Entered the palace

As I opened the doors to the reception room, my gaze landed on a striking figure seated elegantly, sipping tea with practiced grace. The very air around him felt refined, controlled—a man who exuded dominance without the need for words.

Sensing my presence, he placed the teacup down with precision and stood up.

Tall. Incredibly tall.

He moved toward me, his powerful strides effortlessly commanding the space between us. With jet-black hair as dark as the midnight sky and piercing navy-blue eyes that seemed to pull one into an abyss, he was nothing short of mesmerizing. His features were sharp, carved with precision—a strong, chiseled jawline, a perfectly straight nose, and high cheekbones that spoke of noble blood.

Yet, what stood out the most was his aura—elegantly dominant, effortlessly regal.

Brakinson Carter.

The very same man with whom I had once fought against an evil beast, yet he still hadn't realized that the masked warrior by his side that night had been me. Perhaps it was because no one would ever suspect the useless heir of the Mackil Dukedom—one who supposedly lacked elemental power—to be a master of not just one, but two elements.

His deep, rich voice finally broke the silence.

"My lady, you look gorgeous."

That voice—**low, husky, and smooth like the finest velvet—**rolled over me, carrying a warmth filled with politeness.

I lifted my gaze, finally taking in his attire. His broad shoulders were draped in a finely tailored suit—lavender and white, a perfect match to my own dress. The soft hues made the raven black of his hair appear even darker, more striking. His physique, lean yet powerful, was accentuated by the snug fit of the fabric, defining every curve of his strength.

Had the gods sculpted him themselves?

A real charmer. A real power.

I curtsied slightly. "Thank you for your benevolent gifts, my Duke."

Our conversation remained formal—detached, even—as we walked toward the carriage. He escorted me with the respect I deserved, every gesture practiced, his posture unwavering. Yet, there was something in the way he carried himself, something royal.

When we settled into the carriage—he sitting opposite me—the silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, making the short journey to the palace feel agonizingly long.

Just before we reached the gates, a deep, authoritative voice finally shattered the quiet.

"Why was it me?"

I blinked, meeting his intense gaze. His question was direct, cutting through the formality.

He wanted to know why I had chosen him over the second prince.

I didn’t hesitate.

"Hmm, don’t you think it would be fun... to use you as a shield against the imperial family?"

I didn’t bother sugarcoating it. He had given me the opportunity by competing against the prince to be my partner. I had simply seized it.

Of course, Brakinson Carter wasn’t a fool. He surely had his own motives, just as I had mine. But I had no interest in uncovering them—not when I had my own mysteries to solve.

The truth behind my mother’s death.

The poisoning.

Jannat’s betrayal.

I had far bigger things to worry about.

At my blunt admission, the Duke smirked. The corner of his lips curled upward, and for the first time that evening, a flicker of amusement flashed in his dark blue eyes.

"You really are a bold one… to admit you’re using me as a shield." His voice lowered, deeper now, more commanding.

A test.

Was he testing me?

I met his gaze and smiled—a coy, playful curve of my lips. Then, with the sweetest voice I could muster, I whispered, "Duke, I’m just joking. I didn’t use you… I chose you because you’re handsome."

His expression froze.

Silence.

His sculpted face remained unreadable, his gaze locked onto mine as if trying to decipher whether I was playing with him or being serious.

A teasing glint flashed in my eyes. "Duke, why are you so quiet? Don’t you know you’re handsome?"

I leaned forward slightly, resting my chin on my hand as I smirked. "Come now, break the ice. We’re partners, after all."

I needed to put on a convincing act—convince His Majesty that I had a good relationship with the Duke. But Brakinson Carter, with his stiff, unreadable demeanor, would make it obvious that we were barely acquainted.

Before he could respond, the carriage came to a halt. A voice from outside called, "My Lord, we have arrived."

He blinked as if snapping out of deep thought, then turned his gaze back to me.

And then—

That smirk returned.

"Can this handsome man escort my beautiful lady… my princess?"

His voice, deep, velvety, and rich with amusement, wrapped around me like silk. His tone—**possessive yet teasing, dominant yet playful—**was the kind of voice that could make any girl’s heart race.

He extended his hand toward me, waiting.

I looked at him, at the sheer charisma he exuded—his towering frame, the strength in his outstretched arm, the heat in his smirk.

For a fleeting moment, I wondered—

Would this man be a weapon, or would he become my downfall?

With a soft smile, I placed my hand in his.

Stepping down from the carriage, I was greeted by a breathtaking sight—a magnificent palace illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns, adorned with cascading flowers in elegant arrangements. The entire scene exuded a regal charm, as if the stars themselves had descended to celebrate the night.

As we approached the grand entrance, the rhythmic click of our footsteps on the polished marble was interrupted by the hurried approach of a man. He moved with urgency yet maintained an air of discipline and refinement. His striking red hair, vibrant like flames under the golden light, made him impossible to overlook.

The moment his gaze landed on me, I noticed his breathing—uneven from the rush yet quickly controlled, a sign of a well-trained and composed individual. Stopping before us, he bowed with perfect grace.

“Greetings, my lady. I am Paul Etlanta, the Duke’s assistant,” he introduced himself, his voice smooth and polished, carrying the confidence of someone who knew his place yet held significant importance.

“Greetings, young lord of Etlanta.” I returned his bow, offering him a courteous smile.

Paul met my eyes for a brief moment before turning towards the Duke, leaning in slightly as he whispered something in a hushed tone.

The change in Brakinson’s expression was immediate. His sharp navy-blue eyes widened slightly—a rare display of emotion from a man who carried himself like an unshakable force. His brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a firm line, and a subtle tension radiated from his otherwise composed demeanor.

He turned to me, his voice carrying an edge of urgency. “My lady, I must apologize, but I need to attend to an important matter. Please, go ahead and enter the banquet—I will be right behind you.”

Though his words were polite, there was an undeniable weight behind them. Something had unsettled him.

My gaze flickered between him and Paul, curiosity sparking in my mind. What had his assistant whispered that could cause the ever-stoic Duke Brakinson Carter to show such concern?