Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 855: Orange and Violet (3)

They knew each other.

No—had known each other.

Not in passing. Not in training. Not in theory.

In memory.

It was the only way Jesse could speak like that. It was the only reason that strange stillness had formed between them during the duel—the kind Valeria had felt just by watching.

She thought she had known Lucavion. Understood him. Traced the edges of his silence well enough to read what he didn’t say. But now…

Now she wasn’t sure what part of him Jesse had touched.

And that unsettled her more than anything.

Valeria’s gaze lowered, just slightly—only to Jesse’s hands. One of them still hovered just behind her back, still tense. Not defensive. Just prepared.

They knew each other.

No—had known each other.

Not through court. Not through training sessions or crossed blades under sanctioned light.

It was deeper. Older. Folded in something lived, something left unsaid.

Memory.

Valeria didn’t have proof. But she didn’t need it.

The way Jesse looked at him…

It wasn’t admiration.

It wasn’t even longing.

It was remembrance. The quiet kind. The type that didn’t try to claim, but couldn’t help existing.

And for reasons she couldn’t immediately name—

It irked her.

Not because it was loud.

But because it wasn’t.

Because Jesse didn’t reach for him. Didn’t touch him. Didn’t even speak his name.

And yet every time she looked at Lucavion, something shifted behind her eyes. Something that didn’t ask for permission.

Valeria inhaled slowly.

Her posture remained flawless. Controlled. Unyielding. But there was a flicker of movement in her hand, a soft tightening near the seams of her glove. Barely there.

It wasn’t jealousy.

She told herself that, anyway.

It was something colder. Something rooted.

She had walked beside Lucavion through more than court. She had bled next to him, broken decorum beside him, stood in shadows with him when the nobles had turned their backs.

And yet Jesse could look at him like that?

Like something had been shared that Valeria couldn’t name?

Her lips parted before she even decided they would.

“Standing with your sword against someone like Lucavion…” she said, tone even, smooth, intentionally calm, “that alone carries talent.”

Her gaze didn’t waver.

“He’s not one to go easy on people.”

She hadn’t meant to say it. Not aloud. Not in front of others.

But the words had come anyway.

Not as flattery.

As a reminder.

A way to reassert ground—even if only for herself.

The air changed.

Not around them—around her.

Because Valeria knew what that meant. What it had to mean.

Lucavion. That “someone” was him.

And the way Jesse said it—no hesitation, no context, no apology—it settled like smoke in the back of Valeria’s throat.

They had history.

And she hadn’t known.

That alone was enough to tilt the balance inside her.

Valeria said nothing. But her silence was purposeful. A sheath.

She didn’t give Jesse the satisfaction of a reaction. But her eyes lingered, long enough to register the shape of her stance, the tension in her heel, the quiet confidence that didn’t need affirmation.

Then came the voice.

Polite. Curious.

Almost too casual to be accidental.

“How do you know Lucavion?”

It came from one of the younger Arcanis spellcrafters, wide-eyed and silk-collared, with hands that had never known war but knew how to navigate curiosity in court-shaped tones.

A hush fell.

Of course they’d ask.

Of course they’d notice.

Lucavion, aloof as ever, hadn’t spoken to anyone since the duel. He’d nodded, maybe once, toward his peers. But it had been Valeria—only Valeria—who he had acknowledged. Fully. Without hesitation.

They’d seen it.

And now they wanted answers.

Valeria didn’t look at the girl who asked.

Her gaze, already settled on Jesse, didn’t move.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice carried no armor, but it didn’t need it. “I know him.”

Not met.

Not trained with.

Know.

She felt Jesse react.

Not overtly. Not defensively.

But there was a shift. A flicker in the edge of her mouth. A narrowing in her eyes.

Valeria saw it.

And she let it sit.

A pause followed. Heavy. Expectant.

Then—another voice.

A second question.

“From where?”

Valeria could feel the curiosity tighten. Could feel the air cinch around her like silk pulled taut.

She let it stretch.

Long enough for every Arcanis and Lorian noble within earshot to lean in without stepping closer.

Then:

“Andelheim.”

The name fell. And with it—weight.

There was no ripple of gasps, no sharp exclamations, but Valeria could feel the shift. As if the mention of that place had drawn a map across the floor that only a few knew how to read.

Across from her, Jesse stiffened—just slightly. Enough to confirm what Valeria had already guessed.

She hadn’t known.

She hadn’t expected that name.

And Valeria?

She let the silence hold for another beat before drawing a soft breath through her nose. Not out of weariness. But out of the strange lightness that had begun to form in her chest. Unexpected. Clean.

She had said it.

She had let them know—openly, unflinchingly—that she knew Lucavion. Not by title. Not by proxy. Not through whispered politics.

By place. By time.

That had once been dangerous.

Still might be.

He was, after all, the man who had publicly antagonized Lucien. The Crown Prince. The one even Valeria’s allies avoided speaking of too fondly. And yet here she was. Not just near him.

Tethered to him.

And the weight of that admission didn’t feel like armor.

It felt like truth.

She hadn’t always felt that.

At first, when she stepped across the room—when she approached Jesse, when she spoke first—there had been conflict behind her ribs. Not just the political risk of aligning herself with someone like Lucavion. But the deeper, older hesitation.

The kind that whispered: If you say this aloud, you make it real.

But now that it was out there…

It felt clean.

A voice spoke again, lighter now. Still careful.

“I remember,” said one of the older Arcanis nobles. “Marquis Vendor was hosting a tournament in Andelheim that year, right?”

Valeria nodded. “Yes.”

“So you met him there?”

“Indeed.”

She kept her tone calm. Even. Deliberate.

Not cold.

But she didn’t elaborate.

Because that wasn’t the first time she met him.

Not really.

The tournament had been public. Decorative. A political balm dressed in ceremony. But before that…

That was something else.

Something… harder to name.

And not something she’d share with strangers.

A younger Lorian voice cut in—sharp with curiosity, if a little too eager:

“How? As a nob—?”

Valeria turned slightly toward the speaker. Her voice didn’t rise, didn’t harden. But her answer came before the question could take shape.

“At that time,” she said coolly, “I didn’t bring any knights from my household.”

The speaker blinked. “Really?”

“Yes,” Valeria replied, tilting her head slightly. “I went alone. To prove myself.”

A pause.

And then—softly, reverently, a little too quickly:

“Oh… as expected of Lady Olarion.”

There it was.

The pivot.

She didn’t acknowledge the praise. Not directly. But something in her spine settled. Straightened.

A little bit of pride.