Chapter 20
* * *
Igor discerned that Laegar, returned to his seat, was in an even fouler mood than before.
He was slowly wiping the red blood from his hands with a cloth, but a displeased blade stood quietly in his eyes.
Even Igor, who had been severely scolded many times by his silence-practicing uncle, found it chilling.
He could bet a hundred crow necks that the house of the bastard caught tonight wouldn’t last until tomorrow.
“Ahem, hm.”
But Igor, having composed himself calmly, couldn’t resist his wicked nature and began playfully egging his uncle on again.
“This is why you shouldn’t throw a ball like this. When you can’t even handle it.”
Even feeling the cold pupils slide silently toward him, Igor chattered on wickedly.
“I meant, can you handle not getting jealous…. Honestly, you’re still not over it, are you, Uncle?”
Igor—the lord of the Grand Ducal Castle, yet barred from entering the banquet hall—egged on his uncle, who seemed to have lost his reason, intending to have a bit of fun.
“Uncle, want me to tell you how to soothe your anger? It’s called the ‘tit-for-tat strategy’…. Lift my grounding order and I’ll tell you.”
The deal, a fairly clever proposition, was promptly withdrawn before the gaze that seemed to crackle with thin ice.
“Tch, fine. I’ll just tell you. Do the same thing right back to Lucy. Make her feel jealous, I mean.”
Seeing Laegar’s eyebrow twitch—pretending not to listen but catching every word—Igor giggled like a little demon.
He leaned into his uncle’s ear and began chattering something more.
* * *
After Laegar vanished, leaving Lucy stranded alone in some random spot, Alfredo appeared before her with a pop.
“Follow me.”
“Where are we going? I want to go back. To my room.”
She had played enough. Now she wanted to return to Laegar’s bedchamber. That place was her home, her nest.
But Alfredo, frowning as if that were troublesome, merely repeated in the same inflection.
“I have received orders to escort you back to the Great Hall.”
“I’m done, really. I’ve played enough. Lae isn’t even going to come anyway.”
He called them lovers, so was holding hands and dancing just once so difficult? He was even dressed up, she’d noticed.
The dress shirt adorned with black jewels and silk lace suited him so well. His quiet gray eyes had looked deeper and more mellow, to the point she’d almost fallen for him all over again.
But if this was how it was going to be, the whole ball felt like charity.
Growing despondent, Lucy dropped her head—only for news that made her eyes involuntarily fly open to spill from Alfredo’s mouth.
“His Majesty is already in the hall as well.”
A moment later, Lucy followed Alfredo back into the Great Hall.
But the atmosphere there had already shifted.
The lighting had dimmed, and for some reason a stickier, more provocative current flowed through the hall.
At the same time, the distinguished guests kept stealing glances at one spot, seeming deeply preoccupied with something.
Lucy, too, turned her gaze toward where they were glancing—and found herself unconsciously clutching a handful of her skirt.
The curtains of a deep inner chamber, whose very existence she hadn’t known, had been pulled open wide as if revealing a stage. And within, Laegar, seated there, had finally revealed himself.
The problem was, he wasn’t alone.
On the armrest of the sofa where he reclined, a voluptuous beauty was perched languidly, whispering into Laegar’s ear.
Even though his face was expressionless, the woman’s smile was so suggestive and sticky that Lucy’s fist clenched tight.
Lucy glared at the scene unfolding before her with eyes ablaze, yet the only thing registering was the fact that the woman was very beautiful.
Like a true native of the Belluk territory—glossy black hair, pearl-white skin, lips red as blood.
Above all, watching those red lips toy with Laegar’s ear, whispering something, felt like her insides were flipping over. The two figures tangled together matched so devastatingly well, which tormented her even more.
Just as the corners of Lucy’s eyes were growing hot, her gaze met Laegar’s.
No emotion could be read in the gray eyes coolly fixed on her, but when the woman beside him murmured something, the tip of his lips seemed to lift faintly.
Just seeing that alone sent a boiling heat rushing to the crown of her head. Then the woman’s hand, which had been softly stroking the nape of his neck, dared to slip inside his already loosened, disheveled shirt.
An irreversible spark ignited in Lucy’s eyes.
She roughly snatched a bouquet of roses from a nearby vase and strode toward them.
The woman, now practically draped over Laegar, was writhing and pressing herself against him. He never once took his eyes off Lucy, who was approaching through the crowd.
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