Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 645: A Beautiful Lie Told in Silence

A Beautiful Lie Told in Silence

A Beautiful Lie Told Without Words

Stillness settled, yet it brimmed with something unspoken when William finished speaking.

It felt crowded.

Something heavy sat in the air - not noise, but tension stacked in glances, wants held back, minds working too hard behind still faces. One thought pushed against another until edges blurred. Fear crept under bold plans like a draft through a cracked door. What looked like need was often just habit wearing a sharper name. Trust slipped away while everyone watched something else, gone before anyone named it.

Their faces stretched into golden ribbons by the oak’s shine. Light danced over smooth grain and skin, bending moods with its waver. One moment - kings sat there. Then, figures aware that time had leaned close without warning.

No one spoke.

Not yet.

A soft tapping sound came through the quiet.

Fingers clenched - Renn hadn’t noticed when. Cold metal pressed deep, leaving marks like tiny teeth. White crept across his knuckles, chased there by fear or fury, hard to tell which. A breath came then, dragged through ribs that still trembled beneath it.

After a silence, he finally spoke, his words strained, almost breaking. What comes next, if victory is ours? That question slipped out, quiet but heavy

Wrong was how "win" sounded right after he said it - too thin for what sat heavy between them.

"What happens when Moonstone and Vellore are dealt with?" he went on, eyes sweeping the gathered nobles. "When Skyfall grows... when borders stretch..." His gaze returned to William. "What becomes of us?"

A few faces shifted toward him. Tension lined some. Others softened, eased. What he spoke was exactly what each stayed silent about.

Folding into the seat, William let it take his weight.

And smiled.

Not loudly.

Not proudly.

Quietly.

A figure stands where silence holds its breath. A twitch runs through the thread stretched into glassy dark. Nothing breaks the surface - yet something pulls back.

Here it finally came, the instant he’d held his breath for.

Out of nowhere, Robert spoke up just as William started to open his mouth.

Quiet stayed in his words. Not once did it climb louder. Rushing never touched the way he spoke.

Smooth it cut across the sky, sharp beneath a soft cover.

"...You live."

Facing his direction went each lord inside the room.

Up rose Robert, calm and unhurried, like the air itself waited on his motion. Around him, blue fabric slid down his limbs, quiet as a pond at dawn. The space seemed shaped by that single act, though nothing stirred but cloth. Stillness clung close, broken only by the soft drag of robe against floor.

He went on, just a hint of a grin touching his mouth. Not like broken things left behind

Into the room he moved, his gaze skimming each person seated by the stretched-out table.

"As architects."

Whispers skittered among the lords like wind through dry leaves. A gasp here, a foot shuffling there, thoughts snapping awake mid-step. Quiet chaos unfolded behind still faces.

A quiet stillness came over Robert as he touched his chest. His fingers rested there like something sacred had been found.

"Lord William does not disappear," he said softly. "He becomes a vessel."

A few people looked unsure, their eyes darting. Some shifted closer instead.

A hint of grin tugged at Robert’s lips as he spoke. Not quite royalty, yet ruling all the same

Across the table, William held his stare. His eyes stayed fixed without moving.

Now he saw it.

This was something else entirely.

A plan took shape on paper first.

"He will govern Vellore and Moonstone," Robert said, turning his attention to the room. "Under Skyfall protection. Under Skyfall strength."

Fingers eased apart, hinting at openness without saying a word.

"And you?"

He swept his gaze across the nobles.

"You remain where you belong."

A break, not too short, where hope begins to grow.

He smiled again.

"At the top."

The room shifted.

Fingers tightened on armrests when some lords sat taller, spines locking like poles driven into stone. Some shifted, sensing what might follow. Tension arrived before the first word was spoken.

Fingers twitched at necks, a quiet gulp breaking the stillness while discomfort slipped under fine fabric.

Into the space between them he shifted, words slipping softer now.

"...Our positions?"

Faster just to walk away. Robert skipped the talk entirely.

A small dip of his head happened then. One quick motion, nothing more.

"Secured."

A shiver ran across the room - cold, sharp, built on numbers instead of warmth. Not ease. Not kindness. Strategy settled in quiet.

A single lord lifted his arm, unsteady. Though he tried to steady it, each finger quivered.

"Forgive me, Prince Robert... but..." His voice wavered before he forced it steady. "...isn’t this a loss for Skyfall? Giving so much power to another land?"

A quiet laugh slipped out of Robert, calm like still water. He seemed at ease without trying.

"No," he said.

Slightly, he shifted ahead - not a big move, but one that pulled the space between them thinner. Close without crossing into too near, real without pretending.

"It is trust."

That word stayed floating, much like a scent - rich, sugary, yet just out of reach.

"True allies do not fear strength," Robert said quietly. "They share it."

A quiet twist tugged one corner of William’s mouth upward.

That grin he’d seen before. The way it curled at the edges gave it away.

Robert was lying.

Each person here carried that truth. Silence held it tight between them.

Yet the falsehood held charm.

Frequently, lovely falsehoods did just fine.

Over there, William watched the nobles like someone who knows exactly where the knife should go. Each face gave something away, just enough. His eyes moved slow, taking measure without seeming to. Like judging weight by how it sits on a scale. Not one of them stood out as different. They shifted under his look, though they tried not to. He saw habits in their posture, tells in their silence. A tilt of the chin here, a flicker at the temple there. Nothing loud. Everything meant something.

Far off, he saw the change begin within their gaze.

The slow decay of resistance.

The growing need to stay alive.

Faint whispers of their minds brushed against his awareness.

We face death when refusal comes.

If acceptance comes first, rising follows close behind.

Fear slows us, then rulers break us apart.

Abruptly rising, Renn shoved the chair aside. He was on his feet before silence settled.

A low grating sound split the quiet - rock dragging over rock. Stillness had just settled when it came, sharp and raw.

Fingers pressed down hard, his palms flat against the wood, skin near the joints turned white.

"...If this is the only road that lets my sons inherit something other than graves..." His voice was rough, stripped of pretense.

His gaze dropped to the floor.

"Then I stand with you, Lord William."

That crack... spread.

A silence cut the air, thin as glass - suddenly, a tremor ran across the room.

One by one -

"I agree."

"I’ll follow."

"This is better than kneeling to Leon."

"I choose survival."

"I choose power."

One more voice made the hurt grow. Piled up like stones, each one harder to carry, till standing against it broke apart. The burden doubled without warning. What was light at first became impossible by noon.

Glasses lifted.

Hands clapped.

Footsteps grated on rock when others rose up slow. Then bodies shifted, standing tall in uneven rows.

That shaky noise at the beginning? It barely held together, sharp like frost splitting beneath boots. Still, once others stepped in, volume rose, rounder, deeper - until what started weak turned solid. Sharp edges now, not fragile.

Wine was what relief felt like.

Excitement replaced fear, slowly at first, then all at once.

William rose slowly.

Gentleman’s grace.

Glass in hand.

A pause held the space instead of haste. Their gaze remained fixed, undisturbed by urgency. Only when silence had fully landed did words come - soft, even, each one weighed before release.

"You honor me," he said softly. "Let us celebrate."

He clapped once.

A low hum bounced off the walls, sharp at first, then fading into silence.

The doors opened.

Then everything shifted under the dark sky.

Footfalls, light and slow, moved down the corridor.

Silk brushed skin.

A wave of scent moved ahead, slow and steady. Warmth carried it through the air.

Into the space stepped several women - graceful forms draped in fabric that shimmered like whispers under flame. Each glide forward felt measured, trained by time, shaped by repetition. Light clung to their silhouettes, not harsh but warm, alive with quiet pulse.

Heads dipped down, gazes fell. Quiet filled the space between them.

Their hands folded.

A quiet stillness shaped their stance. Each movement placed just so. Not a breath out of order.

Females outnumbered aristocrats by a factor of two.

Whispers broke free.

Lips parted.

One man glanced down at his hands, then away, as if noticing them for the first time. Another held still, though his stomach pulled tight beneath his ribs. Air moved between teeth, slow and warm. A third kept quiet, but his chest rose too fast. Hunger settled like dust on a shelf.

Some just left it out in the open.

Fine grains of sound poured from William’s mouth. A calm rhythm lived in his words.

"These are gifts," he said. "Two for each of you."

Up went the glass, a small motion. A tiny tilt, nothing more.

He whispered it slow. Not marked by anyone before

Something shifted in the space, sudden and quiet. Breaths caught at once, pulled by an unseen pull. It felt animal, that pause - like knowing danger without seeing it.

"Go," he said. "Enjoy tonight. Rooms are prepared."

The nobles laughed.

Laughter that wasn’t trying to be kind. It didn’t pretend.

This moment felt unfiltered. A weight lifted. Stomach empty, needing food.

Up they jumped, as if something heavy had finally fallen off their backs.

From the corner of his mouth came a quiet sigh. Lord William stood still as they stepped past him. Their words hung like smoke in air. You know what we mean before we say it

Some grabbed hands.

Some whispered promises.

A few whispered wishes, shaped like prayers but heavy with wanting instead of belief.

A sudden stop. He looked over his shoulder, cheeks burning. His words came out clumsy.

"...I think I need rest."

A soft smile shaped her lips as she moved close - then another did the same from the opposite side. Both stood near without speaking, their presence quiet but clear.

He didn’t resist.

Fading shut, the doors started to seal tight.

Floating down the hall came laughter. The sound curled around corners, slipping through doorways like a secret passed between friends.

Moans of anticipation.

Soft, nervous giggles.

Promises too fragile for daylight.

One by one, people left the space behind. Quiet settled where voices had been.

Few stood beside them when dusk came. William stayed. So did Robert.

And the women.

The silence arrived only after the final footfall slipped past the door, quiet settling in as if waiting. Lamps dimmed slowly, firelight bending beneath air grown heavier by the second.

Fog crept back - heavier, closer, stained with soot.

A hush fell as Robert raised his cup. Light danced through the drink, red and deep. "Now that’s something you do not see every day," he remarked.

William said nothing.

Just watched.

The women stood in quiet lines.

Waiting.

Ready.

Disposable.

A silence hung thick, unbroken by any voice. Movement? Only what the air allowed, slow and measured. Silk clung, bodies stilled, each person shaped into place like furniture meant for display. Power decided who could breathe deeper. Obedience wore their skin.

Close to William, Robert spoke in a hushed voice

"They’re yours now."

A flicker of doubt crossed William’s face, his gaze tightening just a touch.

"They were always mine," he replied.

Yet a different weight lingered beneath his stare.

Not lust.

Calculation.

Control.

A quiet motion carried the cup upward. His hand rose first, then the rim followed toward his lips.

A quiet moment passed before the cup lifted. The liquid moved upward, steady. A pause followed - then warmth spread through.

A dull flavor lingered, hardly noticed. Beyond the soft fabric of the walls his thoughts slipped, carried by flickering lamp glow, wandering far from the room. Then outward - into places unseen.

A breeze tugged the fabric loose. It drifted sideways without a sound.

Felt the ground beyond reach. Outside stretched into quiet.

Scorched.

Still burning.

Even now, traces of Leon’s journey remain visible.

Boots echoing somewhere out there.

Floating bits of ash linger above the ground.

War not finished.

Not even close.

Stillness ruled within - like fabric slipping through fingers, a taste lingering on the tongue, words barely breathed - yet beyond those walls, everything cracked under heat and weight. Meanwhile, William watched how each force bent light differently.

She moved her weight, feeling the air change though she could not name why. A quiet unease passed between them like a shadow across light.

A sour note lingered where the taste had been.

Robert leaned back.

Smiled.

"This is where empires are born," he said.

William smiled back.

Far past rock and fabric, pressure closed in slow. A quiet shift pulled everything taut.

A step nearer ruin, the globe edged forward. Quietly, everything tilted toward breaking. Closer it came without warning. Downward slipped nations, almost unnoticed.

In that hush, smoke curled above a table where one man folded maps while the other weighed coins. Silk curtains hung still, barely stirring when a breath broke the silence. Their voices stayed low, like whispers afraid of being heard. One nodded, passing a sealed letter across mahogany. The air tasted old, thick with decisions made too late at night. A clock ticked once, then nothing. They rose without shaking hands.