Chapter : 1293

The direct, honest truth of his words silenced her. The playful talk was gone. It was replaced by the serious reality of their shared duty. They were not just a princess and a lord enjoying a dance. They were two soldiers on the front line of a secret war. And this beautiful, sparkling party was their battlefield.

The dance then became something else. It was no longer a challenge or a questioning. It was a silent agreement, a moment of shared understanding between two warriors. They moved in perfect, quiet harmony. Their bodies communicated a mutual respect that their words could not. They were on the same side, fighting the same enemy. And in that shared purpose, they found a strange, exciting, and very dangerous connection.

The music built up to its final, triumphant peak. Lloyd brought her to a stop in the center of the floor. He dipped her in a final, dramatic move. For a long, intense moment, they stayed there. Her back was arched, and his arm supported her. Their faces were inches apart. The noise of the ballroom faded to a quiet hum. In her eyes, he saw not the proud princess or the clever politician, but a woman of strong loyalty and a deep, lonely strength that was like his own.

The spell was broken by a wave of polite applause from the people watching. Lloyd gently brought her back to her feet. The warrior princess was gone. The cool, calm royal was back. But something important had changed between them. The dislike, the suspicion, it had all been burned away in the heat of their dance. What was left were the fragile, glowing embers of something new.

"You have changed in my eyes, Lord Ferrum," Isabella admitted. Her voice was barely a whisper, very different from her usual commanding tone. She had stepped back, putting a polite distance between them. But she kept looking at him. Her eyes showed a new, unguarded weakness. "When I first heard you were hired at the Academy, I saw you as a failure, a disgrace. A walking insult to your family's name."

Lloyd stayed quiet. He gave her the space to finish what she was saying. He knew this was an important moment, a change in their whole relationship.

"Then," she continued, a light blush on her cheeks, "I saw the White Mask. I saw a monster of fire and shadow, a creature of terrifying, total power. I was afraid of you. I saw you as a dark, unknown force, a secret weapon to be feared and controlled."

She took a small breath. She looked down at the polished floor for a moment before looking up at him again. Her eyes were now clear and determined. "But tonight… tonight I saw something else. I saw a commander leading his soldiers. I saw an inventor showing a miracle. I saw a man who danced with a devil and did not back down, who argued with a princess and did not bow, who treated a simple handmaiden with the same respect he showed a king."

Her words were like a series of precise, careful observations. But she said them with a warmth and honesty that broke through all of his defenses. She was not just flattering him. She was showing him the picture she had painted of him in her mind. And it was a picture he barely recognized himself.

"You are no longer a failure or a monster in my eyes," she finished. Her voice was soft but firm with a new, strong certainty. "You feel… like a white knight."

The title hung in the air between them. It was beautiful, ridiculous, and incredibly heavy. A white knight. He, a man who had killed, who had manipulated, who had built an empire on lies and secrets, was being called a hero by the one woman who had seen the darkest parts of him. The irony was a sharp, painful cut to his soul.

Before he could think of a reply, before he could deflect with a sarcastic comment or a humble denial, she gave him a small, sad smile. "Be careful, Lord Ferrum," she whispered. "White knights are often the first to die in a war of shadows."

And with that final, mysterious warning, she turned and walked away. She was a vision of royal grace. She left him alone once more at the edge of the dance floor. He watched her go, his mind a chaotic mess. The game between them had changed. It was no longer a hunt. It was something much more complicated, something that felt dangerously close to a partnership. Or maybe, something even more dangerous than that.

He was still thinking about her words when a new, much more immediate problem arrived.

Chapter : 1294

"I leave you alone for a few days," a voice hissed in his right ear, a sound like tearing silk, "and you are already flirting with every woman in the palace. Have you no decency?"

At the same time, a different voice, this one a low, fiery growl, echoed in his left ear. "He is a natural disaster. A walking diplomatic problem. He cannot be left alone for a single moment."

Lloyd froze. He did not need to look. He knew those voices. He closed his eyes and let out a long, tired sigh. The short, fragile peace was over.

Two small, surprisingly strong hands grabbed his ears, one on each side. They began to twist with a painful, possessive pressure.

Princess Amina stood on his right. Her face was a mask of playful, righteous anger. Lady Faria stood on his left. Her face was a mirror of Amina's burning anger. He was caught, literally, between a rock and a hard place. Or, more accurately, between a volcano and a supernova.

"Ladies," he began, his voice strained. "I can assure you, it was all strictly professional."

"Professional?" Amina’s grip tightened. "Does your 'professionalism' always involve dangling princesses off of cliffsides?"

"And what, exactly," Faria added, her own grip becoming very tight, "was the professional need for your little waltz with the woman who looks like she eats souls for breakfast?"

He was trapped. Utterly, completely, and magnificently trapped. The surrounding nobles were starting to stare. Their faces were a mix of horror and open amusement. The sight of a great lord, a war hero, a man who commanded demons, being publicly punished by two angry princesses was a sight to be remembered.

Lloyd, realizing that logic and denial were useless in this particular battle, gave up. He raised his hands in a gesture of complete surrender. He offered the only solution he could think of.

"My sincerest apologies, ladies," he said. A pained, apologetic smile was on his face. "Perhaps… a dance? To make up for it?"

It was a desperate, foolish move. But to his deep and lasting relief, after a moment of tense thought, the pressure on his ears eased. The balancing act had begun.

Lloyd’s offer to dance was not a charming invitation. It was a desperate act of diplomacy. It was like throwing a piece of meat to two circling predators. It was a temporary distraction to prevent his own destruction. He half-expected them to refuse the offer and continue their questioning. But to his surprise, Amina and Faria seemed to reach a silent, mental agreement. They let go of his ears at the same time. Their faces changed from pure anger to a reluctant, competitive acceptance.

"Very well," Amina said, her voice cool and royal. "As the one with an existing strategic partnership and a magical engagement, I believe I have the right to go first." She held out her hand, a clear and firm demand.

Faria got angry. "Go first? I have known this disaster for longer! My claim is based on shared artistic suffering and a life-debt! That is more important than any new political deal!"

Lloyd felt a headache starting. He was not a man; he was a piece of land, and two great powers were about to go to war over him. Before their argument could turn into a full-blown diplomatic crisis on the ballroom floor, he stepped in.

"Ladies, please," he said, his voice a calm and practiced diplomatic tool. "There is more than enough of my disastrous company for everyone." He turned first to Amina. He took her hand and gave it a respectful kiss. "Your Highness. If you would give me the honor."

Amina gave Faria a triumphant, smug little smile over Lloyd’s bowed head. Then she let him lead her onto the dance floor. The orchestra had switched to a more thoughtful, complex piece of music. It was a perfect match for the woman in his arms.

Their dance was like a chess match set to music. There was no fiery passion, no flirtatious challenge. It was a meeting of two minds. Their movements were precise. Their conversation was a low, coded whisper that no one listening could understand.

"The woman in black," Amina began without any small talk. Her eyes were sharp and analytical. "Monalisa Belphagor. My father’s intelligence group, The Whispers, has a file on her. A very thin file. She is a ghost, a high-ranking agent of a previously unknown group that calls themselves 'Leviathan.' Your dance was the first time she has ever shown her face in this kingdom."

"She came to deliver a message," Lloyd confirmed, guiding her through a smooth turn.

"A declaration of war," Amina corrected. "And to study you. What did you conclude?"