The following evening unfolded. I had arranged a pleasant dinner for the three of us, ensuring Lady Isolde was duly considered. For Levi, a predictably beige and bland assortment occupied one plate, while a succulent sea bass, awaited Isolde and me. A chilled glass of rosé sat on the table.

Before our meal, I assisted Levi in dressing. He reported his pain level to be two out of ten. Respecting his continued sobriety, I had opted for a selection of soft beverages for him.

The anticipation of Lady Isolde's arrival was a knot of nerves in my stomach. A former duchess, a formidable intellect, and Levi's most crucial ally in the arduous dismantling of the nobility – she was undeniably one of the most powerful women in the country. When the doorbell finally chimed, my breath hitched. There she stood: piercing blue eyes that seemed to assess everything in a single glance, long, voluminous blonde hair that cascaded around her shoulders like spun moonlight, and, Gods, she was taller than me, a fact that my already heightened anxiety did not fail to register.

I led Lady Isolde to the dining table, the silence punctuated only by the soft click of her heels on the polished floor. She settled into the chair opposite Levi and me. The effortless authority that radiated from her, the almost palpable aura of power – it was like sitting across from royalty, even a former duchess.

Levi gently swirled the drink in his glass. "It is good to see you, Isolde. I trust this evening finds you in good health and spirits."

Isolde's eyes swept across our living room, taking in its cluttered comfort. A slight frown creased her brow. "Why are you still languishing in this… establishment, Levi?" she inquired, her gaze lingering a moment longer than strictly necessary on the mismatched throw pillows.

Ouch.

Levi chuckled softly. "This house holds a certain… sentimental value for me, Isolde. It has the distinction of being the first property I ever purchased with my own funds."

Isolde remained unconvinced. "I am aware of that, Levi. What I fail to comprehend is your continued residence in the midst of these… arboreal surroundings, in a structure of merely two stories."

Levi took a measured sip of his drink, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "While I appreciate your candid assessment of my woodland sanctuary, Isolde, perhaps we could now turn our attention to the culinary delights Raphael has prepared?"

Isolde offered a subtle smirk before picking up her fork. And then began the unsettling ritual of their dining etiquette.

The synchronized unfolding of linen napkins, each placed with precision upon their knees. The unified selection of utensils. Unnerving silence as they commenced eating, devoid of any unnecessary sound or movement. Levi, was consuming a bland, soft concoction. But Isolde was tackling the same flaky sea bass as I was, yet she managed to do so with a surgical precision, extracting delicate morsels without a single clink of silverware or a stray crumb.

Even attempting to emulate their movements felt utterly futile. Isolde, separated the sea bass from its bones using only her fork and knife. Then she cleaned the knife against the edge of her fork before bringing a perfectly sized morsel to her lips, her posture remaining upright. There was simply no way my clumsy hands and less disciplined movements could ever achieve such effortless elegance. In their presence, I felt like a toddler struggling with finger foods.

Then came the wine. They didn't simply raise their glasses for a sip; no. There was a turn of the head to the right before the rim even touched their lips. And then, the clinking of glass as they placed them back down on the table. In unison. Fucking unison. Why? What possible purpose could that turn of the head serve?

And another baffling nuance emerged. The moment either of them picked up a glass or a utensil, the previously held implement was returned to its original position on the table setting. Not carelessly placed on the plate, oh no. Back to its designated spot within the arrangement of silverware. Was it not… exhausting? I mean, if I'm about to take a drink, my fork is in my hand. Why would I place it back in its assigned location only to pick it up again moments later? Why?

Did they ever, eat anything with their bare hands? I mean, did they? The very notion of Lady Isolde, those manicured fingers grasping a greasy slice of pizza, then indulging in a gloriously messy cheese pull… no. That image simply refuses to materialize in my mind. The entire dining sequence unfolded in an almost monastic silence. No smacking of lips, no audible chewing, only the faintest, most delicate clinking of cutlery against porcelain and the resonance of crystal.

Throughout the entire meal, neither Levi nor Isolde made any discernible eye contact. Their gazes remained resolutely fixed downwards, towards the table. The only deviation from this downward trajectory occurred in the split second before they took a bite of food, their eyes flicking towards their own plates before returning to their downward focus. Not even a casual survey of the surrounding room, the chosen décor – nothing. Just the table. Fuck! I am usually engrossed in some mindless video on my phone while I eat. And these two… they weren't even looking at each other, nor at their own food except for the briefest of moments.

I desperately needed a gulp of fresh air, even metaphorically. This was… suffocating.

The meal concluded. I couldn't help but notice that Levi was pacing himself. He was eating slowly… so that they could finish their meals at the same moment. What the actual fuck? Levi was consuming a plate of bland mush, while Isolde and I had been enjoying flaky sea bass! What kind of insane expectation demanded that such disparate dishes conclude in perfect synchronicity? Gods… I needed something far stronger than this delicate rosé.

It was a drawn-out torture.

The feeling clawing at me was akin to that urge to shed every layer of clothing the moment you stumble through the front door. And this sensation had been building for twenty-five minutes of simply watching them. God damn it. Imagine enduring this for every single meal, every single day of your entire life. Every. Single. Dinner. And what about breakfast, what about lunch, the endless rituals of tea ceremonies? You know, when you picture these customs, an image often surfaces – elegant princes and princesses gracefully partaking in feasts, their laughter and loving words echoing through grand halls. But no. The reality, as I was witnessing, was a suffocating silence, a deliberate avoidance of connection, their bodies held in rigid, untouching postures. It was… so fucking… tiring, so heartbreaking to witness such a joyless existence. So… much.

"Guys…" I began hesitantly. "I… I have a question. Like… why don't you look at each other? Or why do you only look at the table? Or why don't you… just talk? I… I don't understand. I mean, I can kind of grasp not leaning over your plate, or keeping your elbows off the table, but… why all these other things?"

Lady Isolde gracefully swirled the remaining rosé in her glass. "The reasoning, Raphael, is rather straightforward: it is tradition. Given that Levi and I are not joined in matrimony, direct eye contact between us is… not permitted. Or, had my rank been inferior to his, I would likewise be expected to avert my gaze due to his higher standing. Furthermore, glancing at another's plate is considered a significant breach of decorum, implying a judgment of their portion or appetite. As for conversation, Raphael," she continued, her tone matter-of-fact, "to engage in idle chatter during a meal is viewed as disrespectful to the food itself."

It's a bizarre web of social rules designed to… what? Enforce hierarchy? Make everyone miserable? Tradition. A word that seems to justify all sorts of insane behavior.

"So," I murmured, "if you were married to Levi, you'd be allowed to look at him? But still not at his plate? These rules are… fascinatingly complicated. And… honestly, so incredibly sad to watch."

Levi chimed in. "While marital ties would permit direct eye contact, observing the contents of one's plate would still be considered a significant breach of etiquette. Furthermore, particularly during the evening meal, engaging in 'small talk' is strictly forbidden. Conversation is expected to revolve almost exclusively around matters of state or significant family affairs. Lighthearted or trivial discussions are exceedingly rare, typically confined to less formal occasions such as luncheons or tea parties."

Dinner should be a time to relax, to connect, to share the day's little moments. Not some formal summit on political strategy or the intricacies of the family tree. They sucked all the joy and humanity out of something as simple as eating together.

"Gods…" I murmured, my head spinning slightly. "But… tea parties are less formal? I would have assumed it was the other way around."

Levi gestured towards Lady Isolde.

"Indeed," she confirmed, a faint smile playing on her lips. "There are varying degrees of formality even within tea gatherings. The more formal aspects of a tea party lie in the ceremonial elements – the selection of teacups, the blending of the tea leaves, the artful arrangement of the accompanying assortments. However, a gathering comprised solely of unmarried, young women is considered a less formal affair, where light conversation is permissible. Conversely, should older, married women be present, any young, unmarried woman would be strictly forbidden from engaging in 'small talk'."

This is insane. A minefield of social faux pas.

"So," I reiterated, "you have to keep track of who's married, who's older, and then tailor your conversation? That sounds less like a pleasant social gathering and more like navigating a high-stakes social strategy game."

Isolde scoffed. "Dear Raphael, you truly have no comprehension of the intricacies involved, do you? Indeed, one had to possess a comprehensive knowledge of every single noble house, including all its members and their precise social rank. For example," she elaborated, "should I, as a countess, decide to host a tea party and invite other unmarried young women to my home, those of lower rank would be obligated to offer me a reverence upon arrival. However, were a woman of superior rank to grace my gathering with her presence, every individual of lower standing would be required to rise from their chairs and remain standing until the aforementioned higher-ranked woman had taken her seat."

"You had to stand until someone else sat down? At a tea party?" I repeated, my eyes widening in utter disbelief.

Levi chuckled. "Ah, but what about formal dinners between different noble families?"

Isolde lifted a hand dismissively, a look of weary resignation crossing her face. "Do not even begin that conversation, Levi. Simply recalling the protocols is exhausting. Ah, especially if a patriarch was present."

"Do you remember that last interminable dinner we were compelled to attend at the Royal Palace?"

Isolde's lips curled into a moue of distaste. "I do, most regrettably. How many utterly witless jokes from that deceased monarch swine was I forced to feign amusement at?"

Levi swirled the liquid in his glass. "At least your torment involved mere forced amusement, Isolde. My task was often less… olfactory pleasing. I was regularly required to light his disgustingly pungent cigars."

Levi had to do it? The heir to a powerful dukedom, reduced to a glorified lighter for some self-indulgent monarch. So much for graceful princes and princesses…

Isolde met Levi's gaze, a wry understanding in her eyes. "Indeed. The very trajectory of our nation potentially hung in the balance, dependent on the steadiness of your hand as you ignited that noxious weed."

Levi's expression darkened. "Oh, no, Isolde. The true peril to our nation lay in that bloated swine continuing to gorge himself on wine and red meat even as the gout rendered him nearly immobile. The imbecile. His nocturnal groans echoed throughout the palace, a revolting symphony accompanying his continued, equally revolting, attempts to bed his concubines. The disgusting, stomach-churning creature. It was he who taught me the necessity of controlling my fury. A vital lesson, learned so I might avoid being dragged to the palace dungeons as a rebellious teenager."

"One almost wonders if the excruciating gout was a form of divine retribution, a belated attempt to curtail his… more earthly appetites," Isolde mused, a dry chuckle escaping her lips. "Ugh, that revolting creature. The memories resurface with unwelcome clarity even without uttering his name. Which reminds me," she added, a flicker of dark amusement in her eyes, "his considerable posterior once became rather firmly wedged in the royal throne."

"That is a mere anecdote," Levi said, his voice regaining its characteristic chill. "There were countless instances, stark and brutal, where the urge to simply walk into the throne room and put a bullet through his skull became almost unbearable. Not out of any desire to seize power, but purely to cleanse the world of his abhorrent existence. Even the thought of his dead carcass polluting the very soil is… repugnant."

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The desire to just erase that man from existence, not for power, but for the sheer sake of it. And the thought of his corpse defiling the earth… that’s a level of hatred I can barely comprehend.

I placed my hand on Levi's shoulder, feeling the taut muscles beneath my palm. "Calm down, dear," I murmured, my voice soft. "Maybe… care for a cigarette?"

Levi closed his eyes briefly. "That would be… appreciated," he conceded, his voice still carrying a low undercurrent of fury. "The urge to locate his tomb and… express my profound disrespect in a particularly visceral manner is currently occupying a significant portion of my thoughts."

I retrieved Levi's orange-tipped cigarettes and my own pack of low-tar from the table. Levi accepted one with a grateful nod, and Isolde requested one of mine, too. I refilled our wine glasses, leaving Levi to his drink.

The small flames flared, the first tendrils of smoke a visible release of tension. Isolde broke the silence, her brow furrowed in distaste. "How in the heavens did Cassiel, that peculiar individual, even manage to endure a single night with that… that specimen? Let alone become his consort?"

Levi inhaled deeply. "Ah, that was a rather simple, albeit manipulative, endeavor. Given that the aforementioned swine was riddled with a veritable tapestry of venereal diseases and adamantly refused any form of preventative measure, Cassiel found him utterly repulsive. Thus, a mutually beneficial arrangement was forged. I took it upon myself to ensure the king's days were filled with sufficient misery and despair, driving him to seek solace in Cassiel's sympathetic ear and broad shoulders– and at least two bottles of vintage wine – each night."

"I mean, but… how exactly did you manage to plunge him into despair?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued.

"That swine, in its most fundamental essence, was that: a pig. Prone to deep-seated insecurities, despite his outward bluster. Given my family's long-standing alliance with the dynasty, he placed a certain value on my opinions – though," Levi added with a hint of distaste, "that was likely intertwined with his own revolting inclinations towards me. Whatever his motivations, it provided an opening. Subtly raised eyebrows at his pronouncements during court sessions, exaggerated sighs delivered at opportune moments, sometimes orchestrated in concert with other disgruntled noblemen who shared my low opinion of the monarch… Ugh… that festering boil on the realm. The urge to have simply ended his miserable existence with a well-placed bullet remains a persistent temptation." He took another long drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling around his shadowed features.

Lady Isolde added, a dismissive wave of her hand accompanying her words, "He wasn't even a proper tyrant, you know. At least tyrants possess the decisiveness to make choices. No, he was merely a self-pitying swine, just… squealing and wallowing in his own filth." A visible shudder ran through her. "I have no further desire to dwell on his wretched memory."

So, not even a strong, decisive evil, just a pathetic, disgusting one.

"Yes…" I agreed, sensing the need to shift the conversation away from the grim recollections. "Levi mentioned that after the dissolution of the nobility and monarchy, you established a saloon specifically for former noblewomen. I'd be very interested to hear more about that."

Lady Isolde's eyebrow arched sharply, a flicker of annoyance briefly darkening her eyes. "And what is your interest in that endeavor, Raphael? I assure you, we are perfectly capable of managing our own affairs."

Ouch.

Okay, smooth move, Raphael. Real smooth. Of course she'd bristle at that. Levi made it sound like a really interesting and kind of rebellious thing to do, a bunch of former high society women carving out their own space after everything fell apart. But the way I phrased it… yeah, it probably sounded incredibly sexist. 'Oh, a saloon? For ladies?'

"I am so incredibly sorry," I stammered, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "That was clumsy and completely not what I meant. I was genuinely curious to understand what happened to everyone after the… after everything fell apart. Not out of any sense of judgment or patronizing concern – I mean, who am I to offer any kind of assistance in that context?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Levi, the bastard, barely managing to suppress a smirk. Yeah, fair enough. I’d walked right into that one.

Lady Isolde cast a thoughtful glance my way. "Well, you see, the average existence of many noblewomen was remarkably divergent from that of the average citizen. We required a more nuanced approach to navigate the societal shifts. Given that we were all educated in matters of business and had spent our lives overseeing vast estates and our families' commercial interests, the mere concern for financial stability was largely… irrelevant. The saloon became, primarily, a sanctuary. A safe space for us. Furthermore, it serves as a hub for offering discreet legal assistance to noblewomen now seeking divorces from unwanted unions or pursuing justice against past abusers, leveraging the connections and knowledge we collectively possess."

That's… incredibly empowering. And Levi knew this all along. That sly bastard. He let me stumble into my own assumptions so Isolde could set me straight.

"I understand completely," I said, genuinely wanting to learn more. "If you're willing to explain further, I'd be very interested to hear more about why the lives of noblewomen were so different."

Isolde met my gaze, a hint of steel entering her voice. "If your perception of noblewomen is that we were delicate damsels in distress, Raphael, you are profoundly mistaken. Nobility is, fundamentally, a ruling class, and even individuals of relatively low social standing within it undergo rigorous training and education from a young age. Etiquette training is merely a superficial layer. Traditionally, while men managed external affairs like land stewardship, women were responsible for the intricate management of the inner estate, overseeing household finances, organizing charitable endeavors and complex formal events, and at times, even hosting foreign envoys. Therefore, every single noblewoman was, by necessity, a remarkably educated and capable individual.

"However," she continued, her tone hardening with barely suppressed anger, "given that the noblemen you've heard about were often nothing more than a study in depravity, sloth, greed, and every other imaginable sin – all while tormenting and abusing their wives and daughters with impunity – noblewomen were forced to assume complete management of family businesses and estates simply to ensure their own survival and the survival of their children. As you can see, this reality is remarkably different from that of an average woman from an average household. Of course," she stressed, "this is not to diminish the abuse, sexism, and discrimination faced by average women; not at all. This is simply to explain that we, as former noblewomen, required a more measured and specialized approach to our support. After all," she concluded, a bitter edge entering her voice, "an average woman, in this era, could at least obtain a divorce. Legalized divorce rights for noblewomen only came into effect a mere twenty years ago. And marital rape and domestic violence were not legitimate grounds for seeking a divorce within certain circles."

Gods, I really stepped in it. Ruling class, rigorous education, managing estates, hosting envoys… they were running empires from the inside out while their husbands were off being… well, the 'swine' they described.

"Thank you for sharing that, Isolde," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. "It's crucial to understand the specific ways in which the nobility functioned, the immense responsibilities thrust upon women, and the truly appalling lack of protection they faced against such abuse. It really underscores the fundamental necessity of the changes that have come about."

Beside me, Levi, that infuriatingly perceptive man, was smirking again. Had I just blundered into another social minefield? Had I inadvertently said something… wrong? Was I being subtly sexist again? No, surely not this time? Gods… Lady Isolde's gaze could be so… unnerving. Please, universe, please let me have navigated that correctly. I genuinely was not trying to be an asshole… Please let that have come across.

The weight of my shame and guilt radiating off me, was legible enough for Levi to interpret. He chuckled softly and interjected smoothly, "Excuse my husband, Isolde. As a foreigner, he wasn't privy to the… finer points of these historical inequities, so perhaps a touch more leniency?" The smirk, however, remained firmly in place.

Isolde favored him with a roll of her piercing blue eyes. "Fine," she conceded, though her tone suggested anything but gentleness. "As you can gather, Raphael, our involvement – we noblewomen helping Levi in dissolving the nobility – wasn't borne out of some sudden desire to relinquish the considerable power and wealth associated with our titles. It was about the brutal, disparity in how noblewomen and noblemen were treated within that system. Take divorce, for the rare few who dared to pursue it – I myself endured two, thankfully with Levi's invaluable assistance. You were forced to stand in the noble court, exposed to the judgmental gazes of a noble jury comprised of older noblewomen desperately clinging to their fading status and equally archaic noblemen. Sometimes," she added, a visible distaste twisting her lips, "you were required to explain the intimate details of your 'consummation' of marriage in detail, a process made all the more repulsive given the incestuous nature of the nobility's bloodlines, utterly disgusting and completely erasing of one's personal agency."

Gods… Stripped bare, forced to recount the most intimate and personal acts to a room full of strangers – strangers who are likely all tangled up in the same horrifying family tree. And that was the rare chance of divorce. For most, there was no escape.

The black files… right. Isolde’s miscarriages… the decision to become infertile, all to weaponize their laws against themselves. To claim her husband’s infidelity was failing to produce an heir. The sheer desperation, the violation of her own body and will… it's sickening.

And Levi… a whole bottle of scotch just to face his own divorce. Accusing Julia of not providing an heir… with her own cousin, someone he never even touched. The self-loathing, the sheer performative cruelty of it all. They both had to play these grotesque roles, inflict pain on themselves and others, just to escape the clutches of that vile system. The things they endured, the sacrifices they made... Gods… Gods.

"It's… it's almost incomprehensible," I murmured. I reached for the wine bottle, my hand unsteady as I refilled my glass. "The level of control they wielded over your very bodies, your most intimate experiences… the fact that you had to turn their own twisted rules into weapons just to find a way out…"

Isolde nodded, her gaze distant, as if revisiting those dark times. "We did what we had to do. And it's crucial to remember, Raphael, that Levi and I both possessed a degree of social standing, wealth, and inherent power. Countless other women within the nobility had none of those advantages. Furthermore," she added, a grim determination hardening her features, "we both possessed the necessary wit and intellect to navigate those putrid waters they called life. For instance," she continued, a flicker of something akin to grim amusement in her eyes, "neither of us ever endured physical domestic violence at the hands of our tutors or families. Not, of course, out of any genuine concern for our well-being, but simply because they had no desire to damage their 'property' with unsightly scars. My 'punishment' for any breaches of etiquette," she concluded, a sardonic edge to her voice, "consisted primarily of being confined to a small, closeted space, often without food for extended periods."

I swallowed a mouthful of wine, the alcohol offering no solace against the chilling weight of their revelations. Levi had been so brutally, devastatingly right. His label for me – the 'empathetic observer' clinging to a simplistic, black-and-white morality, someone who had never been pushed to a true breaking point – it stung with the force of undeniable truth. I was a fucking idiot, blissfully ignorant of the complexities and horrors they had navigated. A naive fool who had dared to lecture Levi about the 'human cost' of his actions. Gods…

Levi waved a dismissive hand. "Speak for yourself, Isolde. My grandfather was the Conqueror. And while it's true his hand never struck me directly, it's equally true that I spent my entire childhood, my entire adolescence, in a constant state of vigilance, maneuvering, calculating, just to avoid becoming the target of his wrath. That abusive murderer…" His voice trailed off.

Isolde's features tightened, her gaze hardening with simmering anger. "Indeed, that tyrant. On the days he would deign to visit the Royal Palace, even the King, in his pathetic attempts at self-preservation, would barricade the throne room, specifically stationing the most physically imposing guards he could find – as if mere bulk would have offered any real deterrent."

Levi’s voice dropped. "Please. I shot him in this very house, because he was choking Raphael, with the revolver he gifted me, and that monster didn't even flinch at the impact of a bullet. Imagine that man in his prime. There were times I prayed to the very gods I didn't believe in that I hadn't been born earlier, into the full force of his reign."

Isolde took a slow sip of her wine, her gaze drifting into the past. "I remember the very first time I laid eyes on him, at your family mansion. He was out in the yard, chopping wood. My first thought, seeing his immense size – easily over two meters, larger than any man I'd ever encountered – was that he must be some kind of exceptionally large servant. But no," a shiver ran down her spine, "that monster was simply… exercising. But…" Her voice trailed off, a hint of lingering unease in her eyes.

Levi's hand clenched around his glass. "He left you alone that day, didn't he, Isolde? That disgusting creature… He looked at you, really looked at you, at your eyes, your hair… and ultimately, he left you untouched…"

Isolde nodded slowly. "Yes… I can only surmise that was the reason. Given that your grandmother, and my grandmother, were sisters, I believe I bore a resemblance to his own wife." A faint sadness touched her expression.

Levi's knuckles were white against the glass he gripped. "The things I witnessed from my bedroom window, while he was in the back garden… it was as if even the birds and the dogs were crying out in agony…"

"Even now," Isolde murmured, a visible shiver tracing her arms, "the memory sends a chill down my spine. That sense of wrongness, as if the very fabric of reality was warped in his presence. But…" Her brow furrowed. "What happened to him?"

Levi took a deep breath, the tension returning to his jaw. "I honestly don't know. Months ago, we went to his secluded cabin in the mountains with Raphael. He was… suicidal. He begged us to end his life. I was prepared to grant his wish, but Raphael intervened, stopped me from taking that step. And he hasn't contacted us since. I truly don't know his current state. And since I no longer harbor any fear of him, nor do I possess even the slightest sliver of care for his well-being, I have absolutely no intention of reaching out to that murderer."

"So," Isolde murmured, a weary breath escaping her lips, "the terrifying saga of that monster simply… fades into uncertainty. In a way, it feels almost anticlimactic after all the fear and suffering he inflicted upon us all. But perhaps," she added, a hint of relief in her tone, "that quiet disappearance is the most fitting end – his utter irrelevance."

"I… stopped Levi, because…" I hesitated, searching for the right words. "I didn't want Levi to become a murderer. To be honest," I admitted, the weight of that moment still heavy on me, "I didn't want that monster to somehow find absolution through Levi's hand, to be punished by Levi in a way that might, in some twisted sense, cleanse his own sins."

Isolde considered my words, her gaze softening slightly with understanding. "I understand your meaning, Raphael. You didn't want that monster's shadow to taint yet another life, even Levi's."

Levi interjected, his voice firm. "His final request was that we wouldn't even grant him the dignity of burial, that we simply leave his rotting carcass for the crows – which, I'll admit, strikes me as a particularly fitting end for such a creature…" He paused, a palpable tension entering the room. "This… this prolonged discussion of that monster is officially concluded, as far as I'm concerned. My options are now stark: either I break my months of sobriety, or we immediately revert to gleefully badmouthing that deceased monarch swine. Choose wisely."