Monica stood before him with a soft, measured smile, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her head tilted ever so slightly to the side, as if she were studying a rare flower in bloom.

"L–Lady Monica," Florian stammered, his eyes wide. His pulse jumped erratically in his throat.

Above him, Azure's grip on his hair tightened possessively, sharp little claws pricking his scalp. The dragon's low growl reverberated against him, a warning rumble.

Monica's gaze flicked toward Azure, and though she clearly noticed the sound, her expression never wavered.

Calm.

Serene.

Unfazed.

"And this must be His Majesty's dragon," she said smoothly, her voice like silk over glass. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Graahh." Azure's growl deepened, louder this time, teeth bared.

Florian tensed immediately, panic flashing through him. 'He's going to attack her—oh God, not here, not now.' He clutched at Azure quickly, his voice sharp. "Go look for Cashew and stay with him."

But Azure's wings stayed tight against his sides, his violet eyes glimmering with stubborn defiance. He didn't move.

Florian narrowed his eyes. "Azure." His tone hardened, strict in a way he rarely ever used with him.

The little dragon's growl faltered. He pouted—if a dragon could pout—before tucking his wings closer.

The movement was sulky, unhappy, but Florian knew it meant surrender. Azure was upset, but he knew better than to disobey, especially today of all days.

With a reluctant huff, he spread his wings, casting one last venomous glare at Monica before lifting off the ground.

The rush of air from his takeoff ruffled Florian's hair and tugged at the fabric of his veil.

Florian followed the dragon with his gaze, watching until the blur of blue disappeared into the distance.

A knot of guilt pressed against his chest—he hated sending Azure away when he clearly didn't trust Monica—but what choice did he have?

The silence that lingered after Azure's departure was heavier than before. Florian turned back, unsure what to say, unsure why Monica—of all people—would approach him now.

Monica's eyes were on him still, calm and unwavering. "I'm surprised," she said at last. "I had heard whispers that you were close with the dragon. But to see it up close…" Her smile widened slightly, though her tone stayed perfectly smooth. "You're admirable, Prince Florian."

Florian's heart stuttered. His eyes snapped toward her, uncertain if it was praise or a subtle jab.

'Why would she say that? What does she want from me?'

He forced a laugh, awkward and brittle. "You flatter me, my lady."

"I've heard a great many things about you from my son," Monica said, her voice smooth, unhurried. Her hands folded gracefully before her as her eyes lingered on him. "He seems to admire you greatly. And His Majesty… well, it is clear he admires you too."

Florian's breath caught at her words, his chest tightening.

Monica continued, unflinching. "After hearing of your feats, and all you've endured, I've come to respect you myself. So if you could spare me a few minutes…" She lifted her hand, gesturing lightly in the universal signal of 'come with me.'

"May I speak with you? Just privately."

Florian froze. His heart lurched painfully in his chest.

'She wants to speak with me in private?'

His thoughts tumbled over each other, sharp and panicked. Suspicion stabbed through him like a knife.

But… would Monica actually do anything to him?

'What would even be the reason? Her kingdom?'

Was this about politics? About him? About Heinz? Or worse—did she know something about Hendrix? About the original Florian?

His stomach churned. His skin prickled with unease.

God.

He was spiraling.

He could barely breathe.

Not only was Monica pulling him into something he didn't understand, but Heinz had asked him to meet at the balcony in only a few minutes—whatever that meant.

The pressure was suffocating.

"Your Highness." Monica's voice cut through his internal chaos, calm and unyielding. "I can see it on your face—you're worrying. Please don't."

Florian stiffened. "I'm not—"

"You don't have to lie." Her smile softened, but her eyes stayed steady. "I understand."

His lips pressed tightly together.

Monica tilted her head, her tone gentler now, almost coaxing. "I only wish to tell you a story. That's all."

Florian blinked. "…A story?"

"Yes." Monica nodded slowly, her smile never wavering. "It shall be brief. I promise."

Florian hesitated. His chest was tight with anxiety, but beneath it… curiosity stirred. Against his better judgment, he nodded. "Okay," he whispered, almost to himself.

Monica inclined her head politely, as if she'd expected nothing less. Then she turned with quiet grace, her gown whispering across the polished floor. "Please follow me."

And Florian did.

He trailed after her, his steps light but his nerves screaming beneath his skin.

Around them, the ballroom was alive with distraction—guests busy dancing in twirling pairs, nobles crowding near the seven-tier cake, others murmuring over food and wine as they mingled with foreign dignitaries.

Laughter, clinking glasses, music—all of it drowned any chance that anyone might notice Monica slipping away with him.

'She chose the perfect time to approach me,' Florian thought, unease curling in his stomach. 'That can't be coincidence. It has to be deliberate.'

And the more he thought on it, the more he was certain: it was on purpose.

They walked in silence, though Florian's mind was anything but. He kept his gaze fixed on Monica's back, on the way her every step was measured, assured.

She looked as if she belonged here, like the palace itself bent to her presence.

Only then did it strike him—Monica had lived in the Diamond Palace before. She would know its halls better than he ever could.

So of course, she led him to places unfamiliar.

They passed from the brilliant chaos of the ballroom into quieter, dimmer corridors, until finally she stopped at a modest door tucked against the wall.

Florian blinked, startled.

'Where is she taking me…?'

He hadn't had the chance—or the interest—to properly explore this side of the palace. It had never even crossed his mind that the ballroom would have adjoining rooms at all.

Monica opened the door without hesitation. A hush of air drifted out, carrying the scent of polished wood and faintly perfumed oil lamps.

Inside was a lounge area—quiet, refined. Plush chairs and faint drapery softened the space, a clear haven from the noise outside. It was elegant, but more subdued than the grandeur of the ballroom.

Florian stepped in after her, his eyes flicking around with cautious curiosity.

'This is new.'

The door closed behind them, and suddenly the noise of the ball felt far away. It was just them now.

Monica turned slightly, her voice calm, composed. "This is a place only members of the royal family may enter. Sometimes the ball becomes overwhelming, and this is where they retreat to rest."

Florian frowned, the tension in his shoulders sharpening. "Why are we here then?"

Neither of them were Obsidian royals. This was not their right.

Monica chuckled lightly, as though the question amused her. "King Henry used to bring me here whenever the celebrations became too much. He granted me access." Her smile softened as she paused, her eyes finding his.

"I believe, if King Heinz saw you wanted for comfort, he would have brought you here as well. So…" Her gaze lingered, steady and knowing. "I took it upon myself."