CHAPTER 522: ’THE TASK WAS A TASK.’

"I truly hope I wasn’t stealing your time from His Majesty," Elara said lightly, her tone threaded with a chuckle that seemed to glide effortlessly into Florian’s ears.

Her green cloak swept behind her as they moved, her poise unshaken by the whirl of dancers around them.

She tilted her head closer, her voice dropping into something conspiratorial, almost playful. "Though... it did seem like you needed a break as well."

Florian’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. The corners of his mouth twitched despite himself, and he let out a small laugh.

’Wow. She’s good.’

His lips curved into a smile as he admitted, "Talking to all those nobles was tiring..."

The look Elara shot him was amused, sharp yet soft at the same time—a single arched brow paired with the glimmer of humor in her eyes.

It was the kind of look that said, without words, "but I’m a noble too."

Florian’s face heated. He quickly shook his hands before him, stumbling over his words. "N-Not that you’re part of them—or rather, not that you’re not a noble—you’re one of the most noble nobles! But I—I—uh..."

Her hand came to rest on his arm, feather-light yet steady, silencing his nervous floundering. "Relax, Your Highness," she said, her smile blooming into one of quiet amusement. "I know what you meant. I was merely teasing."

"Oh." Florian exhaled, shoulders easing, a breath of relief slipping out before he could catch it.

Her eyes studied him with patient curiosity. "For a birthday celebrant, you seem quite jittery. You have not even spoken to your family yet." She spoke respectfully, her words measured, never overstepping—but there was genuine curiosity beneath the surface.

"Is there a reason for that?"

Florian swallowed. One-on-one like this, he noticed more of her—her elegance wasn’t the icy kind that demanded submission, but a warmer, mischievous grace, as if she were capable of dancing between propriety and mockery without missing a beat.

Yet another detail gnawed at him as they walked together: nobles kept steering away. Men who had spent half the night chasing Heinz’s attention suddenly found pressing reasons to vanish into the dance floor or melt toward the refreshments.

Women who had eagerly complimented Florian minutes ago dropped their gazes and passed swiftly by, as though Duke Elara carried a presence sharper than steel.

It was strange. ’For me, Heinz is far more terrifying. So why are they all afraid of her?’

"I was planning to speak with them eventually," Florian admitted, voice hushed, as though speaking too loudly might break the fragile moment. "Truthfully, I just didn’t know when I was allowed to pull away from His Majesty."

Elara’s laugh was soft, melodic, brushing against him like silk. "It is quite surprising to see him cling to someone so much," she said, her eyes glinting with amusement. "But perhaps it is because you look so lovely tonight, and he feared someone might snatch you away."

Florian’s throat tightened. His lips parted, a protest half-formed, but he stopped himself.

’That’s... again with the implications. They keep making it sound like he actually—no. No, that’s ridiculous.’ He forced a small smile instead.

"Actually," he said quickly, latching onto the thought like a lifeline, "since I have you here now, I do want to apologize for not yet giving you an answer to your letter... about the task you wanted me to do."

Elara slowed to a halt, her cloak whispering against the polished marble as she turned to face him fully.

The chandeliers above cast a soft sheen across her features, catching on the faint, deliberate gleam in her eyes.

For a heartbeat, Florian felt as though the crowd and music had blurred into background haze, leaving only the two of them in focus.

"I have been meaning to speak with you about that, Your Highness," she said, her voice smooth but edged with intent. Her gaze did not waver, calm yet sharp enough to make him straighten instinctively. "Are you interested in doing it?"

Florian hesitated. His mouth went dry. ’Am I? It’s not like I even know what she wants me to do yet...’

"Well," he began carefully, measuring each word, "you’ve certainly piqued my interest. But I... I do want to know what it might be about."

For the first time, Elara’s expression shifted. A small crease formed between her brows, her lips drawing into a faint frown that seemed more thoughtful than displeased.

"Unfortunately," she said, tone quiet but firm, "it is the kind of task I cannot speak of openly. The information is... classified. If you choose to be involved, then—and only then—will the details be revealed."

Florian’s shoulders sagged slightly with disappointment. ’Oh. That’s a shame... but if it’s that restricted, then it must be important. Maybe even dangerous.’

But before he could resign himself to silence, Elara’s voice cut through his thoughts.

"However..."

She let the word hang in the air like a blade suspended by a thread, watching him closely. Florian’s breath hitched, his steps faltering as his mind caught on the weight of her tone.

"...there is one piece of information I may be able to give you," Elara continued, her eyes glinting like steel catching firelight. "Something... small, but enough to make you understand why I came to you in the first place."

Her fingers brushed against the rim of her sleeve, her posture perfectly composed, but her gaze carried a quiet intensity that pinned Florian in place.

Florian tilted his head slightly, curiosity tugging at him despite the unease that coiled in his chest. "What is it?"

Elara didn’t answer right away. She studied him instead, her eyes half-lidded, calculating, as though measuring whether he was ready for what she was about to say.

The silence stretched just long enough to make Florian’s pulse quicken.

Then she stepped closer.

Her movements were smooth, deliberate, the hem of her gown whispering against the floor as she closed the space between them.

The faint perfume she wore—something sharp with a hint of spice—reached him just as she leaned in. Her lips hovered near his ear, low enough that the crowded ballroom’s noise couldn’t swallow her words.

"That task..." she murmured, her breath warm against his skin.

Florian stiffened. ’That task?’ The words echoed in his head, muddled and confusing. ’Why is she pausing so long?’

The suspense was killing him.

"...was a task," Elara continued, her tone soft but edged with steel, "that the late Queen Anastasia also tried doing... but failed."

Florian’s eyes widened, his stomach plunging like he’d stepped off a cliff. He turned his head sharply toward her, his voice cracking through the stunned hush between them.

"Wait... what?"