Chapter : 1291

The moment Monalisa vanished into the crowd, the strange, intense world they had created disappeared. The noise and color of the ballroom came rushing back. It felt loud and rough after the quiet, deadly dance. Lloyd stood his ground. He was like a single rock in the flowing river of the party. His mind was already spinning, thinking, and changing plans.

Leviathan. A Queen. A hidden family line. This meant a lot. It was like a whole new continent of enemies had appeared on a map he thought was complete. His whole understanding of the world's strategy was now useless. This was not a war on two fronts. It was a chess game with many dimensions against an enemy whose name he had just learned.

A clumsy Baron, his face red from wine, bumped into him. He mumbled an apology and hurried away. The short, normal event helped bring Lloyd back to reality. He was still here, in this room, and he had more immediate problems to deal with.

He saw them coming. Amina was moving with the quiet, determined grace of a panther. She walked in a straight, steady line through the messy crowd. Her face was calm and royal, but her eyes had the sharp, dangerous look of a drawn sword. Faria was a different kind of storm. She was a burst of color and anger. Her red dress was like a flag of war. She was not cutting through the crowd; she was making it part. Her bright anger was a real force that made other nobles step aside without thinking.

They were moving in on him from two sides, like a perfect military plan to corner and capture him. Lloyd felt a mix of amusement and fear. He had just danced with a devil, only to now face the judgment of two goddesses.

His mind, always thinking like a strategist, looked at his choices. He could run away, using the crowd to hide and escape to the safety of his father's side. He could pretend he did not see them. Or he could stand his ground and face them. The first choice was cowardly. The second was foolish. The third, he knew, would be painful.

He took a deep breath. He made his face look pleasantly surprised and a little tired. It was the perfect mask for the coming fight. He was just a humble lord, enjoying a party, completely unaware of the two women coming to question him.

But before either Amina or Faria could reach him, a third, unexpected person made a move.

A beautiful woman in a white silk dress with sparkling diamonds appeared in front of him. She blocked his view of the approaching storms. Princess Isabella stood before him. Her arms were crossed, and her face showed a mix of playful challenge and real curiosity that was hard to read.

"You're a surprisingly good dancer for a man who spends his time inventing soap and fighting monsters in the dark," she said. Her voice was low and musical. The insult was hidden in a compliment, a typical move for Isabella.

Lloyd looked at her. His own eyes showed real amusement. "A man must have many different skills to survive in this world, Your Highness," he replied. His voice was smooth and easy.

"Indeed," she agreed. Her eyes were sharp and smart. She was no longer the proud, rude girl who had seen him as a failure. The duel on the cliff, the shared secret of his identity as the White Mask, had created a new, more complicated and tense connection between them. She now saw him not as a puzzle to solve, but as a challenge to face.

"Well," she declared, her eyes shining with a playful light, "since you are so… skilled…" She did not wait for an answer. With a grace that was both royal and surprisingly bold, she took his hand. Her touch was cool and firm. "Would you like to entertain a lonely lady?"

It was not a question. It was a command. It was a brilliant and bold move that showed her royal power and completely ruined the coming fight with Amina and Faria. Lloyd glanced over her shoulder. He saw the two other princesses stop in their tracks. Their angry faces now showed a new, beautiful, and very funny layer of shocked surprise.

Isabella had not just stopped him; she had stolen him, right from under their noses, in the most public and bold way possible.

Chapter : 1292

Lloyd let out a soft, quiet laugh. He was a man caught in the middle of a fight, a piece in a game of queens. And in that moment, he realized that he would not want it any other way. This was a battle he could not win with swords or spirits. This was a war of cleverness, of charm, of strong will.

"It would be my honor, Your Highness," he said. He gave her a low, formal bow that was only a little bit teasing.

He took her in his arms. As the orchestra's music grew louder, he led her onto the dance floor. He could feel three sets of eyes on his back—Amina's cold, analytical stare, Faria's burning anger, and Rosa's icy judgment. He knew that his night was far from over. The dance with the devil had ended. The dance with the dragon, the lioness, and the winter queen was just beginning.

If the waltz with Monalisa was a quiet fight of shadows and whispers, the dance with Princess Isabella was a brilliant, exciting clash of swords. The orchestra seemed to sense the change in mood. It switched to a fast, powerful song that required energy and skill. Isabella had been taught by the best teachers in the kingdom. She was a technically perfect dancer. Her moves were a perfect example of the Royal Knight’s military waltz, a style that mixed courtly grace with the strict training of sword fighting.

Lloyd, however, did not dance like a knight. He danced like a ghost.

He met her structured, classic style with a smooth, unpredictable grace that came from a different world. He moved with a relaxed confidence that was almost arrogant. His body was a beautiful display of controlled power. Her movements were sharp and clear. His were a smooth, continuous line. It was not a contest; it was a conversation. It was a thrilling discussion between two different ways of moving.

"I have to admit, Lord Ferrum," Isabella said, her breathing only a little faster as he led her through a series of difficult turns, "I find you to be a man of… great contradictions."

"Is that a compliment, Your Highness?" Lloyd asked. His smile was a flash of white in the bright light.

"It is an observation," she answered. Her eyes were sharp and smart. She was not just dancing; she was questioning him. She was using the rhythm and flow of the waltz as a tool in their conversation. "You are the man who invented a revolutionary cleaning liquid, a product of peace and business. Yet you are also the man who commands a demon of fire and deals with Crown-Ranked threats as easily as a butcher."

He did not deny it. The game of his secret identity was over between them. "As I said, a variety of skills is necessary for survival."

"Survival?" She raised a perfect eyebrow. "What you showed in the garden was not survival. It was power. It was the action of a predator, not a cornered animal."

Her observation was, as always, uncomfortably correct. He had not been fighting for his life against Franz; he had been performing an execution.

They twirled across the floor, a blur of white and black. The other dancers naturally gave them a lot of space. They were a sight to see, a beautiful, dangerous storm in the middle of the party. Lloyd could feel the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes watching them, but he was completely focused on the woman in his arms. She was a fascinating puzzle, a mix of fire and ice, a warrior in a princess’s dress.

"And now," she continued, her voice a low, secret whisper, "the King, my father, puts you in charge of my brother’s wedding. Not as a guest, but as a commander. The 'Head of Decorations,'" she said the title with a roll of her eyes, "a cover so obvious it is almost an insult to our intelligence."

"I am only here to make sure the flowers are arranged in the best way," Lloyd replied. His tone was perfectly innocent.

Isabella let out a sharp, unladylike laugh. "Of course, you are. And I am just a concerned citizen. Tell me, Professor," she pushed, using his old title like a sharp dart, "what is your real purpose here? What is the King's real plan?"

He held her gaze. His own eyes suddenly became serious. "The King's plan," he said, his voice dropping, "is to make sure his son lives to see his next birthday. My purpose is to be the sword that makes that happen."