ambiguous, dim yellow glow through the crystal lampshade.

The atmosphere instantly shifted from the reserve of a public setting to something private and subtle.

The conversation was a bit stiff at first, revolving around the poem just performed, legends of the North, and various artistic topics.

But Rowan was always able to skillfully guide the topic, showcasing his extensive knowledge and unique insights, his words witty yet not lacking in depth.

An air of Charm permeated the room, dismantling the defenses in Elena's heart and amplifying the pleasure and resonance brought by every exchange.

Elena was surprised to discover that this border baron, who seemed to be of humble origin, possessed a level of eloquence and learning that far exceeded many of the so-called young talents she knew.

He understood the curriculum overview of the Ice Source Rune University, could critique obscure famous paintings, and even knew the history of some ancient families of the North like the back of his hand.

What was even more rare was that his eyes were focused when he listened, and his responses were sincere and earnest, making her feel that she was the Elena who was being genuinely understood, rather than the "daughter of the Farrell Family."

Her cheeks grew redder and redder, and the melancholy in her eyes was gradually replaced by a vivid radiance.

Her laughter also gradually became natural and crisp.

She began to actively talk about some interesting anecdotes from her time at the Ice Source Rune University, complain about certain boring courses, and even subtly reveal a hint of weariness toward the dull life in Gino City.

Rowan listened quietly, offering understanding and empathy at the right moments, his gaze fixed gently upon her.

The young girl's beautiful face began to flush with excitement.

Her lips, as delicate as rose petals, opened and closed adorably as she spoke.

The atmosphere was heating up.

The light seemed to become hazy as well.

At one moment, when Elena sighed after finishing a slightly sorrowful school memory.

Rowan reached out his hand and gently grasped her somewhat cold little hand, saying: "I understand that feeling, Elena."

Elena's body trembled; she looked up at him, her eyes filled with the watery sheen of being moved, as well as a trace of bewildered panic.

Rowan slowly stood up and leaned in close.

The crisp, pleasant scent on him enveloped her.

His gaze was deep, filled with tenderness and temptation.

"Elena..." He whispered her name, his voice hoarse and magnetic.

Then, he lowered his head.

Warmth covered her slightly cool lips.

"Mmm..." Elena let out a whimper like a young kitten, her body instantly stiffening.

An unprecedented, strange sensation swept over her.

A strong heartbeat, along with that warm current that had been intoxicating since the start of the salon, mixed with the taboo feeling of betraying her marriage, crashed against her reason like a tsunami.

She wanted to push him away, but her hands were weak and powerless.

She wanted to scold him, but instead let in a nimble little snake to wreak havoc.

In the end, she had no choice but to close her eyes, her small, delicate nostrils fluttering slightly, like a fish drowning...

The salon broke up late at night.

Elena's cheeks were flushed, her eyes moist.

She was almost half-leaning into Rowan's arms as she quietly left the Golden Lark Corridor with him.

Her personal maid kept her head down, silent.

A luxurious carriage waited quietly in the shadows of the side alley.

The carriage door closed, cutting off the night and the outside world.

The carriage interior was spacious and soft, filled with the same crisp floral scent as Elena.

Like a sleepwalker, Elena held Rowan's hand tightly, leaning on his shoulder.

The streetlights outside the carriage window flashed by like flowing light, casting broken light and shadows into her hazy eyes.

The carriage drove toward the west of the city, finally stopping at the side gate of a heavily guarded yet unusually quiet newlywed manor.

The maid stepped forward and whispered a few words, and the iron gate opened quietly.

The manor was silent, with only the rhythmic footsteps of patrolling guards occasionally heard.

Elena held Rowan's hand, tiptoeing through the corridor covered in thick carpets, heading straight for her bedroom on the top floor of the main building.

Her skirt brushed against the floor, making a soft rustling sound.

The door locked behind them.

Only a dim wall lamp was lit in the bedroom, shrouding the vast space in a soft, warm golden glow.

The air was filled with her usual fragrance.

The top notes were cold cedar and lily of the valley, but the base notes had a subtle, imperceptible warm sweetness.

Elena turned around, her back against the cold door panel, and looked up at Rowan slightly.

"Rowan..." she murmured, her voice trembling with passion, and she took the initiative to reach out her arms, wrapping them around his neck, pressing her soft, warm body against him without reservation.

Rowan looked down at her.

At this moment, Elena had completely shed the protective color of pride and melancholy she wore during the day, revealing the Charm of a young girl.

Her ivory satin gown made her skin look as fair as snow, flushed with an alluring light red from excitement.

Her braids had long since come loose, her slightly curly long hair draped over her shoulders, with a few strands sticking to her damp neck.

Her watery, shimmering eyes were filled with his reflection, and her red lips were slightly swollen, adding to her beauty.

That aura of a noble young girl, both green and bold, exuded a moving Charm in the dim light.

Outside the window, the night was deep.

...