Charles glanced at Grant's expression. "Uh… Is that really okay?"
Anno turned around and gave her father a quick hug. "Dad, our house is just across the street—a couple of steps at best. Why not walk home and call it your daily exercise? I want to check out Charles's monastery myself. I'm really not sure about that new instructor. Bye!"
With that, she took Charles's hand, pulling him into the carriage. "Of course we can go—my dad's fine with it. Let's get moving!"
Charles shot Grant an uneasy look and saw his face was about as dark as a thundercloud. The driver looked back at his master nervously too, but in the end, the Minister of Transport just waved his hand. "Go. Just be back early."
And with that, the carriage rumbled away and vanished down the road. Grant stood there in place, unable to swallow his feelings, and at last stomped his foot hard in frustration.
A moment later, a noblewoman in her thirties or forties, with a striking figure, silver hair, and sultry red lips, strolled over and chuckled, "What's the matter, Grant? I don't usually see you lose your temper. Your son-in-law landed such a grand title, but you look like you just ate a lemon."
"How could I be happy?" Grant finally let it out with an old friend. "That punk just whisked Anno away and took my carriage too, leaving me—her own father—to trudge home alone!"
"This… this… Absolutely outrageous!"
The woman covered her mouth, giggling softly. "Welcome to fatherhood, my friend. Every girl's dad faces this one day."
Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she added, "But hey, since your carriage was hijacked by your daughter, nobody can blame you for coming home late. Want to come by my place for a while?"
Grant sighed. "Might as well."
Arm in arm, the two headed over to another carriage.
Meanwhile, in Anno's carriage—
This one was pretty spacious, almost the size of a delivery van where Charles was from. Of course, the Amcastra horses were strong enough to haul it like it was nothing.
Inside, Anno gave the driver their destination, shut the drapes, and instantly threw her arms around Charles, burying her face in his chest and taking a deep breath, her cheeks blushing. "Ah, darling, I missed you so much…"
She meant it too. Last time they'd only hugged—a kiss at most—and that sort of craving wasn't so easily satisfied.
Charles hugged her right back, savoring her scent and the softness in his arms. He suddenly muttered, "Sorry I didn't agree to go back to your house with your father…"
Anno shook her head, eyes still closed. "Don't worry about it. After the New Year is fine. Half my relatives are staying over right now anyway, and trust me—they'd give you so much trouble."
Charles chuckled. "And after the New Year, they won't?"
"They'll all head back to their own homes," Anno sighed, opening her eyes; just mentioning her relatives made her face fall. "Honestly, I try to dodge them too. Some are so obnoxious—always poking their noses in, driving me nuts."
Charles gently ran his hand through her hair, easily picturing the way those relatives must act. "Then come hide at my place for a while."
He bent for a kiss, and Anno, biting her lip, peeked forward to check the driver—who was focused entirely on the road—then surrendered, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him back.
Their lips pressed together, tongues entwining in a secret, passionate dance.
...
At that moment, in the Mithril Palace—
A grand castle built of pure white marble, with threads of mithral embedded throughout its walls, forming immense magical circuits.
Rivers of arcane power flowed through it like blood through veins—making this entire castle a near-perfect magical fortress, indestructible.
This was the residence and office for every Open Lord of Liberl Port, and now, it was home to Laeral Silverhand.
Upstairs, Laeral herself lounged on a pristine king-size bed, wrapped in a soft lavender silk nightgown, propped up with luxurious pillows, paging through a spellbook.
Barefoot, her pale, flawless feet crossed—no calluses in sight, every toe as perfect as a pearl, shining under the shafts of morning sunlight streaming through the window.
Right now, she was poring over the newest papers from the university's arcane department. Her own magical power was weakening by the day; she'd lost contact even with her mother, and she knew it better than anyone.
But the city still needed her strength, so she had no choice but to study, searching for new strategies for the difficult future ahead.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Without lifting a finger or saying a word, Laeral simply willed it open—and her black-suited secretary came in, carrying a stack of documents. "My Lady, a group of high hereditary nobles are here. They say they've got questions about today's honors ritual and would like to speak with you."
Laeral raised an eyebrow, thinking, So it's finally happening. I guess letting Vajra handle the ennoblement must've bruised their delicate noble egos after all.
Even Blackstaff herself, protector of the entire city, still can't fully replace me in their eyes, huh?
Amused, she nearly laughed, but kept it in and addressed her secretary, "Have them wait on the first floor. I'll see them shortly."
The young woman bowed out. Laeral turned the final page of her spellbook, then climbed out of bed as her purple nightgown shimmered and transformed into her customary white archmage's robe. She left the bedroom and headed downstairs to the main meeting room.
There, six nobles were already waiting—men and women alike, all decked out in robes covered with sparkling jewels. At that moment, every single one of them was wearing an expression of obvious anger.
~~~
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