Chapter 200 Confrontation

Chapter 200 Confrontation


Blanche was intercepted by her father.

Asmodeus, accompanied by his demonic entourage, happened to be standing a few yards from the restrooms. Strangely close.

As if they hadn't ended up there by chance.

And since the young woman no longer believed in coincidences...

"Leave him," growled the Prince of Lust. "He deserves whatever he gets."

Confused by his words, Blanche stopped and stared at him. His scarlet pupils—almost identical to hers in the portrait—shouted a truth she already knew.

She smiled at him tenderly.

"I know," she said softly. "I know everything."

Asmodeus looked at her, then sighed in resignation.

Once she had made up her mind, nothing could stop her.

He knew that better than anyone.

"Lucifer is coming," Phénix warned him with a grimace, remaining in the background before fading away once more, taking his master with him.

Blanche, who still didn't know who the archangel truly was to her, hurried into the men's restroom.

One problem at a time.

She found Kiyan standing in front of a sink, alone beneath the room's cold lighting.

His face was wet. Droplets of water still slid down his temples and jaw before disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. He stared at his reflection with an almost unsettling intensity, as though he were trying to reclaim the control he'd just lost.

Both hands were clenched around the ceramic basin.

His knuckles had gone white beneath the pressure.

Blanche stopped in the doorway.

"Get out."

His deep voice echoed through the enclosed space.

One word.

Not a glance.

Not the slightest explanation.

Blanche raised an eyebrow and calmly folded her arms across her new dress, utterly unimpressed by the command.

"Your aura is even more beautiful tonight," she murmured.

Kiyan closed his eyes.

Bad idea.

Because she continued as though she'd just discovered a particularly fascinating work of art.

"Ochre against a dusty-pink background. Creativity mixed with caution, love, and passion..."

She tilted her head slightly, studying the shades surrounding his silhouette.

"It's romantic. Incredibly gentle, and yet bold. A contradiction all by yourself."

Kiyan drew a deep breath.

"Blanche..."

"Arrogant, elegant, mysterious..."

She smiled.

"You're fascinatingly complex."

His fingers tightened further around the sink.

"Even if, beneath the anger, it's a little too dark for my taste."

This time, he opened his eyes.

His reflection met Blanche's in the mirror.

There was something wild in his gaze.

Something he was clearly forcing himself to contain.

Blanche took a few steps toward him.

One.

Two.

She stopped when he suddenly flinched.

"Don't come any closer!"

The words cracked through the room.

She didn't step back.

"Why?"

Kiyan looked away.

His breathing had grown heavier.

"Because..."

He fell silent.

His jaw tightened.

Then he finally admitted, his voice hoarse:

"Because I want to tear that dress into a thousand tiny pieces."

Blanche looked down at her outfit, then slowly raised her head.

A discreet smile appeared on her lips.

"The dress?"

Kiyan shot her a dark look through the mirror.

"Don't play that game with me."

"I'm not playing."

She took another step, but stopped at a respectful distance.

"Is it what's making you angry?"

A short, humorless laugh escaped him.

"You really have no idea what you're doing."

Blanche studied his reflection.

She understood now that his anger wasn't only about the dress.

It was about everything it represented.

Other people's gazes.

The King's bet.

The coronation whose significance she still didn't fully understand.

"Then explain it to me."

He remained silent.

For a long time.

Then his eyes returned to hers in the mirror.

His dark aura still vibrated around him, but beneath the storm, the ochre and pink hues remained visible.

Blanche smiled softly.

"See? It's still there."

Kiyan frowned.

"What's still there?"

"The gentleness."

She gestured vaguely toward his aura.

"Even when you're furious. Maybe that's your favorite contradiction."

This time, he didn't answer.

But his fingers finally stopped gripping the sink.

"You should run now!"

Blanche burst out laughing.

She had absolutely not expected that answer.

The sound bounced off the walls of the small room, light and spontaneous, free of all the tension that had weighed on her since the beginning of the evening.

Kiyan finally looked at her.

For the first time since she'd walked through the door.

His gaze settled on her and lingered.

For a long moment.

Blanche was beautiful.

Not merely because of the dress, the lace, or the regal bearing that had been forced upon her.

There was something else in her expression.

Something alive.

Something bright.

Something that had nothing to do with the young woman he'd watched standing among the crowd.

She was laughing.

Truly laughing.

A tear escaped from the corner of her eye, and she wiped it away with her fingertip, still surprised to feel it running down her cheek.

"I don't even know why I'm crying..."

Kiyan didn't answer.

He was still looking at her.

And Blanche suddenly understood why she felt so good here.

For the first time that evening, she was simply herself.

Not the Diamond Drakionne.

Not the future Queen.

Not Winter's granddaughter.

Not the woman every guest had watched as a political curiosity or a living symbol.

Just Blanche.

With Kiyan, she didn't need to pretend to be someone else.

Even Saphir—whom she was beginning to appreciate far more than she would have admitted a few weeks ago—hadn't managed to give her this strange sensation of freedom.

Kysten, with his hug and reassuring presence, had been adorable.

Asher, despite his constant worrying, had tried to look after her.

As for Erik...

She had an amused thought.

Not in a million years.

Kiyan, on the other hand, knew her well enough not to ask her to pretend to be someone she wasn't.