Chapter 192: A Cavalier at Her Side

The father let his son take a seat beside the princess. Blanche immediately understood.

So this was her famous "fiancé."

Harry Senior had a square jaw, while his son's features were finer — the only noticeable difference between the two. Both wore blue suits embroidered with their family crest in red and gold, paired with pastel-orange linen shirts.

The color combination left Blanche somewhat doubtful.

She sighed.

Apparently, they still hadn't given up.

"As long as you're not married to my mother, I don't owe you any obedience," she dared, emptying her glass in one go.

It was delicious.

She wondered what was in it...

She had to look up when she felt a hand close around her wrist.

She shot the younger man a dark look. He didn't flinch, letting his hand linger far longer than necessary.

Where exactly did he think he was touching her?

"Beautiful and intelligent... I'm a lucky man!"

"Lucky in what way?" she retorted, pulling her wrist free sharply before calling over a vampire waiter. "Tell Dean I'd like the same thing. Two of them."

"Very well, Your Majesty," he said with a bow.

"For our wedding!" Harry Junior exclaimed.

Blanche burst out laughing.

Apparently, she was getting slightly tipsy.

"You don't have what it takes, buddy!"

"Blanche!" Winter growled.

"What is the meaning of this insolence?" Harry Senior thundered as he abruptly stood, knocking his chair over in the process.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Fire rippled around him, while Winter released a wave of frost that extinguished the pathetic drakion's magic.

"Darling!"

The familiar voice calmed her instantly.

Saphir had made his entrance.

And Blanche immediately understood why several conversations had suddenly fallen silent.

He strode forward with the effortless confidence that seemed to come naturally to him, dressed in a midnight-blue suit whose impeccable cut followed his figure without making him look the slightest bit stiff. Even his boat shoes were the same deep blue.

His jacket was slightly open, revealing a matching shirt...

Or rather, what was left of it.

Several buttons had apparently been abandoned somewhere along the way, leaving more than enough of his chest and ridiculously defined abs on display.

At this point, the shirt seemed more like a suggestion than an actual necessity.

Blanche raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously?"

Saphir gave her an innocent smile.

His dark suit made his skin stand out, accentuating the powerful muscles of his chest. Every movement of his shoulders seemed designed to attract attention, while the tails of his jacket followed his stride with effortless elegance.

His hair had been carefully styled, although a few rebellious strands broke up the otherwise immaculate look.

He possessed the kind of insolent beauty found in men who knew exactly what effect they had on people.

And Saphir knew.

Perfectly well.

He crossed the room beneath the gazes of several guests without paying them the slightest attention, as though walking through a formal gala half bare-chested were the most perfectly normal thing in the world.

Blanche stared at him for a few seconds.

Then sighed.

"Was the shirt really optional?"

He looked down at his chest as though he were only now discovering the problem.

"You think so?"

"I mostly think you have a very personal definition of the word 'dressed.'"

His smile widened.

"And yet, I'm wearing a suit."

"Half of one."

"That's already quite a lot."

Blanche rolled her eyes.

It was impossible to be angry with him.

Saphir had that infuriating ability to make even blatant indecency look almost elegant when he wore it with enough confidence.

And, unfortunately for her, he was ridiculously handsome.

"I brought your drink myself, to make up for being late," he added charmingly.

"General? What are you doing here?" Harry Junior stammered.

It was common knowledge that Saphir never attended social functions. The King's General was married to his work...

"I came to claim what's mine."

His overwhelming magic swept through the room, effortlessly overpowering both the King and the Councillor.

Setting the glass down in front of Blanche, he took her by the arm with complete confidence and lifted her from her chair.

Fascinated, she gave him a shy smile.

"A kiss to forgive you?"

"Careful... the ambrosia is going to your head," he murmured.

So that was what it was.

Ambrosia.

She really should be careful.

But right now, she couldn't care less.

Saphir didn't give her time to answer.

He stepped closer, placed one hand against her waist and gently drew her toward him before kissing her.

In front of the entire assembly.

The kiss was anything but timid.

It was frank, unapologetic, deeply tender despite the almost provocative confidence with which Saphir offered it to the watching crowd.

There was something possessive about the gesture, but above all, there was certainty in it.

He had no intention of hiding their relationship.

Nor of leaving the slightest room for doubt.

Blanche felt her heart race.

Saphir, meanwhile, seemed perfectly at ease.

He prolonged the kiss for several seconds, as though he had completely forgotten the presence of the crowd.

A faint purr even vibrated against her, almost imperceptible, but distinctive enough to make her smile when they finally parted.

He remained close, his forehead almost touching hers, his eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction.

Then he turned toward the assembly.

His arm remained firmly around Blanche's waist.

The message was unmistakable.

He hadn't simply come to keep her company.

He was her rightful companion, and he intended for everyone in that room to know it.

Blanche felt several gazes settle on them.

Some amused.

Others surprised.

A few openly displeased.

Saphir, for his part, clearly couldn't care less.

He tightened his embrace around her slightly, a satisfied smile playing across his lips.

And Blanche realized that, in a matter of seconds, he had made an announcement far more effective than any official speech could ever have been.

The two Harrys watched their dreams crumble before their eyes.

"You missed me," she whispered, slipping a hand beneath his jacket. "I didn't see you at home!"

"Sorry... The young drakions don't know what to do with their wings anymore. I'll make it up to you tonight."

As though he were used to seeing her every evening.

Leaving their nightly activities open to interpretation.

Blanche relaxed against him.

"You could have warned me! Is he your student too?" she asked, pointing at Harry Junior with feigned innocence. "Did you two decide to play a joke on me?"

Saphir burst out laughing.

"My student, yes. But I had no idea he was after something that belongs to me."

His tone left no room for argument.

The final words were delivered in a low, threatening voice.

The blue-haired drakion looked at the young man, his eyes darkening with rage.

He stared him down while taking Blanche's fingers, kissing them one by one before bringing them to his lips in a deliberately provocative gesture.

She managed not to react, fully aware that he was doing it for the audience.

Finally, he led her onto the dance floor and gave her her first waltz.

The orchestra seemed to redouble its efforts for the only couple dancing, perfectly in sync.