— — — — — —
At the door of the luxury hotel suite—
The latch clicked open, and Liliana poked her head in. "My King, Princess Alice has arrived."
Inside, Ryo was lounging on the sofa in a bathrobe, feet propped on a low stool.
In front of him, Erica was squatting down, carefully trimming his toenails.
It was, in every sense, a terrible picture.
The elegant suite looked less like a five-star hotel and more like some shady parlor.
Noticing this, Ryo spoke lazily. "Have her wait a moment."
Then he turned to Erica. "That's enough, Erica. Time to put away our little 'hobby.' A knight in that pose isn't something I want others to see."
"I'm flattered you'd say so."
Erica looked up with her pedicure kit in hand, flashing him a cheeky wink. "But don't you think this makes for an excellent way to intimidate the princess?"
Ryo sighed. "No. She'd just think I was humiliating women."
After all, Erica was the niece of Paolo Blandelli, once Princess Alice's sworn knight.
Seeing Paolo's only successor kneeling to trim another man's nails… it gave her a very questionable air.
Like a… certain type of professional.
Erica just smiled sweetly. "So you admit me doing this puts you in the wrong kind of mood?"
Ryo narrowed his eyes. "If you'd like to spend three days unable to walk, by all means, keep provoking me."
Erica scoffed, snapped her kit shut, and stepped behind him.
"Why give up so easily?" Ryo teased.
She smiled knowingly. "Because, my King… Lily is too young to watch that."
"Erica!" Liliana's face at the door flushed crimson.
Ryo shrugged, dropped his feet from the stool, and said to Liliana, "Let her in."
Liliana shot Erica one last glare, shut the door, and a moment later opened it again.
"Good evening, Lord Yagami."
The visitor stepped gracefully inside: golden hair shining, clad in an immaculate white gown. She was a 24-year-old beautiful woman with long platinum blonde hair and green eyes.
Ryo raised a brow, naming her aloud. "Alice Louise, is it?"
His smile turned playful."Not exactly the best hour for a lady to call, wouldn't you say?"
It was nearly eleven at night—definitely not the proper time for an unaccompanied woman to visit.
But Alice remained unruffled. She crossed the room, offering a slight curtsy. "Some impatient gentlemen forced me to appear in this manner. I ask your forgiveness."
"A spirit projection, then?" Ryo immediately saw through it.
Part of her soul and will, projected from afar. This wasn't her real body.
"Yes. My health has always been frail. I must rely on such methods."
Her smile was calm, as if to assure him this was necessity, not disrespect.
"I'd heard as much."
Ryo gave a careless shrug. "So, Princess, what brings you here so late? Is it urgent business… or just a desire to give tomorrow's papers a scandalous headline?"
In London, Alice was a celebrity. Since the eighteenth century, she had been lauded as the empire's most beautiful heiress.
A single, high-profile woman visiting a man's hotel at midnight? The press would have a field day.
Her smile wavered. "You wouldn't leak this to the media… would you?"
Her instincts whispered that his words carried danger. And for a seer, instincts were rarely wrong.
Ryo beckoned casually to Erica. She brought over a bottle of champagne and two mugs.
"It's not about whether I leak it. It depends on whether the reporters at the entrance do."
Alice's expression shifted. Then she sighed softly."You're mistaken. Those aren't reporters. They're members of the Royal Arsenal."
Ryo blinked. "Gascoigne's men?"
Alexander Gascoigne, Black Prince Alec. A British Campione.
Unlike the King of Swords, who ruled through "inherited command", the Black Prince had built his own faction—the Royal Arsenal—and kept it thriving.
In truth, England's magic world was split in two: the old elite, unified under the Witenagemot, and Gascoigne's grassroots Arsenal. Their clashes were countless.
Ryo gave a half-smile. "So Gascoigne has his eye on me?"
Alice nodded faintly. "He hasn't said so directly, but yes—England is his domain."
At that, Erica smirked from the side.
The Witenagemot and the Royal Arsenal might be locked in endless blood feuds, but to outsiders, Witenagemot still paraded itself as Gascoigne's loyal vassals. England's magic society was nothing if not contradictory.
Ryo narrowed his eyes, smiling. "Meaning Gascoigne's upset I didn't first pay respects to the local lord?"
Alice shook her head quickly. "No, no. The Black Prince isn't that sort. I know him well. He's a strategist at heart. Collecting information is second nature to him."
Ryo chuckled. "I've heard there's an old English saying. 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.' Correct?"
Alice's smile never faltered.
But Ryo waved it off. "No need to dodge the point. My target is the Witenagemot. Trying to drag Gascoigne into this won't distract me."
He leaned back, grin sharp. "That said, I wouldn't mind teaming up with him. Giving Witenagemot a beating together sounds fun."
Alice's lips still curved, but her eyes turned cold. "The Witenagemot will cooperate fully with your wishes."
Ryo arched a brow. "Even if that includes handing me Witenagemot's research reports on Campiones and their Authorities?"
Alice's face instantly paled.
.
.
.