The woman laughed, a brittle, unpleasant sound entirely stripped of its earlier sweetness.
“Well,” she said coolly, lifting her chin and dabbing at the stained silk with a lace handkerchief that did nothing to help, “with such… visible disadvantages, one would think a child might at least be taught not to blunder into other people. A little care would go a long way, under the circumstances.”
Tessa flinched at once. It was instinctive, a small, devastating recoil. Her gaze dropped to the floor as her hands twisted together. Heat rushed to her cheeks. The flush spread quickly, painfully, all the way to her ears.
Wilhelm saw it and the shift in his body was immediate, though he made sure nothing about him appeared hurried. The heat that had been roaring through his veins moments earlier turned cold in a heartbeat. His jaw set, hands curling once at his sides.
The crowd parted as he moved towards them. Conversations faltered and attention bent toward him as though drawn by a supernatural force. His stride was unbroken, unhurried, but every step carried the promise of consequence.
“Step away from my daughter.”
The woman turned unexpectedly, surprise flickering across her face before recognition struck. Her expression rearranged itself at once, sweetness snapping back into place as she dipped into a curtsy that came a fraction too late.
“Your Grace,” she said quickly. “I was merely?—”
“You were insulting a child,” Wilhelm interrupted, his voice calm enough to be threatening, each word placed with calculated fury. He stopped directly in front of her, his presence absolute. “My child.”
The woman’s smile wavered but did not vanish. “I did not mean?—”
“You meant exactly what you said,” he replied, his gaze dropping to the wine-soaked silk of her gown, then lifting again to her face.
A hush spread outward, subtle but unmistakable.
The lady swallowed. “Your Grace, surely you understand how accidents can be… avoidable. Children must be guided.”
Wilhelm turned slightly, angling his body so that Tessa was shielded behind him. Her small form was completely eclipsed by his height and breadth. He placed one hand behind his back, resting it lightly upon his daughter’s shoulder.
“Look at her,” he said in a quiet command.
The woman hesitated.
“Now,” Wilhelm said.
She obeyed, her gaze flicking reluctantly to where Tessa stood half-hidden behind him.
“You will apologize,” Wilhelm continued, his voice measured, each word laid down with precision.
The woman’s cheeks flushed. She glanced around again, acutely aware now of the eyes on her, the shifting weight of judgment.
“I am sorry,” she said to Tessa, her tone pitched carefully sweet once more. “I did not intend offense.”
Tessa nodded faintly, though her expression did not change. There was no relief in it, or a sign that the apology eased the sting of hurt. Only quiet, resigned acceptance. That, more than the insult itself, sent a hot, punishing anger through Wilhelm’s chest.
“Go,” he told the woman.
She did not need to be told twice.
Wilhelm remained where he was until the space around them began to breathe again, conversation resumed in cautious murmurs, and the moment passed. Only then did he turn fully to his daughter.
“Tessa,” he said gently.
She looked up at him then, and the sight of her eyes—bright with unshed tears she refused to let fall—hit him harder than any jab ever could have.
“Papa,” she said, her voice steady by sheer force of will. “May I go to bed?”
His chest clenched.
“Of course,” he said at once, smoothing his hand over her hair with careful tenderness. “You may.”
