With a dull thud from below, a chorus of shrieks from the handmaidens instantly erupted in the courtyard.
"Ah? Someone fell from the terrace!"
"Seven Hells! It's Mr. Jonathan!"
The commotion was so loud that it even startled the perpetrator himself.
However, Jon wasn't the only one caught off guard.
Miss Anya, who hadn't believed the baron would actually jump, whipped her head around the moment she heard the screams.
But as she spun around to rush toward the terrace, she crashed right into a tall, solid figure.
Recovering first, Miss Anya immediately grasped the reality of the situation.
Although the second floor was open to guests, this terrace was attached to her private solar. Unless someone entered through the door like Jonathan had, the only explanation for this man's presence was that he was an intruder.
Realizing this, Anya took a sharp breath, ready to scream for the guards.
Seeing this, Jon cursed inwardly, Damn it, and lunged forward.
By the time Jon fully processed what was happening, he had already tackled her to the ground. His hand clamped firmly over those thin, alluring lips to stifle any sound.
His other hand wasn't idle either, grappling to pin down her flailing arms.
However, when faced with danger, Miss Anya was accustomed to fighting back rather than resigning herself to fate. Even without her crossbow, she chose to attack.
Jon felt a sharp tug as his hair was yanked backward, followed by a heavy blow to his ribs.
"Hss!"
A sharp pain shot through his ribcage, causing Jon's breath to hitch for a second. Fortunately, despite the stars dancing in his vision, he finally managed to pin the feisty woman down.
The cost of keeping her quiet and immobile, however, was that his entire body was now pressed flush against hers—covering her completely, including the mouth that could have let out a fatal scream.
For a moment, the two of them were locked in an extremely awkward, intimate stalemate.
Anya Taylor-Joy's chest heaved violently, and her beautiful, fox-like eyes widened into perfect circles. She had never been pinned beneath a young man before, nor had anyone ever dared to get this close to her.
Yet, true to her fierce nature, the red-haired woman continued to struggle with all her might, tightening her grip on his hair.
Of course, none of that mattered right now.
Jon suddenly realized that the "One-Click Auto-Pilot" had disengaged at some point, and he had regained control of his body.
He wanted to speak up and explain, or at least tell her to stop screaming.
But to the new baron's despair, even though his strength had been enhanced, it wasn't enough to completely immobilize her while maintaining distance.
Worse still, to keep that stubborn, sharp-tongued mouth shut, he couldn't even open his own mouth to speak.
The stalemate continued, but Old Joy's calls from outside the room didn't stop.
Hearing her father's voice, both Jon and Miss Anya began to squirm like catfish out of water, each trying to gain the upper hand.
After a few moments of struggle, the intense, stifled confrontation gave way to a brief, heavy silence.
The reason was clear to both the young man and woman pressed so tightly together.
At the same time, Miss Anya, who was in the disadvantaged position, felt a wave of shame and indignation. Although she was inexperienced, she had heard about reactions like this more than once.
Then, their gazes locked.
Upon closer inspection, Miss Anya could faintly see a ring of purple within his grey irises—a trait that drew her attention to his unique, perhaps Eastern or Valyrian, bloodline.
As she calmed down slightly, she sensed the questioning look in his eyes, conveying a strong desire for a truce.
Given the situation, the highly intelligent Miss Anya gave a slight nod, signaling she understood.
Seeing this, Jon breathed a sigh of relief internally. After confirming her intent with another look, he chose to slowly remove his hand—and pull back his face.
If nothing went wrong, two young people connected by a misunderstanding might have had a chance to sit down and clear the air.
But alas, some misunderstandings are too deep for even the Seven Gods to mediate.
The moment Jon prepared to stand up, a heavy blow struck his groin.
With a muffled groan, Jon's vision went black, and he curled up like a cooked shrimp.
When his vision finally cleared, he saw the savage woman had already scrambled up and returned, now pressing the tip of a rapier against his throat.
Feeling the cold steel against his skin, Jon had no doubt that if he made one wrong move, this woman—who had personally shot bandits dead—would not hesitate to thrust the blade forward.
It was only now that the two people in the room finally had time to see each other's faces clearly.
When Anya saw Jon's face, her already flushed cheeks turned a deeper shade of red from anger, and she pressed the rapier a little harder.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch! Miss Anya, please, compose yourself. I can explain everything."
As he spoke, Jon slowly rose from the ground, raising both hands high to show his harmlessness.
His expensive formal attire, combined with his calm and composed expression (despite the lingering pain), allowed the sword-wielding woman to sense that he clearly had no hostile intent.
However, as soon as the words left his lips, and before Anya could decide what to do, Jon suddenly slid backward, instantly creating a safe distance between them.
Seeing this, Miss Anya immediately realized she had been played again. Furious, she lunged forward with the sword, trying to regain the initiative.
But she clearly didn't realize that physically, she was no match for Jon.
As the rapier thrust forward, Jon simply pivoted slightly, sidestepping to her flank and snatching the weapon from her hand in one fluid motion.
Only then did Jon continue, adding:
"I know it's hard to believe, but I must explain: this is all a misunderstanding."