Episode-267

Words : 1479 Updated : Oct 3rd, 2025

Chapter : 533 They stood there for a long time, in the quiet, sun-drenched corridor, no longer just a lord and a lady, a professor and a student, but simply... two friends. Two allies. Two people from disparate worlds who had been thrown together by fate, by monsters, by soap, and who had discovered, to their own profound surprise, a shared, and deeply compelling, connection. As she finally prepared to take her leave, to truly begin her postponed journey south, she offered him a final, warm smile. “Rest well, Professor Ferrum,” she said, the title now holding not a hint of mockery, but a note of genuine, affectionate respect. “And do try not to... spontaneously combust... again. The kingdom has far too few brilliant, revolutionary, and deeply infuriating, soap-makers as it is. We cannot afford to lose one.” With a final, graceful nod, she turned and walked away, leaving Lloyd standing alone in the corridor, the elegantly wrapped cake box still in his hands. He was still flustered. He was still perplexed. The implications of her visit, of her mother’s pragmatism, of his own confusing, chaotic heart, were a tangled knot he had yet to unravel. But as he looked down at the simple, sweet, and utterly unexpected, gift, he felt a warmth that had nothing to do with his power, his ambitions, or his secrets. It was the simple, human warmth of a shared, sincere concern. And it felt, in that moment, more powerful than any magic in the world. --- From the high, sun-drenched colonnade overlooking the palace gardens, Duchess Milody Austin Ferrum observed the scene below. She stood partially concealed by a massive, marble pillar, a silent, almost invisible observer, her presence as subtle and as pervasive as the faint scent of jasmine that drifted on the afternoon breeze. Her expression was a mask of serene, aristocratic composure, but her eyes, sharp and intelligent, were narrowed in a look of profound, almost clinical, assessment. She was not just a mother watching her son; she was a grandmaster of the political game, a player of immense skill and patience, observing a critical, and entirely unexpected, new move on the board. Her gaze was fixed on the two figures in the corridor below. Her son, Lloyd. And the fiery, crimson-violet-haired daughter of the Southern Marquess, Lady Faria Kruts. Milody had been aware of their... collaboration. The rumors of the ‘AURA painting’, and her son’s strange, close partnership with the talented artist, had, of course, reached her ears. The estate’s gossip network was a finely tuned instrument, and Milody was its most skilled and attentive listener. She had been intrigued, but also cautious. Such a familiar, public association between a newly married heir and a beautiful, unmarried noblewoman was a potential source of scandal, a political vulnerability. But what she was witnessing now was not a political liability. It was... something else entirely. She had seen Faria’s arrival, the simple but elegant traveling gown, the slight, uncharacteristic hesitation in her usually confident stride. And she had seen the cake box. A simple, almost childishly sweet gesture, yet one that spoke volumes in the cold, formal world of noble interactions. It was not a calculated political gift; it was a personal one. An act of genuine, human concern. She watched as her son, her strange, brilliant, and often emotionally distant son, was rendered momentarily speechless by the simple offering. She saw the genuine, surprised pleasure on his face, a warmth she had not seen since he was a small boy. And she watched as he and Faria spoke, their conversation easy, their laughter genuine, a comfortable, stimulating rapport that seemed to flow between them as naturally as the sunlight that slanted through the colonnade. They were not a lord and a lady performing a tedious social ritual. They were two friends, two equals, sharing a moment of quiet, genuine connection. And Milody, the strategist, the matriarch, the woman who had spent her entire life navigating the treacherous currents of power and alliance, felt the tumblers of a new, audacious, and incredibly high-stakes calculation begin to click into place in her mind. She thought of the other half of her son’s life. She thought of Rosa Siddik. The Ice Princess. Her daughter-in-law. A woman of immense power, of breathtaking beauty, and of a cold, unyielding emotional detachment that was as absolute as it was self-destructive. Chapter : 534 News of Lloyd’s sudden, violent collapse, the ‘magical feedback loop’ from his cultivation, had, of course, reached the Siddik estate. It was a matter of basic protocol. A missive had been dispatched by Roy himself, a formal notification to Viscount Jason Siddik that his son-in-law, and the lynchpin of their two houses’ alliance, had suffered a significant, and potentially life-threatening, magical incident. It was a serious matter, one that demanded a response. An inquiry. A gesture of concern. A visit. And the response from the esteemed House Siddik, in the three days since the incident? Absolute, profound, and deeply, insultingly, silent. There had been no return missive. No concerned inquiry from Viscount Jason. No anxious message from his elder daughter, Mina. Nothing. Not a single, solitary whisper of concern for the well-being of the man their daughter, their sister, was now bound to. It was a silence that was louder, more damning, than any open insult. It was a silent, contemptuous dismissal, a clear statement that the well-being of Lloyd Ferrum was a matter of complete and utter indifference to them. Milody contrasted that cold, dismissive silence with the scene playing out before her. With Faria Kruts, who had postponed her own journey, who had braved the awkwardness of a personal visit, who had brought a simple, heartfelt gift of a honey-almond cake, her face alight with a genuine warmth and concern that was a world away from the icy propriety of the Siddiks. She saw the easy camaraderie between her son and Faria, the shared laughter, the intellectual fire that sparked between them. And she compared it to the cold, sterile armistice that was his marriage to Rosa, the silent, chilly war fought across the vast, empty expanse of their shared suite. And in that moment, a decision, cold, hard, and as sharp as a shard of forged steel, crystallized in her mind. The Siddik alliance was a failure. It was a political necessity, yes. A union of two powerful bloodlines, a strategic move to secure their southern flank. But it was an emotional desert. A cage of ice. Rosa was not a partner for her son. She was an obstacle. A beautiful, powerful, and utterly, comprehensively, unsuitable anchor, holding him back, freezing the very warmth and passion that was now, so miraculously, beginning to bloom within him. She was a political asset, yes. But she was a personal liability of catastrophic proportions. She would not make him strong; she would make him cold. She would not be the fire that fueled his ambition; she would be the ice that extinguished it. And Milody Austin Ferrum, a mother first and a Duchess second, would not allow it. She would not stand by and watch her son, her brilliant, strange, and finally, wonderfully, resurgent son, be shackled for a lifetime to a woman who looked at him as if he were an inconvenient piece of furniture. Her gaze shifted from her son and Faria, now walking slowly down the corridor together, their heads bent in easy, comfortable conversation, and drifted south, towards the distant, sun-drenched lands of the Kruts Marquisate. She thought of what she knew. A powerful, respected house. A shrewd, pragmatic Marquess in Tiberius Kruts. A debt of honor, of a life saved, of a hope restored, owed to her son. And a daughter. A daughter who was fiery, passionate, intelligent, powerful in her own right. A daughter whose amethyst eyes, when she looked at Lloyd, now held a light that had nothing to do with art or politics. A new plan, a long-term, high-stakes, and incredibly dangerous, gambit, began to form in the intricate, calculating depths of her mind. A plan that would require patience, subtlety, and a ruthless disregard for the established political order. The marriage to Rosa was a contract, sealed by the King. It could not be easily broken. Not without scandal. Not without a significant, and very public, cause. But contracts could be... renegotiated. Alliances could shift. And causes, she knew, could be... created. Her first move would be to subtly, carefully, begin to cultivate a new alliance. A closer relationship with House Kruts. She would send a personal missive to her old friend, the Marquess-Consort Joynab, expressing her own profound relief at the news of young Elian’s improving condition. She would praise Faria’s artistry, her loyalty, her courage. She would plant the seeds of a deeper, more personal connection between their two houses.

Episode-267

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