The secondary hall of the castle—small, warm, amber light filtering through stained glass—was the only place where the queen and the duchess could set aside the mask of power.
Adelaine sighed as she watched her old friend enter.
"At last, Sofia. I was withering in that meeting."
"And here I thought you were used to watching people die slowly," Sofia replied, letting out a tired laugh.
Adelaine smiled—no crown, no protocol.
"What did you bring?"
"Supplies. Food. Preserves, grains, stabilized mana roots… enough for the entire capital for a month," Sofia said, placing a runic bracelet on the table. "Not just artifacts. Thirty wagons entered through the West Gate last night. And within this seal—" she tapped it lightly—"are concentrated reserves for emergencies: grain, stabilized roots, flour, preserved meat."
An entire month for the capital… if rationed carefully.
Adelaine exhaled, almost trembling.
"Sofia… this…" The queen paused, unable to find the words. "It's too much. It's… salvation."
"Distribute it as you see fit," the duchess replied, resting a hand over hers. "You decide how to sustain your people. The duchy can produce more."
Adelaine let out an emotional breath.
"I don't know how you do it."
"Neither do I," Sofia laughed softly, "but Lusian worked very hard. So thank him."
A warm, complicit silence followed.
Adelaine lowered her gaze for a moment before asking,
"Sofia… and you? How are you handling Lawrence's passing?"
The duchess folded her arms, thoughtful.
"I don't know. I was saddened, yes. It was… a story that had already ended. But my priority has always been Lusian. He is my world, my first and last duty."
Adelaine regarded her with genuine affection.
"You're not as hard as you seem."
"And you're not as saintly as they paint you," Sofia replied with a mischievous smile.
They both laughed.
Then the door opened.
Elizabeth and Lusian entered, hand in hand.
The queen barely concealed a sigh.
Elizabeth no longer carried the fragile aura of recent months. There was something new in her now—resolve. Light. A secret fire that only a woman in love, willing to defy everything, could carry in her eyes.
Sofia saw her son.
That expression…
And his fingers intertwined with the kingdom's princess.
The duchess pretended to frown.
"Well now, Lusian Douglas… you look as though you've been busy."
He swallowed.
"Mother…"
But his eyes betrayed him—they shone with pure joy, relief, pride.
Adelaine did not even attempt composure.
"Sofia, stop pretending. It's obvious you're happy for them."
The duchess let out a soft laugh.
"Well, what can I say? My son was always a heartbreaker."
Elizabeth squeezed Lusian's hand, embarrassed—but she did not let go.
The supplies sent by the duchy saved thousands of lives.Greenhouses inspired by the Douglas innovations began rising one after another.The Type III Petrifying Flora was embedded into the walls, draining aggressive mana as if the city were breathing for the first time in months.
The capital once again smelled of bread.Of bustling markets.Of life.
But not everything was simple.
By morning, the inevitable encounter occurred. Lusian had postponed it as long as possible, aware that every word spoken before her could alter the future he knew. Yet when he arrived at the meeting point, there was no escape left.
Emily was waiting. She stood slightly rigid, wearing the composed calm of someone who had rehearsed the moment more times than she would ever admit.
Perhaps I was too bold in the county… perhaps I should have been more cautious, she thought.No. This is the moment. If I retreat now, I'll regret it forever.
Lusian approached with his escort.
Albert led the formation with implacable bearing, followed by thirty warriors between Levels 70 and 75—all magic-affinity, as protocol demanded for a duke's guard. At his side marched Adela with her tiger, now Level 66. Behind them, ten mages between Levels 65 and 70, experts in healing and defense. Sofia's wolf, Umber, now Level 80, closed the formation with an intimidating gaze.
Emily saw all of it…
And still, the only thing she felt was the rapid beating of her heart.
When he stood before her, they both inclined their heads slightly, following etiquette. A restrained greeting. Almost cold. Too proper for what they had been.
"Lady Emily," Lusian murmured, striving to steady his voice. "It has been some time."
"It has, Your Grace," she replied awkwardly. Why did that sound so distant…
An uncomfortable silence. He, unsure how to address the one who in the future would become his executioner. She, flushed with embarrassment, unable to erase the memory of the kiss they had shared months before.
"How has your stay in Carter territory been?" Lusian asked, forcing a cordial tone.
"Productive… efficient. Though…" she swallowed, "the return journey was calmer than I expected. There was no danger."
Lusian nodded. For an instant, his eyes drifted—unwillingly—to her lips. He remembered their softness. Emily noticed. Her cheeks turned crimson.
"I've arranged a place for us to eat," she said quickly. "I thought we might… return to the same restaurant as last time."
It took him a second to respond.
"Yes… I remember that place."
She inhaled deeply. I am his fiancée. This is allowed, she told herself, summoning courage honed in battle, not in matters of the heart. Gently, she took Lusian's arm.
There was a moment of tension.
He did not pull away.
He felt the light brush of her body. Softness. Warmth.
And they walked together.
Without looking at one another. Without speaking.
With a thousand things left unsaid.
They entered the restaurant.
It was more crowded than before. Nobles and adventurers filled the tables, reflecting the tension in the kingdom's air. They ascended to the noble floor, where large windows overlooked a horizon stained by sunset.
Emily tried to maintain light conversation about reconstruction efforts in Carter territory. She laughed softly, that shyness making her seem even younger. For a moment, she appeared to forget he was the Duke of Douglas—though the unease in her eyes returned whenever the memory of their kiss surfaced.
Lusian watched her carefully, conscious of how delicate each word was. If Emily were not who she was—if she did not carry the Blessing of Light—perhaps he would already have accepted those small steps she took toward him. Perhaps…
For a moment, the tension seemed to ease beneath trivial conversation.
Until a familiar voice shattered the fragile calm.
"Well, what a coincidence to find you here, Lusian."
He turned slowly.
Kara Bourlance.
Untamed beauty. Proud posture. She did not wait for invitation—she simply sat, as if she owned the table.
The air shifted.
Emily blinked in surprise. Lusian regarded Kara with cool composure—the same detached calm he reserved for the dangerous or the irritating—though a flicker of nostalgia crossed his gaze. He remembered the academy days, when Kara had relentlessly challenged him… and he, in Albert's brutal fashion, had defeated her every time.
"If I'm not mistaken," he said lightly, "I have the honor of sharing a table with the future heir of the Bourlance Duchy."
"Congratulations on your ascension, Lusian," Kara replied evenly. "And… my deepest condolences for your father."
Emily froze.
Her breath faltered.
No… I haven't said anything. I didn't congratulate him. I didn't even offer condolences…
Kara continued as though the table belonged to her, serving herself with casual ease.
"My father told me about the battle." Her eyes shone with genuine respect. "Lawrence Douglas was a true hero. And your men… died beside him without retreating. They honored his name."
A solemn silence settled.
And then—
"LUSIAN!"
The shout thundered through the hall.
The third prince, Leonardo Erkhan Ferrussi, strode forward aggressively, casting aside etiquette.
"Where is Isabella?" he demanded with disdain.
Before he could take another step, a blade stopped inches from his throat.
Albert.
In an instant, Lusian's entire escort drew their weapons. Thirty warriors of Level 70–75. Ten expert mages. Adela's imposing tiger. Umber, Level 80. The hall entered a state of contained war.
The prince's guards went pale.
Lusian sighed inwardly, impassive.
What is this day… a gathering of heroes?If this little prince knew what I do to Isabella at night… he would demand my head before dawn.
Umber instinctively stepped closer to Lusian. The air grew heavy.
People nearby retreated. The prince's lightning mana crackled—but the pressure emanating from Albert was like a mountain.
"Your Highness," Albert said coldly, "I demand respect. You stand before Duke Douglas."
The prince's general attempted to intervene, voice trembling.
"Drawing steel before a member of the royal family… is improper…"
But he spoke from protocol, not conviction. No one wanted to cross blades with Albert.
Lusian continued eating.
Without looking at the prince.
The tension gradually subsided. There was no battle.
The prince's escorts stepped back, visibly shaken. The general, pale, lowered his head.
Prince Leonardo, jaw tight and electricity flickering along his arms, fixed his gaze on Lusian—
But Lusian simply lifted his glass and drank, as though the scene did not merit attention.
That gesture—absolute indifference—struck harder than any insult.
"This isn't over, Douglas…" the prince hissed.
Lusian set his glass down calmly, without looking at him.
"It didn't begin today," he replied evenly.
The silence that followed was heavier than any challenge.
Leonardo scowled, then turned away. Each step echoed with wounded pride more than anger.
Kara watched with a faint smile.
She had seen Lusian win many battles—but few with so little effort.
"I'm still waiting for the duel you denied me at the academy," she murmured as she rose.
"When you stop looking for fights… perhaps you'll finally be ready for one," he replied without even glancing at her.
She let out a brief laugh—almost nostalgic—and left.
When the doors closed behind them, the murmur slowly returned.
But no one spoke loudly near Lusian.
Not that night.