Chapter : 961
He convened a brief, formal, and excruciatingly tense meeting in a small, neutral parlor. His audience was a tableau of feminine power: his mother, the serene matriarch, observing with a quiet, knowing amusement; Princess Amina, the political grandmaster, her face a mask of cool, professional curiosity; and Faria, the passionate variable, who stood by the window with her back to the room, a silent, furious statue.
Lloyd stood in the center of the room, a man on a stage, and delivered his pronouncement. He spoke with a calm, quiet authority, his voice stripped of all emotion.
"As I promised my wife," he began, the words a deliberate, calculated move to remind them all of the primary, inconvenient reality of his situation, "I will be departing at dawn for the Siddik estate. My purpose is to lend whatever aid I can to the Lady Nilufa in her long illness."
The statement was a masterpiece of strategic genius. It was, first and foremost, the truth. He had made the promise, and he would honor it. This made his departure an act of unimpeachable marital duty, a noble gesture that even the furious Faria could not fault.
Secondly, it physically removed him from the immediate, explosive proximity of Faria and Amina. It was a tactical disengagement, a cooling-off period that would allow the raw, volatile emotions of the moment to subside. He was not running from them; he was giving them space, a gesture of profound, if calculated, respect.
But most importantly, beneath the layers of domestic and political justification, it was a mission. A critical intelligence-gathering operation. In the fragmented, chaotic memories of his previous life, a single, persistent thread of suspicion had always lingered. The sudden, inexplicable, and incurable coma of the Siddik matriarch had occurred just months before the first, overt acts of Altamiran aggression. The timing had always felt… too convenient. He had long suspected that her illness was not a natural tragedy, but an act of political assassination. A quiet, insidious strike against a powerful and loyal southern house, designed to destabilize the region and weaken the kingdom’s flank.
He now had the tools to investigate that suspicion. He had the [All-Seeing Eye], a power that could perceive the hidden truths of the body and soul. He had the knowledge of curses, of forbidden magic, gleaned from the ancient texts in his mother’s library. He was not just going south as a concerned son-in-law. He was going as an investigator, a specialist, a hunter.
He was not running from the storm in his own home. He was flying directly into the eye of another, older, and perhaps far more dangerous one. He was leaving the chaos of his own making to brew in his absence, a calculated risk, while he hunted a different, more ancient monster.
He looked at the three women, his expression one of calm, noble resolve. He had made his move. He had seized the initiative. And now, he watched as they, the three most powerful and unpredictable forces in his life, were forced to react to his new, unassailable strategy. The game was afoot, and he was, once again, in control.
The reaction to Lloyd’s announcement was a silent, magnificent symphony of female power, each woman responding according to her own unique nature.
Faria, who had been a rigid statue of furious pride, finally turned from the window. The fire in her eyes had not been extinguished, but it had been banked. The raw, wounded anger was now tempered by a grudging, infuriated respect. He had, with a single, elegant move, completely outmaneuvered her. He had wrapped himself in the unassailable cloak of marital duty, a fortress she could not breach without looking like a petty, hysterical homewrecker. She saw the strategic brilliance of the move, and she hated him for it. And she admired him for it. A low, frustrated sound, half-growl, half-sigh, escaped her lips. She gave a single, sharp, angry nod of concession and swept from the room without another word, a beautiful, defeated storm retreating to lick its wounds.
Chapter : 962
Princess Amina’s reaction was one of pure, unadulterated, professional admiration. A slow, genuine smile spread across her face. She saw the move not as an emotional retreat, but as a masterpiece of political and strategic calculation. He was honoring a domestic obligation while simultaneously pursuing a critical intelligence objective. He was multitasking on a geopolitical level. She saw a fellow grandmaster at work, and she was deeply, profoundly impressed. "A wise and honorable decision, Lord Ferrum," she said, her voice a calm, approving purr. "Duty, to both family and kingdom, must always take precedence. We shall continue our own strategic preparations here in your absence. Do try to return in one piece. Your future court has a great deal of work to do." She gave him a small, conspiratorial wink, a silent acknowledgment that she saw, and wholeheartedly approved of, the deeper game he was playing.
Duchess Milody, however, saw something else entirely. Her son, faced with a chaotic, unwinnable emotional entanglement, had not lashed out. He had not lied. He had not panicked. He had found a third path. A path of honor, of duty, of strategic brilliance. He was not just reacting to the chaos; he was using it, shaping it to his own will. He was becoming a true ruler. A quiet, profound wave of maternal pride, so powerful it almost took her breath away, washed over her. Her boy was truly gone. In his place stood a king. "Go with the gods, my son," she whispered, her voice thick with an emotion she rarely allowed herself to show. "And do what you must."
With the assent, both spoken and unspoken, of the three most dangerous women in his life, the path was clear.
Lloyd retreated to his study, the familiar sanctuary of shadow and steel. He did not waste time with packing or preparations. His mind was already moving, racing ahead to the southern provinces, to the silent, sleeping matriarch and the secrets she might hold. He spent the next few hours in a state of intense, focused meditation, not to rest, but to sharpen his mind, to hone his senses, to prepare his soul for the delicate, dangerous work ahead.
He would be entering the Siddik estate not as a conqueror, but as a healer. He would have to sheath his own overwhelming power, to hide the fire demon and the storm goddess, to present himself as nothing more than a concerned, gifted, and humble son-in-law. It would be a performance of the highest order, a game of subtle manipulation and quiet observation.
He reviewed the medical texts, committing to memory the archaic terminology and flawed theories of this world’s healers. He would need to frame his own impossible knowledge in their language, to translate the cold, hard data of his [All-Seeing Eye] into the mystical, allegorical language of curses and spiritual imbalances.
He thought of Rosa. He had made her a promise, an impulsive, almost accidental gesture of kindness. Now, the fate of their strange, fragile, and newly complicated relationship rested on his ability to fulfill that promise. If he succeeded, if he could bring her mother back from the silent, grey wasteland of her coma, what would that mean? What would he unleash? Would it be a torrent of gratitude? A new, deeper bond? Or would it simply be the removal of the one thing that had defined her, the one pillar that had supported her icy fortress, leaving her adrift and broken?
He did not know. The future was a fog, a landscape of infinite, terrifying possibilities. But he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he had to walk into it. He had to know.
As the first, pale fingers of dawn began to creep over the horizon, he stood up. The time for thought was over. The time for action had come. He walked out of his study, out of the grand, echoing halls of his ancestral home, and into the cool, pre-dawn air. He was leaving one storm behind, a storm of passion, politics, and love. And he was walking, with a calm, quiet, and unshakeable resolve, directly into the heart of another. The hunt for the truth, the hunt for the ghost that had haunted the House of Siddik for a decade, had officially begun.