“Would someone like to expin to me what the fuck is going on?” Lazarus Lumine’s voice echoed through the chamber, his gre cutting across the room like a bde. His ministers flinched uhe weight of his fury.

  “Why, exactly, do we have representatives from the Elven Kingdom and the Dwarven Kingdom suddenly knog on our door?”

  Lazarus didn’t o be reminded of the st time these a, mythical powers deigo aowledge the existence of the human world. That had ended with half a nation reduced to ashes by the Infich, while the other half was vely absorbed into its neighbor’s territory.

  So, naturally, the question remained: Whie of these idiots had pissed off the aors this time?

  “We just cwed our way out of a nationwide debt, and now we have to deal with this?” He gestured vaguely, as if physically trying to swat away the ining disaster. “Who, exactly, thought it was a good idea to provoke them? Speak.”

  The ministers exged nervous gnces. Eventually, one of them stepped forward, cleared his throat, and tried to look less like he wao flee. “Your Majesty, we… genuinely have no idea. We ’t even begin to guess rompted them to reach out. It came out of nowhere.”

  Right. Because that was exactly what he o hear right now.

  Lazarus exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. As if Soulnaught swallowing Edensor and Elysian earlier this year wasn’t enough, now the mythical unity had decided to make a move. Not to mentiosiders—because, clearly, the universe wasn’t done shitting on his peaind.

  “Fine,” he bit out. “What do the Great Forest and Storm Anvil want? Do we have any leads? Any hints? Or am I expected to perform divine prophe and?”

  The ministers shook their heads, looking increasingly useless by the sed. But then, another voice hesitantly broke the silence.

  “Your Majesty… we’ve received word that the Mythical unity retly held a Great Assembly.”

  Lazarus narrowed his eyes. “And whely, were you pnning on tellihis?”

  The minister iion had the audacity to look unfortable. “I only just received the information myself before this meeting, Sir.”

  Lazarus exhaled through his nose, already dreading whatever nonsense was about to follow.

  Apparently, the ill taur Chief, Adroros Borion, had retly purchased an arming quantity of mana potions from Luminus’ wandering merts. And, because some merts were naturally nosy little rats, they had mao weasel out the reason:

  The dying old horse nning to travel.

  To the Great Assembly.

  For reasons unknown.

  And just like that, every arm in Lazarus’ brain started screaming.

  The sharp screech of wood against marble filled the chamber as he abruptly stood from his throne, knog the ornate chair backward with a resounding THUMP. The sound startled the ministers, but not as much as the way all color drained from their king’s face.

  “Your Majesty?!”

  “Sir, is something wrong?!”

  “Is it that serious?!”

  Lazarus ighem, his expression shifting rapidly from ht horror to cold calcution.

  “When do they arrive?” he asked, his voiow calm.

  “This afternoon, Sir,” a minister replied, still visibly rattled. “It seems like they’re in a rush.”

  Oh, fantastic. Because nothing screamed “good news” like an a ythical creatures scrambling to meet with humans.

  Lazarus exhaled slowly, posing himself. “I will receive them personally.”

  The ministers stiffened.

  “All of you,” he tinued, his authority cutting through the room like a bde, “are dismissed for today. Leave the pace.”

  No one dared tue. They filed out with quiet urgency, leaving Lazarus alone in the chamber.

  The moment the door shut behind them, Lazarus closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Just how bad was this going to get?

  “…Is it what I think it is?” he muttered under his breath. His fingers curled slightly, his eyes flickering with uhe Pope’s death. The nationwide debt. The disappearances of on folk—too many to be mere ce. The Sator Mert Group's sudden activity. The Loneborn Mert Group sinking its cws ever deeper into Luminus’ ey.

  Piece by piece, the puzzle was taking shape.

  And he did not like where it was leading.

  Lazarus let out a slow, measured breath before signaling for a nearby servant.

  “Fetch my daughters and my sons,” he ordered, his voice quiet but firm. “Tell them to find me immediately.”

  It had been buried for too long.

  Now, there was no avoiding it.

  ***

  “Huh? L–Lawain Agravaine? Why…?”

  Marissa flinched as her father casually informed her that Gawain Agravaine was waiting for her in the sunroom.

  Marquis Lombardi merely shrugged. “How would I know why the fifth-ranked knight of the Round Table wants to meet you? Did you do something stupid again?”

  “Dad!” Marissa huffed.

  Yes, fine. She had done something incredibly stupid before. But that didn’t mean she was the kind of person who made catastrophic mistakes every three months. And no, her father wasn’t trying to shame her—this was just how they were. A father and daughter who mocked each other without hesitation.

  Which, ially, was the only reasoill had a shred of dignity left in high society after that i at the victory celebration.

  Ah, yes. The time she stole the Emperor’s precious locket—an Empress-gifted locket, no less.

  Of course, her mistake ran far deeper than that.

  Would subtly implying she was the woman the Emperor ursuing because of a painting have been sdalous enough? Would mog the Empress and snatg her veil in public have been bad enough? Would having the Emperor himself witness all of it have been disastrous enough?

  No.

  What was truly disastrous was that the locket she had stolen wasn’t just aimental tri. It rotective charm from Man Le Fay, desigo keep the Emperor alive despite his Soulnaught Syndrome.

  Marissa had nearly killed the Emperor over a fit of petty jealousy.

  If not for the Round Table actively suppressing the i, her father wouldn’t have been able to protect her.

  And look—yes, it etty jealousy, okay?

  The Emperor was terrifying, but who wouldn’t delude themselves into thinking they had a shot at glory? Who wouldn’t want to believe, even for a moment, that they could be his woman?

  And for the record, the Empress hadn’t even been angry when Marissa mocked her, or wheole her veil, or wheed like a bitch.

  No.

  The Empress only became furious when Marissa endahe Emperor’s life.

  She was an incredibly generous woman in the end.

  But now, of all people, the Emperor’s mad dog was here?

  That Gawain Agravaine?

  Marissa moved quickly, making herself as presentable as possible.

  This man—though a Marquis, just like her father—was far more important than her father could ever hope to be.

  In Soulnaught’s high society, even among nobles of the same rank, there were vast gaps in power and influence. Agravaine March had always been strong—not on the level of the Leodegrance Duchy, of course—but certainly formidable.

  Back then, they could only dream of standing as equals to the Leodegrance.

  Now?

  One war ged everything.

  And that recisely why Lombardi March would never amount to anything in the face of the Agravaine.

  If they held even a fra of Agravaine’s influence, Marissa wouldn’t have o py politics to secure her position as the Emperor’s curated noblewoman in the first pce.

  She arrived at the sunroom.

  Standing with his back to her was Gawain Agravaine.

  A man who had once been gravely wounded in the rebellion of the First Prince.

  A man who had lost half his Force Mastery potential in that battle.

  A man who had also lost two of his brothers.

  He turned slightly at the sound of her approag footsteps, his Force subtly brushing over her presence as she curtsied gracefully.

  “Lravaine…”

  “Marissa Lombardi.” His voice was even. “Why are you here alone? Where are your chaperones? Your father?”

  Marissa blinked. Huh?

  “Your father didn’t tell you I’m here to propose?”

  “…?”

  Ah.

  Marissa could almost hear her father cag across the mansion—“SECURE THE BAG, DAUGHTER! DON’T HESITATE! KEKEKEKEKEKEK—”

  She blinked up at Gawain, all wide-eyed innoce. “Uh… Five me, my Lord… there must be some kind of misuanding…”

  And then, without hesitation, she stepped closer aly tugged at his sleeve.

  Gawain flinched.

  Marissa smiled sweetly. “Father must’ve thought it was something duty-reted… But how lucky I am, to be aloh you like this, my Lord…”

  Lombardis were opportunists.

  But what she didn’t know…

  Gawain was already pumping his fist against his heart, his inner voice screaming—“Scored myself a smoking hot wife! Long live Caliburn Pendragon!”