Chapter : 1295

"She is a grandmaster," Lloyd admitted. "Patient, intelligent, and completely ruthless. Her organization is disciplined and operates with a level of long-term planning that is… concerning."

"So do we," Amina reminded him. Her grip on his shoulder tightened slightly. "You are not alone in this, Lloyd. Our alliance is not just a piece of paper. The Whispers are now your eyes and ears. Leviathan has shown their first move; now, we will begin to map out their entire plan."

Their conversation was a fast exchange of information, of strategic ideas, of counter-moves. They spoke of trade routes that could be disrupted, of political partnerships that could be used, of weaknesses that could be taken advantage of. They were not two people on a dance floor; they were two generals in a war room. Their minds were perfectly in sync, building the plan for a new, silent war.

As the music came to an end, Amina looked at him. Her usual sharp intelligence was softened by a touch of real concern. "Be careful, Lloyd," she whispered. "You have made yourself the most interesting piece in this game. That makes you the most valuable, and the most targeted. Do not underestimate how far they will go to remove you from the game."

He simply nodded. The serious reality of her words settled over him. He walked her back to the edge of the floor. Faria was waiting there, tapping her foot with the impatient energy of a caged tiger.

"Well?" Faria demanded as Amina left with a final, knowing glance. "Have you finished planning the destruction of the Western world?"

"Something like that," Lloyd admitted. He turned to her and offered his arm. "Now, I believe I owe you a dance, my lady."

Faria took his arm. Her touch was a spark of heat. "You owe me more than a dance, you soap-selling devil," she muttered. But she let him lead her onto the floor. The orchestra, as if it knew, erupted into a fiery, passionate tango. The intellectual chess match was over. The glorious, beautiful, and completely exhausting battle was about to begin.

The tango with Faria was a glorious, beautiful, and completely exhausting battle. If his dance with Amina was a meeting of minds, this was a clash of souls. Faria danced with a fierce, passionate energy. Her movements were a physical expression of her fiery spirit. She did not just follow his lead; she challenged it. Every step was a question, a demand, a statement.

"So," she began, her voice a low, dangerous growl as he dipped her. Her red dress spread out like a pool of blood. "A second wife. A princess, no less. You work fast, Lord Ferrum. Was I just a fling? A pleasant distraction while you were arranging your big political deals?"

Her words were sharp and meant to hurt, and they did. Lloyd felt a real pang of guilt. In the cold calculation of his survival, he had treated her with a strategic coldness that he now realized was a form of cruelty.

"It was not like that, Faria," he said. His voice was low and sincere as he brought her back up. Their bodies were close. "The situation in Zakaria was… complicated. It was a trap I did not see until it was too late."

"A trap," she scoffed, but there was a hint of doubt in her eyes. "You, the man who thinks ten moves ahead, walked into a trap?"

"Even a grandmaster can be beaten when the opponent changes the rules in the middle of the game," he admitted. It was a rare confession of his own mistake.

He did not tell her the full, humiliating story of the marriage trial. But he gave her a small piece of the truth. He spoke of a Sultan who played with people like they were pieces on a game board, of a politically binding magical contract, of a situation where agreeing was the only choice that did not lead to an international war.

She listened. Her fiery anger slowly cooled as she heard the cold, complex reality of his story. The dance softened. The sharp, aggressive movements flowed into something more smooth, more intimate. It was no longer a battle, but a negotiation.

"So, you are a prisoner," she finally said. Her voice was softer now, filled with a new understanding.

"We are all prisoners of our duties, my lady," he replied, making a slow, elegant turn.

"Don't call me that," she snapped. The fire returned to her eyes. "Don't hide behind titles. You called me Faria in the workshop. You treated me as an equal. Are you taking that back now? Am I once again just the Marquess's daughter to you?"

Chapter : 1296

He looked at her then, really looked at her. He saw not the angry princess, but the brilliant, passionate artist who had argued with him about the psychological power of color, the woman who had brought him a cake because she was worried he was sick.

"No," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "You are not. You are Faria. My partner. My friend."

The words, simple and honest, healed her wounded pride. A slow, beautiful smile appeared on her lips. "Good," she said. "Just so we're clear."

The rest of the dance was a silent, comfortable peace. The war was not over, but a temporary truce had been called. They moved together in a harmony born from shared secrets and a deep, mutual respect. He was a man trapped between impossible choices, and she was a woman who was beginning to understand that the heart was a much more complex and dangerous battlefield than any canvas.

As the music ended, he walked her back to her family. Her father, the Marquess Kruts, greeted him with a warm, knowing smile that made Lloyd very uncomfortable. He had a feeling his "complicated" situation was about to become the subject of a lot of high-level political talks.

He moved to a quiet corner and grabbed a glass of water from a passing servant. His mind and body were tired from the social and emotional challenges of the evening. He had survived the two main storms. He allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction, a short break before the next certain crisis. The night was still young. And he knew, with a tired certainty, that there were still other dances he had to perform. His price for being popular was a life of constant, exhausting motion.

Lloyd stood in a corner and watched the people in the ballroom. It was a beautiful room, but it was also a chaotic place. It was like a sea full of shining hunters and their graceful victims. He had already managed the most dangerous people. He calmed down the two queens who both thought he belonged to them. For a moment, he felt like a soldier who had just finished two very hard fights. All he wanted was a quiet moment to rest and think about what to do next.

But he knew he could not rest.

He looked across the room and his eyes stopped on Jasmin. She was standing near the big entrance. She was a quiet person who did not draw attention to herself. She wore a simple but nice dress for a handmaiden. She was not gossiping or trying to get a handsome knight to notice her. She was just watching him. Her hands were folded in front of her, and she had a small, sad smile on her face. It was a smile that showed she was very loyal.

It was the smile of a person who was happy for his success. She was celebrating his wins, but she knew for sure that she would never be part of his world. She was the person who helped him build everything. She was the first loyal soldier in his army. And now, she was on the outside of his victory party.

He suddenly felt a sharp pain of guilt. It was hot and he did not expect it. The feeling cut through how tired he was. In all his big plans, and in his dances with powerful people, he had forgotten the one person who was completely loyal to him. Her loyalty was perfect, without any conditions, and she wanted nothing in return.

He did not think about his next move. It was a sudden feeling, a human need to fix something that was very wrong. He put his water glass down on a nearby table and started to walk.

The crowd of people moved out of his way as he walked across the floor. He was Lord Ferrum now. He was the hero of Oakhaven and the king's new favorite person. He was the man who could control demons and dance with princesses. Everyone watched everything he did. They studied his moves and whispered about him. He ignored all of them. He was focused only on the small, quiet woman by the door.

Jasmin saw him coming toward her. A look of pure panic appeared on her face. She thought she had done something wrong. She thought he was coming to scold her. She started to say she was sorry, and her eyes were wide with fear.

He reached her and just held up a hand to stop her from talking. He gave her a soft, real smile. It was a smile he did not show to anyone else. It was a smile of simple, pure affection.