Chapter : 955
"Oh, I have no doubt that he can," Milody replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "My son can likely do anything he sets his mind to. But he will not. Because I will ensure that he is provided with… incomplete intelligence. A missing reagent in the alchemical formula. A subtle misinterpretation of the diagnostic data. A small, tragic, and utterly unavoidable error."
She began to pace slowly, her silken robes whispering against the stone floor. "He will fail. And in his failure, Rosa’s last, fragile hope will be extinguished. The one pillar that has supported her entire, frozen existence will crumble. And what becomes of a queen of ice when her throne melts beneath her?"
The voice from the shadows was silent for a long moment. "She will break," it finally whispered, the words laced with a horrified, professional admiration. "Or she will lash out. She will blame him. She will see his failure as a personal betrayal. She will become… unreasonable. Volatile. A political liability that her own family will be forced to contain."
"Precisely," Milody said, her smile widening. "She will become the author of her own dissolution. We will not need to break the contract. We will simply create the conditions under which it becomes an untenable burden for all parties. We will give her the perfect, tragic, and unimpeachable reason to walk away."
It was a plan of such profound, patient, and monstrous cruelty that it was a work of art. It was a plan that used hope as a weapon, love as a fulcrum, and grief as the final, crushing blow.
"You are a terrifying woman, my lady," the voice from the shadows said, and the compliment was utterly sincere.
"I am a mother," Milody corrected gently. "And I am building my son a future. And in that future, there is no room for ghosts. Or for queens of ice." She stopped before a large, ornate mirror, her reflection a vision of serene, absolute power. "Now," she said, her voice turning brisk, professional. "Let us go and welcome our new princess. I believe it is time for tea."
The Duchess’s private solarium was a masterpiece of controlled, natural beauty. It was a world of glass and light, a lush, verdant sanctuary where rare, exotic flowers bloomed in a state of perpetual, magical spring, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the cold, grey stone of the Ferrum estate. The air was warm and fragrant, smelling of jasmine, moonpetal orchids, and the rich, dark earth from which they grew. This was Milody’s personal domain, her seat of power, a place far more formidable than her husband’s grim, weapon-lined study. It was here, amidst the gentle beauty of her gardens, that she waged her true wars.
Today, it was the stage for a diplomatic engagement of the highest order. Princess Amina and her guardian, Habiba, were escorted into the solarium, their practical, travel-worn clothes a stark contrast to the opulent, serene environment. Milody rose to greet them, a vision of perfect, welcoming grace in a gown of deep emerald silk that mirrored the lush foliage around her.
“Princess Amina, Lady Habiba,” she said, her voice a warm, melodic sound that instantly put one at ease. “Welcome to my little sanctuary. I do hope your journey was not too taxing and that your quarters are to your liking.”
Amina, a master of the courtly arts herself, met Milody’s warmth with a flawless display of respectful, royal grace. “Your hospitality is as renowned as your gardens, Duchess,” she replied, offering a slight, perfect curtsy. “We are most grateful. And the journey was… illuminating.” Her obsidian eyes held a flicker of shared, secret understanding, a subtle acknowledgment of the chaos and violence that had forged their new alliance.
The three powerful women settled around a low, intricately carved table of white jade, where a magnificent silver tea service was already waiting. The initial conversation was a masterpiece of aristocratic maneuvering, a delicate dance of pleasantries and veiled inquiries. They spoke of the weather, of the architectural marvels of their respective capitals, of the subtle differences in the tea blends of the North and South. Each sentence was a carefully weighted piece on a Go board, a probe to test the other’s intellect, composure, and intent.
Milody was the perfect hostess, her warmth and charm a disarming weapon. She praised Amina’s legendary intelligence, her courage in undertaking such a perilous diplomatic mission, and her vision for a stronger, more prosperous future for both their kingdoms. She was not just flattering a foreign princess; she was anointing a future ally, a future queen.
Chapter : 956
Amina, in turn, was the perfect guest. She deflected the praise with a humble grace that only served to amplify her own regal bearing. She spoke of her admiration for the Ferrum house’s recent, revolutionary innovations, her words a subtle but clear acknowledgment of Lloyd’s genius. She was not just returning a compliment; she was confirming that she saw, and valued, the true source of their rising power.
Habiba, for her part, remained a silent, watchful presence, a statue of serene focus. She was the guardian, the sworn shield, her senses attuned not to the delicate dance of words, but to the subtle, shifting currents of power in the room. Her quiet, unassuming presence was, in its own way, a statement of power more profound than any spoken word. She was the unseen sword, a reminder of the deadly seriousness that lay beneath the beautiful, fragile surface of their diplomatic tea.
After the initial pleasantries had been exchanged, after the foundations of mutual respect had been laid, Milody made her first, decisive move. She sighed, a delicate, theatrical sound of weary wisdom, and her warm smile was replaced by a look of thoughtful, maternal concern.
“It is a rare and precious thing,” she began, her gaze seemingly fixed on a rare, blooming nightshade in a nearby pot, “to find a true partner in this life. A soul who can not only share your burdens, but who can also match your own fire.” She turned her gaze to Amina, her black-ringed eyes holding a profound, almost sympathetic depth. “Power can be such a dreadfully isolating thing, can it not, Your Highness? It builds walls, creates distance. One finds oneself surrounded by subjects, by allies, by admirers… but so rarely by an equal.”
The words were a beautiful, poignant, and utterly ruthless attack.
Amina, a grandmaster of the game, recognized the opening instantly. She knew this was not just a philosophical musing. This was a test. A baited hook. She did not take the bait. Instead, she elegantly sidestepped it, reframing the conversation on her own terms.
“Indeed, Duchess,” she agreed, her voice a calm, thoughtful murmur. “The burden of leadership is a heavy one. It requires a partner who understands that a true alliance is not a matter of sentiment, but of a shared vision. A partnership of minds, of ambitions. A bond forged not in the fleeting heat of passion, but in the cold, hard crucible of a shared purpose.”
It was a brilliant counter-move. She had acknowledged Milody’s point but had stripped it of its emotional subtext, elevating the conversation from the personal to the political. She was not presenting herself as a romantic rival to Rosa, but as a peer, a fellow sovereign who understood the true, unsentimental nature of power. She was making it clear that her interest in Lloyd was not that of a lovesick girl, but of a queen who had identified a king.
Habiba listened to the exchange, her serene expression unchanging. But her mind was working, analyzing the subtle, deadly thrust and parry of the two queens. She had seen battles waged with steel and sorcery, but she knew that this quiet, verbal duel, waged with smiles and pleasantries over a cup of jasmine tea, was in many ways more dangerous, and its outcome would have consequences that would shake kingdoms. And in her own silent, logical mind, a simple, irrefutable thought took shape. Her princess, the heir to a great and powerful throne, was the only one in this room, in this entire estate, who was a true and fitting match for the impossible man who was Lloyd Ferrum. She was not just an asset; she was the answer. And if this elegant, powerful Duchess was a potential ally in securing that future, then Habiba would be her silent, loyal, and utterly lethal sword.
Milody’s smile widened, a look of genuine, profound admiration in her eyes. The girl was magnificent. She had not only seen the trap but had gracefully disarmed it and laid one of her own. She had elevated the stakes, making it clear that this was not a petty squabble over a man’s affections, but a negotiation between two great powers.