The elegant envelope, sealed with the crest of the royal family, lay on Leonardo's desk like a silent threat. The wax bore the image of a lion crowned in gold, its presence commanding attention. Leonardo's eyes narrowed as he read the elegant handwriting. It was an invitation—though the word felt far too polite—for a private tea party at the Duke's estate. But the name written in delicate ink was not his. It was hers.
Lady Meliny Dream.
Leonardo leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the armrest. His first instinct was to tear the parchment to shreds. A royal summons addressed directly to Melanie could only mean one thing—His Highness, the Crown Prince, had begun to move his pieces.
"I'll refuse it," Leonardo muttered, already reaching for his pen.
His assistant, standing beside the desk, shifted uneasily. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Your Grace. The invitation comes directly from Her Majesty, the Queen herself."
From the shadowed corner of the office, a low growl rumbled. "That damned royal parasite," Dravok muttered under his breath, his voice carrying the weight of something ancient and dangerous.
Leonardo ignored him for the moment, but his jaw tightened. "Then I'll send someone with her," he said curtly.
The assistant hesitated. "It's… a tea party, sir. Only noble ladies will attend. No men. Not even personal guards."
A faint crack split the air as Leonardo's grip on his pen tightened until the wood strained. His blue eyes, usually as calm as the sea, darkened into something stormy, a depth that hinted at fury restrained only by sheer willpower.
"That bastard," he said, each syllable sharp enough to cut. "He thinks he can do whatever he pleases because his blood runs royal—filthy though it is."
For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Then, as though flicking a switch, Leonardo's features smoothed into a mask of indifference. He leaned back, his tone suddenly casual. "Let her go."
Dravok's head snapped up, disbelief flashing in his inhuman golden eyes. The veins in his neck bulged as anger surged through him, his voice rising into a roar.
"No. I will not allow this!" His chest heaved, the deep timbre of his voice shaking the air. "Meliny will not go to that wretched leech so he can use her for his games!"
Leonardo turned his head slowly, his gaze turning to ice. "I believe you've forgotten your place… beast." His voice dropped to a chilling calm, the kind that cut deeper than a shout. "Because my sister has been kind to you, you've mistaken yourself for more than what you are. You are nothing but a slave. Do you understand?"
The words landed like blows. Dravok's jaw clenched, his fangs pressing against the inside of his lips. Once, he had been a proud general among the Beastkin, a warrior feared across battlefields. And now… now he was standing here, humiliated by human he could crush in seconds.
But he said nothing. Because this insult mean nothing compare to lose his sunlight Meliny so he keep quiet for now.
Leonardo studied him for a long moment before speaking again. "Everything is under control," he said quietly. "But there is something I need you to do. Something only you can manage."
Dravok's glare lingered, but he gave a single, stiff nod.
—
The scene shifted to a room bathed in pale afternoon light.
Meliny sat before an ornate mirror, the silver-gold strands of her hair catching the glow like liquid sunlight. Two maids worked in careful silence, one weaving her hair into an elegant style while the other adjusted the delicate pearl hairpins. The gown laid out for her was a deep sapphire blue, its silk shimmering with each movement, a color that marked her as the youngest daughter of the House of Dream. Diamonds glinted at her wrists, and a matching necklace rested against her collarbone, cool against her skin.
Even when she can't see Her reflection she can imagine what would look like , it was not the girl she knew. The image in the mirror was every inch a noblewoman—poised, flawless, untouchable. And yet, beneath the layers of silk and jewels, her stomach twisted.
The moment her gloved hands settled in her lap, she realized how cold they were. She wasn't just nervous about meeting members of the royal family—there was another shadow lurking in her mind. The third prince. Third in line to the throne. Her former fiancé.
She didn't know what awaited her behind those gilded doors, but the memory of his smile—the one that never quite reached his eyes—sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.
When the last clasp was secured, the head maid stepped back, inspecting her handiwork with a critical eye. "Perfect, my lady," she said softly.
A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the carriage. Meliny rose, her skirts whispering against the polished floor. The maids followed her down the hall, their footsteps muffled on the thick carpets.
Outside, the waiting carriage gleamed black under the sun, its golden crest catching the light. The horses stood still, their breath misting faintly in the crisp air.
As she stepped toward it, her pulse quickened. She told herself it was just a tea party, just an afternoon of polite conversation and harmless gossip. But deep down, she knew better even when she has no idea of crown prince plan.