ִ 🖇࣪ ˖ ࣪ Riddle Rosehearts! ᰔִׄ

Afternoon tea at Heartslabyul was usually a flawless affair, complete with rules, neatly arranged cutlery, and hushed conversations. At one table, they watched the house manager's fiancée and spoke in hushed tones. "I don't understand what this engagement thing is like," murmured a first-year student . "She's so quiet... and the Perfect is so strict." "Too strict," another replied, chuckling . "Sometimes she seems more like a queen than the Queen herself. How can someone so sweet put up with that? They're polar opposites."

"Perhaps it's just a political compromise," added a third . "I don't think the perfect man needs a consort... Gentle."

The giggles were quick, venomous, confident that no one else would hear them. But Riddle heard them. He was right behind them, with a tray of pastries and that expression that made even Trey tremble. First, absolute silence fell over the table. Then, the temperature seemed to drop. Riddle set the tray down with a precise click.

"So that's what you think?" The students froze. Riddle stepped forward, impeccably dressed, back straight, chin held high, his red cloak billowing with authority. "That we're incompatible?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice, and no one answered. His gaze sharpened, his calm perfect. "I'm surprised you have the nerve to comment on something you clearly don't understand." Riddle raised his hand, as if issuing a royal decree. "My betrothed is not just sweet, she's kind, intelligent, sensible... and possesses a strength that surpasses any of yours." He declared, pride blazing in his eyes .