Chapter : 1717

  Lloyd and Mina sat across from her. Mina looked better—she had slept, or at least rested—but there was still a fragility to her. Lloyd was in "General Mode," his emotions locked away in a mental box, his mind focused entirely on logistics.

  "The narrative is drafted," Milody announced without preamble, sliding a piece of parchment across the desk. "Read it. Memorize it. This is your reality now."

  Lloyd picked up the document. It was a masterpiece of diplomatic fiction. It detailed the "amicable dissolution" of the marriage between Lord Lloyd Ferrum and Lady Rosa Siddik, citing "divergent spiritual paths" and Rosa's desire to pursue a life of "solitary cultivation" in the remote peaks to honor her ancestors. It painted Rosa not as a rejected wife, but as a pious, powerful figure seeking enlightenment. It was respectful, dignified, and completely false.

  "It's... thorough," Lloyd admitted.

  "It covers the bases," Milody said. "It explains her absence, it protects her dignity—which keeps House Siddik happy—and it frees you. Now, for the second part." She slid another document forward. "The timeline of your romance with Mina."

  Mina leaned in to read it. The document spun a tale of a "meeting of minds" during the research of the Golem Heart. It described long nights in the library, shared intellectual passions, and a "deepening of affection" that occurred after Rosa's departure.

  "This... this makes us sound like scholars who fell in love over books," Mina said, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

  "Exactly," Milody said. "It plays to your strengths. You are the historian, the intellectual. Lloyd is the innovator. It makes sense to the public. It’s boring, it’s respectable, and it’s devoid of the passionate, illicit scandal that actually occurred."

  She leaned back, steepling her fingers. "Now, the child."

  The room temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. This was the crux of the gamble.

  "We stick to the plan," Milody said firmly. "The child is legitimate. Conceived after the 'private handfasting' we will claim you had two months ago. We will say the ceremony was delayed due to the border tensions, but the vows were exchanged."

  "Handfasting?" Lloyd asked. "That's an old tradition. Does it hold legal weight?"

  "In the North? Absolutely," Milody said. "It’s archaic, but recognized. It allows us to backdate the marriage without needing a priest's records from a temple. We just need witnesses." She looked at them pointedly. "I was there. Ken was there. Nilufa was there. We will all swear to it."

  "You're asking Nilufa to perjure herself?" Lloyd asked, incredulous.

  "I am asking Nilufa to save her grandchild from being a bastard," Milody corrected. "She will do it. She already agreed."

  She tapped the desk. "However, the timing is tight. Mina is showing early signs. We cannot hide it forever. We need the public wedding to happen immediately to cement the narrative. The 'official' ceremony to ratify the handfasting."

  "How soon?" Mina asked.

  "One month," Milody said. "Four weeks. That is the deadline."

  "One month?" Lloyd exclaimed. "Mother, royal weddings take six months to plan. A ducal wedding takes three. One month screams 'shotgun wedding'."

  "Not if we frame it correctly," Milody countered smoothly. "We frame it as a 'War Wedding.' The tensions with Altamira are rising. The border is silent, which means trouble. We claim that you, the great Commander, want to secure your line and your happiness before you are inevitably called away to the front. It turns the rush into a romantic, patriotic gesture. The people love a hero who grabs happiness in the face of danger."

  Lloyd had to admire the sheer audacity of it. She was turning a scandal into a propaganda victory. "You are terrifying," he said.

  "I am a mother," Milody said simply. "It is the same thing."

  She stood up. "But there is a complication. A variable we cannot control with paperwork."

  "What?" Lloyd asked.

  "The other Queens," Milody said. "Faria Kruts. Princess Amina. Princess Isabella. They are all circling you, Lloyd. They all have claims, or think they do. If we announce a sudden wedding to Mina, we risk alienating them. Faria will be furious. Amina might see it as a breach of your agreement with her father. And Isabella... well, Isabella is Isabella."

  Lloyd groaned, rubbing his face. "I forgot about the harem politics."

  "You don't get to forget," Milody snapped. "You created this mess. Now you have to navigate it. You need to meet with them. Before the announcement goes public. You need to manage their reactions."

  "You want me to tell them?" Lloyd asked.

  Chapter : 1718

  "I want you to sell it to them," Milody said. "Tell Faria it’s a duty. Tell Amina it’s a cover. Tell Isabella... tell her whatever keeps her from investigating. You need to neutralize them before the wedding. If Faria causes a scene at the altar, or Amina withdraws her support, the whole house of cards falls down."

  She looked at Mina. "And you, my dear. You have a job too."

  "Me?" Mina asked, startled.

  "You need to become a Duchess," Milody said. "You are a scholar. You are comfortable in libraries. That ends today. You need to learn how to walk, talk, and command a room like the wife of the most powerful man in the North. You need to be untouchable. If the court senses weakness, they will tear you apart. I will begin your lessons tomorrow."

  Mina swallowed hard, but she nodded. "I understand."

  "Good," Milody said. "Now, get out. I have a wedding to plan, a history to rewrite, and a thousand lies to distribute to the right ears."

  Leaving Milody’s study felt like being discharged from a briefing before a suicide mission. Lloyd and Mina walked in silence until they reached the gardens. The fresh air did little to dispel the feeling of entrapment.

  "One month," Mina whispered, leaning against a stone balustrade. She looked out at the rolling hills of the Ferrum estate. "I always dreamed of my wedding. I thought... I thought it would be quiet. Simple. Not a strategic operation."

  Lloyd stood beside her, looking at her profile. "It can still be real, Mina. The reasons are political, but the... the feeling isn't. I do love you. That part isn't a lie."

  Mina smiled, a sad, fleeting thing. "I know. And I love you. But it feels like we are stealing this happiness. Like we are looting a burning house."

  "We are putting out the fire," Lloyd corrected her. "Or at least, trying to keep it from spreading."

  He turned to face her, taking her hands. "Listen to me. My mother is right about the politics, but she is wrong about one thing. We are not just actors in her play. This is our life. When we stand at that altar, I won't be thinking about the cover story. I'll be thinking about you. About us. About the child."

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  Mina squeezed his hands. "You make it sound simple."

  "It is simple," Lloyd lied. "The rest is just noise."

  But the noise was about to get very loud. Lloyd knew he had to face the "Three Queens" as his mother had called them. He decided to start with the most volatile one: Faria.

  He found Faria in the estate's art gallery, furiously sketching a charcoal drawing of a storm. She looked up as he entered, her eyes narrowing. She had been distant since the "second wife" debacle, her pride wounded.

  "Lloyd," she said, her voice cool. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you come to announce a third wife? Perhaps a mermaid this time?"

  "Faria," Lloyd said, keeping his voice gentle. "I need to talk to you. Privately."

  He led her to a bench. He didn't tell her the whole truth—he couldn't reveal the pregnancy—but he spun the version Milody had suggested, with his own twist. He told her that with Rosa gone, the pressure on him to secure the line was immense. He told her that he and Mina had a history, a quiet bond, and that he was marrying her to stabilize the household.

  "Stabilize?" Faria scoffed. "You make it sound like you're shoring up a retaining wall. Do you love her?"

  Lloyd looked her in the eye. "Yes. I do."

  Faria flinched. The honesty hurt her more than a lie would have. She looked away, her charcoal stick snapping in her hand. "And where does that leave me? Where does that leave... us? The 'partner of the heart' your mother spoke of?"

  "It leaves you as my dearest friend," Lloyd said. "And perhaps... in the future... more. But right now, I cannot offer you what you deserve. I cannot ask you to step into this chaos. Mina... Mina knows the chaos. She is part of it."

  Faria was silent for a long time. Then she sighed, a sound of resignation. "You are an idiot, Lloyd Ferrum. But you are an honest idiot. Fine. Marry the scholar. But do not think this closes the book on us. I am a patient woman. And I am a much better artist than she is."

  One down. Two to go.

  Chapter : 1719

  Next was Amina. He found the Princess in the library, reading a treatise on northern fortifications. She didn't look up as he sat down.

  "You're getting married," she said calmly.

  Lloyd blinked. "How did you—"

  "I have eyes, Lloyd," she said, closing the book. "And I have spies. And I saw the way you look at her. Also, your mother has been ordering bolts of white silk and contacting the High Priest. It doesn't take a genius."

  She turned to him, her expression amused. "So, the 'Secret Engagement' with me... what becomes of that?"

  "The Sultan agreed to a trial," Lloyd reminded her. "This... this is part of the trial. My life is complicated. I told you that."

  "You did," Amina agreed. "And marrying your ex-wife's sister is certainly... complicated. It's bold. I like it." She leaned forward. "Does this mean our alliance is void?"

  "No," Lloyd said firmly. "Our alliance is iron. This marriage secures my home front. It secures the Ferrum line. It makes me a more stable partner for Zakaria."

  Amina studied him. "You are good at this. Spinning disaster into strategy. Very well. I will support it. I will even attend. It will send a strong message to my father that I am not jealous, but pragmatic. But Lloyd..." Her eyes darkened. "Do not think this releases you from your promise to me. Three months. The clock is still ticking."

  Two down.

  The last one was the hardest. Isabella. He didn't find her; she found him. As he walked back to his manufactory, she dropped from a roof, landing silently beside him.

  "You're marrying the historian," she stated. It wasn't a question.

  "Isabella," Lloyd said, not breaking stride. "Yes."

  "Why?" she asked, falling into step beside him. "She's... quiet. She's boring. She reads books."

  "She understands me," Lloyd said. "She knows the man behind the mask. And... she needs me."

  Isabella stopped. She looked at him, really looked at him, with that unnerving, analytical gaze. "She's pregnant, isn't she?"

  Lloyd froze. He turned to her, his face a mask of stone. "That is a dangerous thing to say, Princess."

  Isabella laughed. "Oh, relax. I won't tell. I saw her throwing up in the rose bushes yesterday. And you have the look of a panicked father trying to build a fortress before the baby arrives."

  She punched him in the arm, hard. "Congratulations, you idiot. You beat the system. You found a way to be a hero and a dad." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Just... don't get boring, Lloyd. I hate boring."

  She vanished back into the shadows.

  Three down.

  Lloyd exhaled, a breath he felt he had been holding for hours. He had managed the queens. He had managed the mothers. Now, he just had to survive the wedding.

  As he walked into his manufactory, the sight of the Aegis suit looming in the dark gave him a strange comfort. Steel was easy. Circuits were logical. Love... love was the hardest war he had ever fought.

  The seasons in the North were not gentle. They did not fade into one another; they crashed. Summer died overnight, strangled by the first frost, and autumn arrived like a heavy gray blanket that smelled of wet iron and dying leaves.

  It had been two months since the "War Wedding" of Lord Lloyd Ferrum and Lady Mina. To the outside world, it had been a romantic whirlwind—a hero grabbing a moment of happiness before the inevitable march to battle. The bards were already singing songs about the "Scholar and the Commander." Inside the Ferrum estate, however, life had settled into a rhythm that was less about romance and more about survival. Mina was showing now, her belly a small, undeniable curve hidden beneath heavy woolen gowns and clever tailoring. The lie held. The family was safe.

  But outside the stone walls of the estate, the world had gone terrifyingly quiet.

  For 100 days, the border between the Kingdom of Bethelham and the Kingdom of Altamira had been a void. Usually, the border was a living thing. It was a place of constant, noisy friction. There were skirmishes, magical flares, scouts taking potshots at each other, and the endless hum of two massive military machines grinding gears. It was a language of violence that both sides understood perfectly.

  But now, there was nothing.

  Chapter : 1720

  No troop movements. No magical signatures on the long-range sensors. No spies caught trying to slip through the mountain passes. The Altamiran legions, which intelligence reports said were mobilizing for a massive invasion, had simply stopped. It was as if an entire nation had held its breath at the exact same moment.

  In the heart of the Ferrum estate, the War Room was cold. It was a windowless chamber designed for strategy, dominated by a massive tactical map table that glowed with magical light. The map showed the jagged line of the border, usually lit up like a festival with red danger markers. Today, the map was dark.

  Arch Duke Roy Ferrum stared at the darkness. He stood like a statue, his arms crossed over his chest. He was a man built for war, and peace—especially this kind of unexplained peace—made him itch.

  "It’s unnatural," Roy growled. His voice was deep, vibrating against the stone walls. "An army of that size doesn't just go to sleep. They are up to something. They are coiling."

  King Liam of Bethelham sat in a high-backed wooden chair nearby. He had traveled north under the pretense of a "Royal Inspection," but everyone knew the truth: the King was nervous. He swirled a glass of dark red wine, staring at the liquid as if it held the answers.

  "My spies are blind," King Liam admitted, frustration edging his voice. "The Obsidian Eye—Altamira’s secret police—has locked down their borders tight. It’s a total blackout. No birds fly out. No travelers cross. We sent three of our best Shadow-class scouts in last week. None have reported back."

  General Kaelen, the commander of the Northern Legion, slammed his fist onto the table. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room. Kaelen was a hawk of a man, sharp-featured and aggressive. He hated waiting.

  "We should strike first," Kaelen argued, pointing a finger at the dark map. "Look at them! They are hesitant. They are disorganized. We should launch a preemptive strike through the Crimson Pass. We can seize the high ground before they wake up."

  "And walk blindly into a trap?" Roy shot back, not even looking at the General. "We don't know their numbers. We don't know their disposition. If we cross that line, we become the aggressors. We lose the moral high ground."

  "Moral high ground doesn't stop demons, Arch Duke!" Kaelen shouted. "We know the Devil Race is pulling the strings in Altamira. We know Prince Cassius is a puppet. If we wait, we let them build their strength."

  "Or we let them make a mistake," a calm voice cut through the argument.

  Lloyd Ferrum stood by the far wall, looking at a smaller map of the terrain. He was not dressed like a lord or a soldier. He wore his workshop attire—a heavy leather apron stained with grease and oil, his sleeves rolled up to reveal faint burn marks from welding. He had been splitting his time between these endless meetings and the workshop, trying to finish the upgrades on the Aegis suits.

  Lloyd turned to face the room. He looked tired. The stress of the last few months—the pregnancy, the cover-up, the constant threat of war—was etched around his eyes.

  "It's not a coil," Lloyd said quietly. "And it's not a trap. It's a breath."

  "Explain," King Liam commanded, setting his wine glass down.

  Lloyd walked over to the main table. He looked at the border line. "Think about the mechanics of a scream," he said. "Before you scream, you have to inhale. You have to pull all the air into your lungs. That moment of inhalation is silent. That is what this is. The silence before the scream."

  "So you agree we should attack?" Kaelen asked hopefully.

  "No," Lloyd said. "If you interrupt someone while they are inhaling, they choke. But if you attack them, they just breathe out fire. We don't know why they are holding their breath. Is it to attack us? Or is it because they are suffocating internally?"

  "Internal crisis?" King Liam mused. "A plague? A rebellion? We would have heard rumors. Refugees always run first."

  "Not if the lockdown is absolute," Lloyd countered. "This silence is disciplined. It is enforced. It means every soldier, every mage, every noble in Altamira is looking in the same direction. We just don't know if they are looking at us... or at something else."

  "So we do nothing?" Kaelen asked, disgusted.