The Grand Hall of House Sean glimmered with candlelight and crystal, yet Duke White Sean sat in silence, lost in thought.
It's been three years… and Candace grows more distant each day, he mused. She still sneaks off to Travis' room at night. That brat got lucky when Darcia cured him. If not for that… well, I would've simply found another heir to dangle in front of the nobles.
His fingers tapped the armrest, eyes drifting to the crowded ballroom.
This banquet? Just for show. What I need is to quietly gauge where the other Houses stand—and which prince they're backing for the throne. The Samara family… they've lost power, but they still have influence. And if that fool Heath Samara missteps, I can use that too.
Then, something made him sit upright.
Travis had arrived.
But the boy wasn't alone.
Walking beside him was a woman Duke White never imagined would appear with his son—Duchess Melantha Samara. More than a noble, she was royalty by blood, a princess of the kingdom. And her hand was locked with Travis', like they'd known each other for years.
The Duke's eyes narrowed. What exactly is that brat doing...?
Two hours earlier.
Inside an elegant carriage heading toward House Sean's estate, Melantha Samara sat reading a document with narrowed eyes. Her assistant, a wiry man in his fifties, spoke nervously across from her.
"My lady, Duke Victor has already spoken to House Sean. Shouldn't we arrive quietly?"
Melantha didn't look up. "White Sean is cunning. If we let Heath represent us alone, he'll fumble everything—again."
Her voice was cold. Sharp. With reason. Though married into the Samara house, Melantha was the eldest daughter of King Alfred Norma himself. She held both noble and royal status—and she wielded it well.
The assistant sighed. "Still… it's risky. You speak too freely in this region."
Melantha snapped the paper closed and met his gaze. "The Samara name would've collapsed already if not for my father's deal. Don't lecture me on risk."
As they neared the banquet gates, she overheard the announcer:
"The Young Lord of House Sean has arrived—Travis Sean!"
Melantha raised an eyebrow. So that's the infamous troublemaker? Let's see what kind of boy White has been hiding.
She stepped out of the carriage—and immediately paused.
The boy who turned to greet her wasn't what she expected. Tall for his age, composed, and wearing a sharp red and gold outfit that made his deep blue eyes gleam. For a brief moment, their gazes locked—and she froze.
His eyes… they glowed, didn't they? Just for a second…?
Travis bowed slightly. "Good evening, Lady Melantha. Would you accompany me for a brief walk? There's a matter I think you'll find… worthwhile."
She blinked, regaining her composure. "I suppose I have a moment."
They walked together into one of the VIP courtyards, quiet and away from the crowd. As soon as the gates shut, Travis turned to face her fully.
"I have access to a lost blacksmithing technique—Tier 4 grade," he said simply. "I'd like to offer it… to your house."
Melantha's composure cracked. "That… Those techniques were lost when the old Samara patriarch was killed. You're saying you've recovered one?"
Travis didn't answer directly. He smiled coolly and turned to watch koi fish circle in the small pond nearby.
"I'll keep the rights. You get to manufacture. I'll take twenty percent of all profits and a personal discount should I purchase anything you make."
Melantha eyed him closely. "That's… reasonable. But why me? You could've gone to your father. Or mine."
Travis' voice grew quieter. "Because this is your House's last chance. And let's be honest—your husband is Duke in name only."
Melantha stiffened, but he raised a hand.
"You don't have to agree now. But this deal is between us. If it leaks, it's void."
A tense silence followed. Then, she nodded slowly. "Fine. I'll need a proper Tier-3 contract. Do you want to finalize this now?"
He stepped closer. "Of course."
They drafted terms—profit sharing, discretion clauses, and conditions for neutral territory manufacturing. When they were finished, Melantha rolled the contract with a strange look on her face.
"I didn't expect this from you, Lord Travis."
"Most don't," he said, smirking.
As they prepared to reenter the ballroom, Travis turned slightly. "I have a custom. Successful deals end in a handshake… or a hug."
Melantha laughed softly. "You really don't pull punches, do you?"
She allowed it—a brief embrace, nothing more.
As he released her hand, Travis whispered, "That's two Houses backing me now. One more to go."
Melantha narrowed her eyes, but couldn't help smiling. This boy… he's dangerous. But fascinating.
Back in the Grand Hall, White Sean clenched his fists beneath the table as he watched his son walk in, hand in hand with the Duchess of House Samara.
Across the hall, Duke Heath Samara gaped openly.
Travis just smiled.
He had entered the political arena—and made his first bold move.