Episode-893
Chapter : 1785
He found his wives at the head table. The Council of Queens. They looked magnificent. Mina was radiant, holding court with a quiet grace. Amina was sharp and dangerous, talking trade tariffs with a nervous merchant. Faria was the center of attention, laughing loudly and charming everyone within a ten-foot radius. Seraphina hadn't arrived yet; she was making a fashionably late entrance from the South.
"Husband," Amina said as he approached. "The Minister of Finance is trying to tax my sand shipments. Should I have him executed?"
"Not tonight, dear," Lloyd said, taking a sip of water. "It stains the carpet. Just glare at him until he cries. You're good at that."
Amina smirked. "Excellent advice."
"Lloyd," Mina said softly, touching his hand. "You're tense."
"I'm always tense," Lloyd said. "It's my charm."
"Relax," she said. "The wards are up. The guards are alert. Take a moment. Be happy."
Lloyd looked at her. She was trying so hard. They all were. They were building a life on the edge of a volcano, pretending the ground wasn't shaking.
"I'll try," Lloyd lied.
He walked away from the table, needing air. He stepped out onto the terrace. The night air was cool. He took a deep breath, trying to clear the static from his head.
He looked out into the darkness of the North, wondering if the peace he had built was a solid fortress or just a beautiful cage. Little did he know, the answer was already descending from the stars.
The air inside the newly reconstructed Great Ballroom was thick enough to chew. It was a mixture of expensive perfume, the aroma of roasted meats, and the body heat of three hundred nobles who were all desperate to prove they were having a good time.
Lloyd Ferrum stepped back inside from the terrace, hoping the cool night air would stick to him for a few more minutes. It didn't. The wall of warmth hit him immediately, carrying with it the sound of a string quartet that was playing slightly too loud.
He adjusted his collar. He hated formal wear. The tuxedo was tailored perfectly to his frame—black silk with silver threading—but it felt like a cage. He felt more comfortable in his Aegis armor, smelling of oil and ozone, than he did smelling of lavender and polite conversation.
He scanned the room. His eyes, usually sharp and analyzing weak points in enemy defenses, were currently analyzing the social battlefield. He saw the Duke of Oakhaven spilling wine on a rug that cost more than a farm. He saw the merchants from the South trying to corner the Minister of Trade near the buffet.
"You look like you want to murder the orchestra," a voice said beside him.
Lloyd turned to see Faria Kruts gliding toward him. His third wife, the representative of the Northern aristocracy, looked like a flame in human form. Her dress was a cascading masterpiece of red silk that seemed to move even when she was standing still. She held a fan made of phoenix feathers, tapping it rhythmically against her chin.
"I don't want to murder them," Lloyd corrected, his voice flat. "I just want to have a stern conversation with the cellist. He’s flat. And the violin player is sweating so much I’m worried he’s going to short-circuit his instrument, assuming it was electric. Which it isn’t. It’s just wood and catgut, which makes the sweating even more concerning."
Faria laughed, a bright sound that drew the attention of half the room. "You are hopeless, my love. Completely hopeless. This is a celebration! We are celebrating us. The alliance. The future of the continent."
She stepped closer, fixing his tie with a possessive tug. "Stop analyzing the acoustics and look at your guests. They adore you."
"They adore my bank account," Lloyd said dryly. "And they fear my robots. It’s a healthy relationship."
"Come dance with me," Faria demanded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You promised me a waltz three hours ago."
"I promised to consider a waltz," Lloyd corrected. "My consideration period is currently ongoing. Please submit a request form in triplicate to my secretary."
Before Faria could argue—or set his coat on fire, which was a distinct possibility—Princess Amina joined them. The second wife, the jewel of the Zakaria Desert, cut a different figure entirely. She was draped in gold and emeralds, her expression sharp and calculating. While Faria was the fire of the party, Amina was the steel spine.
Chapter : 1786
"The envoy from the Fire Islands is asking about the new shipping lanes again," Amina said without preamble. She ignored Faria completely, focusing her intense gaze on Lloyd. "He wants a discount on the Lilith Stone exports. He claims the sea monsters are driving up his insurance costs."
Lloyd sighed. "Tell him the discount is that I don’t invade his island and turn it into a parking lot for my Titan Mechs. That should save him plenty of gold."
Amina’s lips curled into a terrifyingly pleased smile. "I already told him something similar. He cried. It was very satisfying. I just wanted to confirm your stance."
"My stance is that I want to go to bed," Lloyd muttered.
Just then, the crowd parted. Mina, his first wife and the emotional anchor of this strange, four-way marriage, approached them. She looked tired but radiant in a simple white gown. In her arms, wrapped in a blanket embroidered with the Ferrum crest, was little Leo.
The baby was awake. His wide, dark eyes were looking around the chaotic room with intense curiosity. He wasn't crying. He was just watching, absorbing everything.
Lloyd’s expression softened instantly. The sarcasm vanished. The cold, calculating Lord of the North disappeared, replaced by a father.
"He wouldn't sleep," Mina said apologetically, rocking the baby gently. "The music is too loud, and I think he sensed you were agitated."
Lloyd reached out and took the baby from her. Leo felt warm and solid in his arms. The baby looked up at him and gurgled, reaching out a tiny hand to grab Lloyd’s lapel.
"He has good taste," Lloyd said, looking down at his son. "He knows this music is terrible, so he’s staying awake to critique it. That’s my boy."
The three women looked at him. For a fleeting moment, the tension of the politics, the rivalry between the wives, and the weight of the impending war all faded away. They were just a family. A strange, complicated, messy family, but a family nonetheless.
"We should take a portrait," Faria suggested, her voice softer now. "Right now. While you actually look like a human being and not a statue."
"I’m not a statue," Lloyd denied. "I’m just efficient with my facial expressions."
"Hush," Mina said, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her presence was calming, like a cool breeze in the desert. "Let us have this moment, Lloyd. You’ve built this peace. Enjoy it for five minutes."
Lloyd looked at them. Mina, the steady heart. Amina, the sharp mind. Faria, the fiery soul. And Leo, the future.
He felt a pang of fear deep in his gut. It wasn't the fear of battle—he had fought gods and demons without blinking. This was the fear of loss. He had so much to lose now. So much more than he had in his past life on Earth. In his past life, he was KM Evan, a man with nothing but his inventions. Now, he was Lloyd Ferrum, a man with a world to protect.
He handed Leo back to Mina. "Take him to the nursery. It’s getting too loud in here, and the air is stale."
"Lloyd?" Mina asked, sensing the sudden shift in his mood. "Is something wrong?"
"Just a feeling," Lloyd said, scanning the ceiling. "call it paranoia. Just... go. Please. Take the guards."
Mina nodded. She trusted his instincts more than anyone. She gathered the blanket around Leo and headed for the side exit, flanked by two of Lloyd's elite Titan Squad guards.
Lloyd watched her go until the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind her. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. One priority target secured.
He turned back to the room. The music had stopped. King Liam of Bethelham was tapping a spoon against his goblet. The clear, ringing sound cut through the chatter.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" King Liam roared, his face flushed with joy and wine. He raised his goblet high. "A toast! To the Sovereign of Three Crowns! To the man who brought industry to the North and peace to our time!"
The crowd cheered. Hundreds of glasses were raised. "To Lloyd Ferrum!"
Lloyd raised his own glass, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Peace in our time," he muttered to himself. "What a joke."
He knew the truth. Peace was just the reload time between wars. It was the deep breath before the plunge.