The throne room of Simharian was a chamber of red-gold marble and towering pillars etched with flame motifs—each a testament to the kingdom’s elemental heritage.

A stained-glass mural of the Phoenix Crown blazed above the dais where King Reganath Nemeanor sat, eyes sharp beneath a crown that looked more like a circlet of fire than gold.

Alex stood before him, flanked by Zahara, Lilia, and Mira.

Sophie wasn’t there.

She had unsummoned herself as they weren’t on a tour anymore. Kael and Bahir had noticed her missing presence, but the other waved it off, saying she had some work and had to go.

Reganath’s red eyes, on the other hand, swept over the group—lingering briefly on his daughter, then on the sword at Alex’s hip, and finally, curiously, on the other two girls standing a little too close to him.

“Alex,” he said, his voice like gravel wrapped in heat. “You come bearing enemies bound in spells and speak of noble conspiracies before I’ve even had my midday tea.”

He had met Alex before, and although that encounter wasn’t the best, it gave him an idea of Alex’s nature and feelings for Zahara.

At that time, there was no love in Alex’s eyes for Zahara. He cared for her, but that was all.

Regaath, however, decided to trust the instincts that told him Alex would be good for Zahara, and now, looking at the way they looked at each other, he knew how right his decision was.

But that didn’t mean Reganath would like the news about trouble as soon as Alex stepped into his kingdom.

No king would like trouble under their rule.

Alex, hearing Reganath’s words, gave a respectful bow. “My apologies for the timing, Your Majesty. It wasn’t planned.”

He didn’t bend enough to look subservient but to look respectful.

“I assume being at the center of storms isn’t planned either,” Reganath muttered, rubbing his temple. “And yet here you are.”

Zahara stepped forward, her voice calm and steady. “Father, there was a coordinated attack, possibly traced back to the court. Alex stopped it before any harm was done.”

“I know that,” Reganath said sharply, then turned his eyes back to Alex. “I was told that you subdued the attacker.”

Alex didn’t deny it. “I don’t like letting blades near Zahara.”

That earned a twitch at the corner of the king’s mouth—something close to amusement. But it didn’t last.

His gaze flicked to Lilia and Mira, who both met his stare without fear.

“And these two,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “are just… friends, I presume?”

Lilia smirked faintly but said nothing.

Mira didn’t even blink. She just reached for Alex’s sleeve, holding it gently like she did when she wanted to stand her ground.

Reganath leaned back, exhaling deeply. “Zahara, do you realize your partner is being followed by more longing gazes than a bard’s ballad?”

He didn’t have anything against Alex having multiple loves, especially when each of them knew about it, but that didn’t mean he would like his daughter to be a part of it.

No father would want his daughter to share her lover.

Zahara’s eyes narrowed. “They’re important to him.”

“Hmph.” The king waved a hand. “Fine. I won’t question your choices. But if this turns into a harem in my halls, I’ll start asking for tributes.”

Lilia looked away, clearly trying not to laugh, while Mira tilted her head, confused.

“Moving on,” Reganath said, eyes sharpening. “You said Rannir was manipulated. That he attacked under some influence. But we can’t trace the source.”

Alex, who was shaking his head, turned serious when this topic was brought up and nodded. “No mana residue or spiritual thread. Which means it was either cast by someone extremely skilled or triggered by a non-magical method—something embedded long ago.”

“Which brings us to the court.” Reganath stood. The flames on the brazier behind him flared as if reacting to his mood. “I trust Bahir and Kael. If they say Rannir’s loyal, then he is. But a snake got in. And it used my people.”

He stated, showing his trust in Bahir and Kael, who were investigating Solhan.

There was a crack of stone beneath his feet as a red aura surged and vanished just as quickly.

Zahara spoke, her voice steady but laced with heat. “Father. We need to act before this spreads. If the court’s compromised, we must root it out now while they still think they have the upper hand.”

“And we can’t let fear take hold,” Lilia added, stepping forward. “Once the nobles catch wind of this, they’ll either pick sides… or pretend neutrality while preparing their knives.”

Reganath studied her, nodding slightly. “You speak like someone raised in politics.”

Lilia gave a small shrug. “I read a lot.”

She didn’t tell him the truth. Telling him the truth could make things complicated.

After all, the demon lord’s daughter wasn’t someone you would see daily.

“Of course you do.” He turned to Mira. “And you, girl? Anything to add?”

Mira stayed silent for a while, glancing at Alex, and seeing him nod, she turned back to the king, blinking slowly. “If it’s not cut out now… it’ll fester. People like that… don’t stop.”

Her voice was soft, but it hit like a bell in a dead room.

The king’s eyes narrowed again—this time not in suspicion, but in thought.

Then he looked at Alex.

“You’re not from this kingdom yet participating in this fight. People might think things.”

Alex met his gaze evenly. “I don’t serve anyone. But I do care about Zahara. Which means I care about what threatens her. And if that means burning every snake pit in your capital… I will.”

Silence followed.

Then, slowly, a grin spread across Reganath’s face. “Gods. I almost like you more each time you open your mouth.”

Zahara allowed herself the barest smile.

“But,” the king continued, expression darkening again, “that doesn’t mean you can act without leash or chain. You’ll be watched closely. You all will. I can’t afford mistakes now.”

“That’s fair,” Alex said. “Just don’t expect us to sit quietly if someone makes a move again.”

Reganath’s gaze gleamed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The massive double doors creaked open as a herald entered, whispering something into the king’s ear.

Reganath listened. His smile faded.

He looked up, eyes now sharp as forged blades. “Solhan’s body was found. All that was left of it, anyway. Stuffed into a well, drained of blood.”

Everyone froze.

Zahara’s voice was ice. “So they’re tying off loose ends.”

“Yes,” Reganath said. “Which means the real players are getting nervous. Good. That means we hit something.”

He turned to one of the guards. “Get Kael and Bahir. I want them leading a discreet search through the court records—any clerical changes, especially those involving border movements.”

Then back to Alex and the others. “And you four… Keep your head low but ears open. From now on, I want everything—everything—you learn brought straight to me.”

Alex nodded. “Understood.”

As they turned to leave, Reganath spoke again, quieter this time.

“Zahara.”

She paused.

He looked at her, softer now. “Be careful. You’ve always been a storm—but now the kingdom’s watching to see if you’ll bring rain… or fire.”

Zahara bowed her head. “I’ll bring what’s needed.”

Reganath smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Just don’t get yourself killed.”

The doors shut behind them with a quiet thud.

Outside, the air was cooler, but no less tense.

Lilia crossed her arms. “So… they’re cleaning house already.”

Mira tilted her head. “Which means we need to dig faster.”

Zahara exhaled. “They won’t stop. Not until they break something.”

Alex cracked his knuckles. “Let’s make sure that something… isn’t us.”

They moved forward—into firelight, into danger, into war-tinted shadows.

While doing so, Alex was also going to complete his original objective, which was finding the cheat Zahara was supposed to gain and taking care of this kingdom’s problems for her.

However, just as they turned down the corridor toward their quarters, the air shifted.

Boots echoed—too many for a simple servant or guard patrol.

From a side hallway, a group stepped forward, led by a young man in noble crimson, his golden braid swinging over one shoulder, his posture arrogantly perfect.

Zahara stopped cold.

“…Velmar,” she muttered.

Lord Velmar Thorne, son of a high-ranking noble and one of Zahara’s most persistent and delusional suitors.

He gave a theatrical bow, gaze locking onto Alex with open disdain. “Princess Zahara. I came as soon as I heard… troubling rumors. An outsider walking too closely beside you, disrupting court, drawing blood. Surely, it’s a misunderstanding.”

His smile was knives dipped in honey.

Alex said nothing.

Velmar straightened, hand already on the hilt at his side. “But if it’s not… then I request a duel. Public. Proper. As is tradition. Let the fire choose who is worthy to stand beside royalty.”

Zahara’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t the time.”

“It never is,” Velmar said lightly, then faced Alex. “Unless the outsider is afraid.”

Alex stepped forward, eyes flat. “I’m not from here, noble. But I’m fluent in disrespect.”

Velmar’s smirk widened. “Good. Then you’ll understand when I break your spine.”

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