Eleanor blinked, a little confused.

"For example," Margaret said patiently, "which dress do you want to wear to the garden party? Will it be the silver gown embroidered with little stars that the tailor from the Southern Territory sent? Or the blue cloak trimmed with snow fox fur, a gift from the artisans of the Northern Territory? And how do you want your hair tomorrow? Should we braid it, or would you like to wear that new little coronet inlaid with Moonlight Stones?"

Her words were gentle, guiding Eleanor’s thoughts back to the next day’s celebration.

Just as she’d intended, Eleanor fell into deep thought, her little face a mixture of hesitation and anticipation.

"Go on," Margaret encouraged with a smile, gently patting the back of her daughter’s hand. "Have Annabelle go with you to your room. Take all the gowns out of your wardrobe, look them over, and try them on. She has the best eye for fashion in the palace and will give you the best advice. Pick your absolute favorite, so you can look your prettiest when you receive everyone’s blessings tomorrow."

Eleanor looked up at Murphy.

Murphy met his daughter’s questioning gaze and gave a slight nod.

"Go on," he said in a gentle voice. "Pick your favorite."

Only then did Eleanor slide down from her chair. She gave her parents a small curtsy and walked over to Annabelle on her own.

The lady-in-waiting offered a gentle smile, bowing slightly to the Duke and the Governor before taking the Little Princess’s hand and walking away down the path with steady steps.

Before long, Leia returned to the pavilion, leading two kitchen servants. They carried exquisite trays laden with freshly baked fruit tarts, almond crisps, and steaming honey-lemon tea.

Leia personally arranged the refreshments, her movements light and silent.

Just as she was about to step aside and wait in attendance, Margaret raised her hand.

"Leia," the Duke’s voice was indisputable, "your service is not needed here for now. You are dismissed. Go and tell the Guards at the garden entrance to withdraw to the outer corridor and wait. No one is to enter without my permission."

Leia flinched for a moment, but her training was impeccable. She quickly regained her composure, bowed, and replied, "Yes, Lord Duke."

She bowed to Murphy as well, then led the servants away from the pavilion, departing quickly and quietly in the direction of the garden entrance.

A moment later, the distant sound of scraping Armor and orderly footsteps faded away.

Only Murphy and Margaret remained in the vast garden.

The morning breeze still blew, the scent of roses still lingered, but the air seemed to have settled into a heavy stillness.

The faint clamor in the distance seemed to retreat even further away.

Margaret picked up the honey-lemon tea Leia had poured for her before leaving. She took an elegant sip, her gaze never leaving Murphy’s serene profile.

But gradually, an emerald luster began to spread outward from the depths of her pupils, as if reflecting a green river of stars, eternally spinning in the far reaches of the cosmos.

The light was not glaring, yet it held a heart-stopping profundity and vitality, like a living tide that flowed and surged within her eyes.

At almost the same instant, Murphy responded.

In his eyes, usually as placid as a deep pool, the purest night seemed to gather and swirl in their depths, swiftly devouring their original deep brown human color.

They became more profound than the blackest obsidian, deeper than a starless midnight.

It was as if only pure darkness remained—a darkness that could devour light, sound, and even thought.

The two of them simply stared at each other in silence.

No words, no movements. Only their gazes met in the silent air.

The morning light seemed to refract strangely around them. The light inside the pavilion grew dim and ambiguous. One half shimmered, faintly illuminated by the green starlight flowing in Margaret’s eyes, while the other was swallowed by Murphy’s profound darkness, forming a clearly defined boundary.

The rose bushes stopped swaying; the wind itself seemed to hold its breath.

The sense of time passing became indistinct, each second stretched out to an excruciating length.

’This wasn’t the first time.’

It had all started eleven years ago in Duval Castle, when Murphy countered her [Control Human] and seared this Magic into the depths of her soul.

Ever since, every time they reunited after a long separation, at every important meeting, and even on certain clandestine nights in Taymer Palace, Margaret would always seek an opportunity.

Like the most devout and yet most frenzied of gamblers, she would push all her chips onto the table, attempting to shatter the shackles that bound her.

And Murphy, for his part, had never refused this dangerous game.

The reason was simple.

They had long since become an inseparable union of interests.

Without Margaret’s lofty position in the Royal Family, her special status as a Witch, and her vast influence within the Kingdom’s intricate web of connections, Murphy’s power as a Great Knight alone would have never been enough to firmly control the Duval Territory—now known as the Monte Territory, a cash cow of astonishing wealth. It would have been even more impossible for it to have grown and prospered over the past decade to the point of drawing attention from all quarters.

Everything from the vast resources needed to refine those Dharma Artifacts to the rare Secret Medicines like Dust of Dawn, essential for maintaining the rapid progress of his Cultivation, was heavily dependent on Margaret’s power and influence.

And for that very reason, Murphy could not afford to lose.

Every clash on the spiritual plane was a re-consolidation and reinforcement of the [Control Human] Magic.

Margaret’s unnatural obsession with him and her desire to be dominated by him were both the reason the Magic had such a stunning effect on her and the driving force behind her constant attempts to fight back.