Aris sat down beside the duke's daughter. She didn't so much as glance at him, playing the mysterious beauty behind her white fan. Her gown was as elegant as her demeanor.
A black veil, embroidered with golden floral patterns, draped over her shoulders and fell to her hips. The fabric, as thin as nocturnal mist, hinted at the contours of the dress beneath while projecting an aura of enigma. White flowers embedded in the lace seemed almost alive, pulsing with the rhythm of her breath.
The lower part of the gown was adorned with delicate embroidery, crystal blossoms, and pearly petals that caught the light of the hall. White gloves, flawless, covered her hands up to her wrists, reinforcing the icy elegance of her presence.
Her face, perfectly made-up, bore a fixed, almost distant expression. Every feature was precise, controlled, like it had been sculpted from frozen porcelain. Her eyes, outlined with sharp, dark eyeliner and stretched shadows, seemed to judge the world with a quiet superiority.
Her arched eyebrows, sculpted with surgical precision, added to the impression of total control. Nothing was left to chance. Even her lips, painted a matte rose, were closed with subtle tension.
Around her neck rested an imposing necklace, richly decorated, yet worn with calculated indifference—a silent declaration of status. Of power.
Her hair, drawn back in disciplined curls, fully revealed her face. No stray strands, no loose veil. Yet half of her face remained hidden behind the fan.
She was not here to please. She was here to be seen. And to make it clear, without speaking, that she was above it all.
Aris felt a chill run down the back of his royal spine. Yet he had to start the conversation. It wasn't easy—he could neither admit it came from her father nor that he wished to apologize like a pitiful dog. He had to remain dignified, proud, as a king.
He smiled faintly, arrogantly, without looking at her, and made no request of the bartender. At least, nothing for him. Instead, raising his hand, he said:
"A simple orquet, please."
The bartender inclined slightly.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
He already knew Elene's tastes. By saying "simple," he meant one of the strongest drinks in the world. This troublesome girl was nearly immune to alcohol; she never lost control, and always dominated anyone who dared to ry to get her drunk.
Elene didn't turn her face, but a smile crept behind her fan.
"I see you've remembered my tastes, Your Majesty."
Her voice was like that of a snake. It attracted without fear or concern for repercussions. But it was so sweet and so authoritative that it made people want to do everything for her.
Aris, however, was mostly horrified.
'What kind of viper speaks like that in a holy, pure world?!'
Yet that wasn't what he said aloud.
"I could never forget."
The bartender arrived, serving the duke's daughter. Aris asked nothing, waiting for the right moment to speak. Every gesture in this conversation was calculated because everyone was secretly watching.
Elene seemed amused, while Aris felt embarrassed.
"Have you come to apologize to me, King of Arkis?"
This time, Aris glanced lightly to his left.
'Of course she knows.'
It was painfully obvious. Everyone knew. Her mentioning it was simply another layer of her mischief, making the conversation spicier. But Aris knew that, even if everyone knew, the form of the conversation mattered most.
"Well, have I become too predictable over time? Do you know me that well, Miss Elene?"
Calling her De Grey in front of her father would have been strange, so he preferred her first name. They knew each other well enough for that.
Elene seemed secretly pleased.
"Indeed, it's quite obvious. So I'll get straight to the point."
Suddenly, Aris felt the cold tighten around him. The perfidious eyes of the ice queen stared deeply into his soul.
"How will you apologize?"
Aris disliked that gaze. But he had to meet it head-on. He positioned his face to face hers, his eyes betraying no unease, only calm and superiority.
The crowd gasped, witnessing the king's composure against this cunning viper.
But inside, Aris's heart pounded. He had to win.
"I have a little surprise for you."
And then, suddenly, the hall froze. Even Elene seemed unsettled. It was amusing to see no one focused on their own conversations. Even the usually unshakable duke raised an amused eyebrow.
Ana, panicking, wondered what the king had planned for the duke's daughter. She was as enraged as she was shocked.
But Aris pressed on, leaving no time for speculation.
He spoke to a nearby servant with an empathetic smile.
"Bring it."
The servant bowed and hurried off, while the crowd tried to mask their impatience with fake chatter. All eyes were on the king and Elene, while they exchanged absurd remarks:
"Do you have the cheese from the water?"
"Who took my dog?"
"Do you care about the affairs of the rat at the gallows tower?"
"I enjoyed watching the sun yesterday."
"I have three fingers, and my sister takes care of him."
Aris sighed inwardly. Only the King of Koran seemed to maintain even a shred of seriousness as he spoke to his wife.
"What is he going to give her?"
"I don't know… a new dress?"
Or perhaps not.
The servant returned in a rush, bowed, and continued the service.
Aris held a small black box adorned with gold. As beautiful as the gift it contained, the crowd wondered at its value.
"A… a ring…"
The audience nearly erupted, fingers trembling, about to drop what they held.
Aris thought inwardly:
"You lunatics! Do you think I'd really ask this viper to marry me? I'd rather die. I should tell them I hear them perfectly well. But at this point, it probably wouldn't make a difference."
The king opened the box, revealing a stunning necklace resting in pure, soft black velvet. The crowd gasped as Aris gave a discreet, knowing smile.
Then he looked up at Elene.
"Here is a necklace I designed myself. I thought it would suit—"
But before he could finish, he paused, staring at her flushed face.
'What? Is she unwell?'
The duke's daughter looked literally like a tomato, unstable, on the verge of collapse. Everyone watched in disbelief.
Elene stood abruptly and turned away from Aris.
The duke sighed through his little goatee.
"And here we go again…"
Elene tried to hide behind her fan, but could not mask the redness of her face.
"I'm sorry, I must leave…"
Her charismatic, enchanting voice had become shy and fragile. She bolted, her gown flowing, toward a side door leading to a storage room.
The hall fell silent, shocked. Even Ana could not believe it. Only the duke and his sons seemed to understand what had happened.
Aris felt empty, frozen like a statue.
'I'm dead. Did I insult her? Was my apology pathetic? What will the duke say? What must I give her to satisfy her?'
While everyone else reeled in shock, Aris rose calmly, turned toward the one person who could guide him through this—his stunning advisor, Ana.
But when he lifted his gaze, he saw her as red as the duke's daughter. He quickly realized it was not shame. It was rage. If he came within five meters of her, she would kill him.
So he stopped silently, ultimately sitting at the bar and taking Elene's orquet.