"How are you doing, Prince Florian?" she asked, her tone smooth as silk.

Elara's smile was gentle—refined, perfectly practiced, yet somehow still warm.

The porcelain cup she held barely made a sound as it touched the saucer again, her every movement deliberate and graceful.

Florian smiled politely in return.

There was something about Duke Elara—her composure, the way she carried herself—that reminded him of someone used to power.

Calm, unbothered, calculating beneath the courtesy.

"I'm doing well," he replied softly. "But really, I should be asking you, Duke Elara. You and your son were kept here unexpectedly. I imagine you must want to return to your duchy, especially with…"

He hesitated, his eyes dropping to his teacup.

The rogues.

The attacks. The unrest spreading across the kingdom like fire through dry fields.

Elara chuckled, breaking the tension. "Well, I cannot say I'm thrilled to be kept in the Diamond Palace," she admitted, her smile dipping with faint amusement. "But I understand the reasoning. Safety, of course."

She glanced at the window, where faint sunlight filtered through sheer curtains.

"Your servants have been nothing short of wonderful, though. That young Cashew especially—so diligent. To think someone so young could fill Delilah's shoes. I'm sure she would have been thrilled."

Her tone softened when she spoke the name, fondness laced with melancholy.

Florian's fingers tightened around his cup.

He remembered the stories—Anastasia, Delilah, and Elara, friends once upon a time. Before politics. Before betrayal.

"You were close, right?" Florian asked, his voice cautious. "His Majesty mentioned it briefly."

Elara hummed, studying him.

And then she saw it—the faint stiffness in his shoulders, the flicker of guilt he couldn't quite hide.

'He's blaming himself,' she thought.

"Don't worry, Prince Florian," she said finally, setting her cup down with a soft click. "No matter how close I was to her, I do not condone her actions. We were friends, yes—but her crimes were unforgivable, despite what she might have believed."

Then she chuckled—lightly, elegantly, but there was steel underneath. "Truthfully, she was a little too attached to the royal family. Despite marrying a noble, she chose to remain a servant. I would say she was… foolish."

Florian blinked, caught off guard by her bluntness. He hadn't expected that from her—not from someone who spoke so fondly of Delilah seconds ago.

But perhaps that was Elara's strength. Pragmatic. Detached. Always seeing things for what they were, not what she wished them to be.

'So that's how she's survived this long,' he thought.

She had even supported Hendrix for the throne—over Heinz, the son of her supposed friend.

That said everything.

"You seem surprised, Your Highness," Elara said, tilting her head, her golden earrings catching the light. "Do you not agree?"

Florian forced a small smile, lowering his gaze. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"Ah, well…" he began, his voice softer now. "As much as I was… not too fond of Delilah, and she wasn't particularly fond of me either…"

"Mhm?" Elara prompted, curious.

"I do think that, in her own way, she was just looking out for His Majesty," Florian said, his tone turning wistful. "Really… it's a bit stupid."

He laughed under his breath, though there was no humor in it. "But we all have things we're passionate about. Whether it's people… or something else."

His words lingered in the air, the warmth of the tea fading between them.

Elara studied him closely, her expression unreadable, while Florian looked down into his cup, watching the reflection of his own face ripple in the surface.

For Delilah, it had been loyalty.

For Heinz, it had been revenge for who killed him, now it seems it was redemption for killing the original Florian.

And for him…

For Aden.

'It's going home.'

To his sister.

To his real life.

No matter what attachments he'd formed here, no matter what pain or longing pulled at him—his purpose hadn't changed.

He would get back to his world.

Even if it meant leaving everything—and everyone—behind.

And that—exactly that—was why Florian had agreed to meet with Duke Elara in the first place.

He needed to know her true intentions.

He cleared his throat, straightening slightly on his chair.

"But enough of that, Lady Elara," he began, his tone polite but edged with purpose. "I want… to be frank with you."

Elara's brows lifted, curiosity flickering across her features. "Oh?" she hummed, her lips curling into an amused little smile.

"I have many reasons to believe that you wanted to speak with me because of… the task, yes?" Florian asked carefully, his eyes steady on hers.

Her smile widened, elegant and knowing. "Yes," she said, nodding slowly. "That is correct."

"Good," Florian replied, leaning forward slightly. "Because I also wanted to speak with you about the task."

Elara tilted her head, studying him like one would study a chess piece being moved into position.

"Are you going to reject it?" she asked after a moment. "I would understand, given… the recent events."

Florian shook his head almost immediately. "No," he said firmly, voice carrying a quiet conviction that made her pause. "Quite the contrary—I'm willing to do it."

That earned him a genuine flicker of surprise.

Elara blinked once, then smiled again—this time slower, more deliberate. "That's… surprising," she admitted, setting her teacup down. "May I ask what made you say yes now?"

Florian hesitated for a beat, his fingers curling against his knees under the table.

"Just… a few reasons," he said at last, choosing his words carefully. "But I'm willing to do the task under some conditions, if that's acceptable."

The air seemed to shift.

Elara didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached for her cup again, her fingers delicate against the porcelain.

She lifted it to her lips with practiced grace and took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Florian.

He held her gaze, trying not to fidget, but inside his stomach twisted.

'She's testing me.'

Each second of silence felt heavier than the last.

He could hear his own heartbeat—steady but strained—and the faint sound of his butterflies fluttering lazily near the curtains.

The room felt too still.

When Elara finally set the cup down again, she smiled—not mockingly, but with the quiet satisfaction of someone who had confirmed what they already suspected.

"Well," she said lightly, brushing a strand of pale hair from her shoulder, "I'd expect no less, actually."

Florian blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?"

'What's that supposed to mean?'

"I mean," she continued, tone warm but laced with calculation, "I chose you because of your strong will—and because I respect you. If you had accepted without any conditions or questions, I would have started doubting my decision."

Florian blinked again, unsure how to respond.

'Oh.'

Then it sank in.

'Oh. Wow.'

He hadn't expected that—approval, of all things—from her. But Elara's gaze softened slightly, as though amused by his reaction.

"Negotiation is a mark of a thinking man, Your Highness," she added. "It means you value not only loyalty, but fairness. That's something even kings often forget."

Florian straightened a little, hiding the faint smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe this meeting wasn't going to be as suffocating as he feared.

"But of course," Elara said smoothly, crossing one leg over the other, her gown whispering softly against the chair as she folded her hands neatly atop her knee.

Her poise never faltered—every gesture calculated, graceful. "I also need to ensure your conditions are fair to me, Your Highness."

Her tone carried the faintest hint of amusement, like a teacher humoring a clever student. "Are you going to present them now?"

Florian nodded, sitting up straighter. His heartbeat was steady—controlled—but his palms were faintly damp. 'Don't show hesitation. Not now.'

"Yes," he said firmly, raising one finger. "My first condition is that, since I've agreed to do the task, I want to know what I have to do. I'd like to be properly informed so I can… prepare."

Elara regarded him for a moment, then gave a small, approving nod. "Understandable," she replied easily. "And quite reasonable. I am perfectly fine with that."

Florian allowed himself a small exhale, tension slipping from his shoulders.

"Good," he said, smiling faintly. "I'm glad we're on the same page."

And for a fleeting second, it almost felt too easy.

The sunlight filtering through the tall windows cast warm hues over the table between them. The soft clink of porcelain echoed as Elara lifted her cup once more, her reflection rippling faintly in the amber tea. Everything about the moment felt still—calm.

But Florian knew better.

'She's not naive. She's waiting. Measuring how far I'll go.'

He returned her composed expression with one of his own. 'Fine. Let's see how far you'll let me go.'

He placed his cup down gently, folding his hands on his lap as he continued. "That's the first condition."

Elara tilted her head, her gaze sharpening slightly. "And the second?"

Florian hesitated for half a breath.

This one wasn't simple. This one could change the entire conversation.

His throat tightened, but he forced his expression to remain calm. 'This is the risk. If I can't get this one… everything else falls apart.'

He took a quiet breath, steadying himself.

Then, slowly, he raised his eyes to meet hers.

"The second condition," he said slowly, weighing each word, "comes after the task is complete."

Florian's voice was steady, but there was a quiet gravity to it now—something that made Elara's expression sharpen, her curiosity piqued.

"I want to ask for a favor," he continued, his fingers curling slightly against his knee. "I can't say what it is yet—because I don't know it myself. But when the time comes, and I do…" He looked up, meeting her gaze directly.

"I'd like you to promise to help me."