Meanwhile…

  "I really think we should consider preparing Ariel in advance for the competition—so that she's ready for the battle. This thing is a bloody war. Trust me, I know. I participated in it once," Alicia said as she sat in her study chair, a glass of whiskey in hand and a tablet resting on her lap. "So, what do you think?"

  She turned to face Raymond, who sat quietly across from her, swirling the whiskey in his glass. His expression was disturbed, his mind clearly elsewhere.

  "Raymond," Alicia called, but there was no reply.

  "Raymond!" she repeated, louder this time, jolting him out of his thoughts.

  "Huh…" Raymond blinked, confused. "I'm sorry—did you say something?"

  Alicia narrowed her eyes. "Yes. I asked if you think we should prepare Ariel in advance for the competition, so she'll be ready to tackle the challenge. But it seems you were lost in your thoughts. What's wrong, Raymond dear? You look disturbed—like you've seen something you didn't like."

  At her words, Raymond's grip tightened around the glass. His mind drifted back to the shadowy figure he had seen earlier.

  As Raymond made his way to Alicia's study, he chanced upon him—one of his sworn enemies, casually striding from the east wing toward the center hall, heading for the exit.

  Ezekiel Slovak.

  His long?time rival.

  The weasel.

  The bloody scumbag.

  The ruthless monster.

  Oh, how Raymond longed to tear that heartless beast limb from limb.

  But what was he doing in the palace at that hour?

  Who had he come to see?

  It didn't matter. His presence alone was already bad news.

  And for the first time, Raymond felt a chill of fear for Ariel entering the competition. If that ghoul had a hand in it, then Ariel was in danger. Truly, in danger.

  Alicia noticed the way Raymond was clutching the glass with such force it looked ready to shatter. His face was twisted with fury, boiling over.

  "Raymond…" Alicia called gently.

  Raymond sighed, set the glass down on the table, and rubbed his temple in frustration.

  "I'm sorry, Alicia," he exhaled. "It's just that… I have this anger bubbling inside me like boiling magma, and I don't know how to restrain it anymore. I just want to scream, or hit, or destroy something right now." He heaved, running a hand through his hair. "It's just so hard…"

  Alicia sighed softly. "You know there are other ways to vent your anger than destroying things." She placed her whiskey glass on the table and looked at him intently, though her gaze was gentle.

  Raymond exhaled and turned to face her.

  "Like talking to me about it," she said softly.

  Raymond sighed again, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

  He drew a deep breath and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Alicia. But I'm afraid it's best you don't know. Trust me—it's for your own good. I swear. And I hope you understand."

  Alicia nodded. "It's okay. I understand."

  Raymond exhaled heavily. "It's just something I can't say. But please… I beg you, protect Ariel for me. Don't let anything happen to her. I'm entrusting her to you, Alicia, and I hope everything will be fine."

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Alicia saw the panic in his eyes and the heat in his words. Something was up—and by something, she knew it meant someone. Who was it? She needed to find out, and make sure they were dealt with.

  "It's okay, Raymond. I'll look after Ariel myself. I can assure you she'll be fine. Now relax, alright?" she said gently.

  Raymond sighed. "Thank you, Alicia. Huh… I'm sorry for my behavior. I came here to keep you company, but now… mmm."

  Alicia smiled. "It's okay, Raymond. You're just riled up. Don't worry—it's fine."

  She lifted her glass, took a sip, and asked with a playful glint, "So… what were the two young?ins up to that dragged you into their little shy game of awkwardness, mmm?"

  Raymond sighed, then smiled. "Ha. Ha. It truly was a spectacle. But… all I can say is that it's working greatly in our favor." He picked up his whiskey glass and leaned back in his seat. "Working very, very well."

  Alicia chuckled. "Well, that's good news. Although I would've loved to see the juicy scene myself—so I could use it as leverage against them if they tried anything funny. But since it's supporting our plans, I suppose I'll just save it for another show."

  Raymond hummed in response as he took a sip of his whiskey. "I heard Florence has reintroduced the other minerals into the market, and things are beginning to quiet down a little. Is that true?" he asked.

  "Yes, it's true. Although the protests have quieted for now, the bigger situation is still unresolved—and they know it. That's why they're bringing one of their own into the Selection. I almost wanted to refuse, knowing how it might affect Ariel, but… I had no choice but to accept," Alicia said.

  "Mmm… but how is it going to affect Ariel? Is it that bad?" Raymond asked.

  Alicia sighed. "More than you can imagine. They are her archenemies, after all. But don't worry—I trust that everything will be fine."

  Raymond nodded. "Okay. I hope so," he said before downing the last of his whiskey.

  "Alright, enough of the Selection talk. Come on—tell me how things have been in your life since we last met years ago. I'm eager to know," Alicia said, leaning forward, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  Raymond sighed and shook his head. "Well, nothing much. But all I can say is…"

  His voice trailed into the background as the stars shimmered brightly outside.

  And so their conversation continued, glowing with warmth against the night.

  ..............

  Meanwhile…

  "What did I say before, darling? Don't be quick to assume things about something you don't understand. Now eat, and you can say what you want after that."

  A video of Ariel and Daniel conversing at the marketplace rice?cake stall echoed faintly from a tablet.

  "Who is she?" Reginald asked, seated in his office chair with the tablet in his hands. His gaze shifted to Lord Tyre, who sat across from him.

  "Her Ladyship, Ms. Ariel Benedict Fortmore. She is the daughter of Duke Raymond William Fortmore of Lisboa," Lord Tyre replied.

  Reginald arched a brow. "Lisboa? Isn't that a low?rank fief? How is it participating in the Selection? That's against the rules."

  Lord Tyre sighed. "I'm afraid not, Sire. Especially if the lady has been specifically chosen by the Queen Dowager herself. The Queen Dowager holds the right to select a candidate for the competition regardless of background. This tradition has been upheld for generations—even during your own Selection."

  Reginald continued to watch the video, amused. "Okay, that's fair. And I must say, I'm quite entertained by how the girl interacts with Daniel. She doesn't seem ordinary. Despite her exceptional beauty, I have a feeling she's stronger than most of the noble ladies participating in the Selection. She can match him—Daniel."

  He paused, tapping his fingers lightly against the desk. "Bring her to me as soon as morning breaks. I want a conversation with her before the Introduction Ball. If Mother has already brought her into the palace to be close to Daniel, then there must be something she sees in the girl—something that fits with him perfectly. And I want to know what."

  "Of course, Your Majesty. I'll see to it first thing in the morning," Lord Tyre replied.

  Reginald hummed in response.

  Lord Tyre rose from his seat and bowed. "Good night, Your Majesty."

  "Good night," Reginald said, his eyes still fixed on the tablet.

  The screen lingered on the moment when Daniel and Ariel had almost kissed—only to be interrupted.

  "Mmm… Lady Ariel Benedict Fortmore… who are you, really? I can't wait to meet you," he murmured as the frozen image glowed before him.

  ...........

  Meanwhile…

  Lord Tyre exited the room and began walking toward his sleeping quarters when a maidservant suddenly stepped in front of him.

  "Lord Tyre." The maid bowed in greeting. "Good evening."

  "Good evening to you as well. Is everything alright?" Lord Tyre replied.

  "Everything is fine, my Lord. But Her Supreme Majesty, the Queen, would like to have a word with you. If you would please follow me." The maid turned and began leading the way.

  Lord Tyre sighed before following her to a chamber near the center of the north wing.

  The maid gestured for him to enter. He stepped forward and knocked softly on the door.

  "Come in." A low, sweet voice echoed from within.

  Lord Tyre opened the door and entered the room.

  The room was dimly lit, Queen Esmerelda seated comfortably on a sofa. A bottle of brandy and carefully arranged glasses rested on the table before her.

  Lord Tyre approached and bowed. "Greetings, my Queen."

  "Greetings, Lord Tyre. How is your evening?" Esmerelda asked.

  Lord Tyre smiled faintly. "My evening is good, thank you. I hope yours is as well?"

  Esmerelda's lips curved into a smile. "My evening is… fine, although a little lonely, as always. Ha! But you already know that, don't you?" She smirked, leaning forward with deliberate grace as she opened the brandy bottle and poured the amber liquid into the glasses, her full luscious cleavage came into view. Lord Tyre immediately averted his gaze.

  Esmerelda smirked slightly seeing him darting his eyes awkwardly. "I was aching for some company… and I'm glad you came," she said in a sweet, seductive tone.

  Lord Tyre cleared his throat and kept his gaze to the side. "What does Her Majesty wish to discuss with me?"

  Esmerelda smirked at his discomfort, unbothered. He was far too old for her taste, but that didn't matter. She needed this conversation to feel alluring, to loosen him up enough to get what she wanted. "How about relaxing a little, Lord Tyre? Join me in a pleasant conversation over a glass of fifty?year?old Ramworth Brandy. Mmm…" She gestured toward the glass.

  Lord Tyre glanced at her, then at the drink. Suspicion flickered across his old features. 'What is she up to?'

  "Go on, Lord Tyre. I promise it's going to be a pleasant conversation," Esmerelda said with a bright smile.

  Lord Tyre shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Your Majesty. Is this truly a matter to be discussed over brandy—or something that requires my full attention, with soberness, so I can grasp it better?"

  "You'll only know if you accept the brandy and sit down, Lord Tyre…"

  Lord Tyre froze.

  A low, husky voice echoed from the shadows beside him.

  He turned his head—and there sat a man with an athletic, masculine physique, perfectly contoured beneath a maroon suit. His short, wavy black hair glimmered in the dim light.

  Lord Tyre's eyes widened in recognition. "Lord Slovak…" he muttered.

  Ezekiel only smiled, raising his glass in silent response before taking a slow sip.

  "Sit down, please, Lord Tyre," Esmerelda said sweetly.

  Lord Tyre glanced at her—smiling brightly, swirling a glass of brandy in her hand.

  "We have much to discuss," she continued, her smile widening.

  Lord Tyre stiffened.

  This was not good.

  And he knew there was no escape.

  He walked unsteadily to the sofa and sat down, his gaze flicking between the two of them—both smiling at him with acid?coated grins.

  Because this combination was always bad news.

  "Take a drink, Lord Tyre. We have a long, pleasant conversation ahead of us."

  Esmerelda's voice echoed through the room as the door closed quietly, sealing their conversation inside.