Episode-860
Chapter : 1719
Next was Amina. He found the Princess in the library, reading a treatise on northern fortifications. She didn't look up as he sat down.
"You're getting married," she said calmly.
Lloyd blinked. "How did you—"
"I have eyes, Lloyd," she said, closing the book. "And I have spies. And I saw the way you look at her. Also, your mother has been ordering bolts of white silk and contacting the High Priest. It doesn't take a genius."
She turned to him, her expression amused. "So, the 'Secret Engagement' with me... what becomes of that?"
"The Sultan agreed to a trial," Lloyd reminded her. "This... this is part of the trial. My life is complicated. I told you that."
"You did," Amina agreed. "And marrying your ex-wife's sister is certainly... complicated. It's bold. I like it." She leaned forward. "Does this mean our alliance is void?"
"No," Lloyd said firmly. "Our alliance is iron. This marriage secures my home front. It secures the Ferrum line. It makes me a more stable partner for Zakaria."
Amina studied him. "You are good at this. Spinning disaster into strategy. Very well. I will support it. I will even attend. It will send a strong message to my father that I am not jealous, but pragmatic. But Lloyd..." Her eyes darkened. "Do not think this releases you from your promise to me. Three months. The clock is still ticking."
Two down.
The last one was the hardest. Isabella. He didn't find her; she found him. As he walked back to his manufactory, she dropped from a roof, landing silently beside him.
"You're marrying the historian," she stated. It wasn't a question.
"Isabella," Lloyd said, not breaking stride. "Yes."
"Why?" she asked, falling into step beside him. "She's... quiet. She's boring. She reads books."
"She understands me," Lloyd said. "She knows the man behind the mask. And... she needs me."
Isabella stopped. She looked at him, really looked at him, with that unnerving, analytical gaze. "She's pregnant, isn't she?"
Lloyd froze. He turned to her, his face a mask of stone. "That is a dangerous thing to say, Princess."
Isabella laughed. "Oh, relax. I won't tell. I saw her throwing up in the rose bushes yesterday. And you have the look of a panicked father trying to build a fortress before the baby arrives."
She punched him in the arm, hard. "Congratulations, you idiot. You beat the system. You found a way to be a hero and a dad." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Just... don't get boring, Lloyd. I hate boring."
She vanished back into the shadows.
Three down.
Lloyd exhaled, a breath he felt he had been holding for hours. He had managed the queens. He had managed the mothers. Now, he just had to survive the wedding.
As he walked into his manufactory, the sight of the Aegis suit looming in the dark gave him a strange comfort. Steel was easy. Circuits were logical. Love... love was the hardest war he had ever fought.
The seasons in the North were not gentle. They did not fade into one another; they crashed. Summer died overnight, strangled by the first frost, and autumn arrived like a heavy gray blanket that smelled of wet iron and dying leaves.
It had been two months since the "War Wedding" of Lord Lloyd Ferrum and Lady Mina. To the outside world, it had been a romantic whirlwind—a hero grabbing a moment of happiness before the inevitable march to battle. The bards were already singing songs about the "Scholar and the Commander." Inside the Ferrum estate, however, life had settled into a rhythm that was less about romance and more about survival. Mina was showing now, her belly a small, undeniable curve hidden beneath heavy woolen gowns and clever tailoring. The lie held. The family was safe.
But outside the stone walls of the estate, the world had gone terrifyingly quiet.
For 100 days, the border between the Kingdom of Bethelham and the Kingdom of Altamira had been a void. Usually, the border was a living thing. It was a place of constant, noisy friction. There were skirmishes, magical flares, scouts taking potshots at each other, and the endless hum of two massive military machines grinding gears. It was a language of violence that both sides understood perfectly.
But now, there was nothing.
Chapter : 1720
No troop movements. No magical signatures on the long-range sensors. No spies caught trying to slip through the mountain passes. The Altamiran legions, which intelligence reports said were mobilizing for a massive invasion, had simply stopped. It was as if an entire nation had held its breath at the exact same moment.
In the heart of the Ferrum estate, the War Room was cold. It was a windowless chamber designed for strategy, dominated by a massive tactical map table that glowed with magical light. The map showed the jagged line of the border, usually lit up like a festival with red danger markers. Today, the map was dark.
Arch Duke Roy Ferrum stared at the darkness. He stood like a statue, his arms crossed over his chest. He was a man built for war, and peace—especially this kind of unexplained peace—made him itch.
"It’s unnatural," Roy growled. His voice was deep, vibrating against the stone walls. "An army of that size doesn't just go to sleep. They are up to something. They are coiling."
King Liam of Bethelham sat in a high-backed wooden chair nearby. He had traveled north under the pretense of a "Royal Inspection," but everyone knew the truth: the King was nervous. He swirled a glass of dark red wine, staring at the liquid as if it held the answers.
"My spies are blind," King Liam admitted, frustration edging his voice. "The Obsidian Eye—Altamira’s secret police—has locked down their borders tight. It’s a total blackout. No birds fly out. No travelers cross. We sent three of our best Shadow-class scouts in last week. None have reported back."
General Kaelen, the commander of the Northern Legion, slammed his fist onto the table. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room. Kaelen was a hawk of a man, sharp-featured and aggressive. He hated waiting.
"We should strike first," Kaelen argued, pointing a finger at the dark map. "Look at them! They are hesitant. They are disorganized. We should launch a preemptive strike through the Crimson Pass. We can seize the high ground before they wake up."
"And walk blindly into a trap?" Roy shot back, not even looking at the General. "We don't know their numbers. We don't know their disposition. If we cross that line, we become the aggressors. We lose the moral high ground."
"Moral high ground doesn't stop demons, Arch Duke!" Kaelen shouted. "We know the Devil Race is pulling the strings in Altamira. We know Prince Cassius is a puppet. If we wait, we let them build their strength."
"Or we let them make a mistake," a calm voice cut through the argument.
Lloyd Ferrum stood by the far wall, looking at a smaller map of the terrain. He was not dressed like a lord or a soldier. He wore his workshop attire—a heavy leather apron stained with grease and oil, his sleeves rolled up to reveal faint burn marks from welding. He had been splitting his time between these endless meetings and the workshop, trying to finish the upgrades on the Aegis suits.
Lloyd turned to face the room. He looked tired. The stress of the last few months—the pregnancy, the cover-up, the constant threat of war—was etched around his eyes.
"It's not a coil," Lloyd said quietly. "And it's not a trap. It's a breath."
"Explain," King Liam commanded, setting his wine glass down.
Lloyd walked over to the main table. He looked at the border line. "Think about the mechanics of a scream," he said. "Before you scream, you have to inhale. You have to pull all the air into your lungs. That moment of inhalation is silent. That is what this is. The silence before the scream."
"So you agree we should attack?" Kaelen asked hopefully.
"No," Lloyd said. "If you interrupt someone while they are inhaling, they choke. But if you attack them, they just breathe out fire. We don't know why they are holding their breath. Is it to attack us? Or is it because they are suffocating internally?"
"Internal crisis?" King Liam mused. "A plague? A rebellion? We would have heard rumors. Refugees always run first."
"Not if the lockdown is absolute," Lloyd countered. "This silence is disciplined. It is enforced. It means every soldier, every mage, every noble in Altamira is looking in the same direction. We just don't know if they are looking at us... or at something else."
"So we do nothing?" Kaelen asked, disgusted.