In the Everila Empire, dozens of horses and carriages rushed swiftly through the grand palace gates in the early morning.
To welcome them stood Minister Thalorin, dressed in light red robes, with neatly aligned rows of soldiers behind him. His face showed neither happiness nor sadness — as if something unknown was tickling within.
He muttered to himself,
"What a troublesome task they've given me… The Queen will marry, and I'll have to handle everything? Do they take me for a fool?"
Just then, the carriages came to a halt.
All the drivers were dressed in light black garments, their eyes gleaming as if ready to attack at any moment.
Minister Thalorin stepped forward and saw one of the carriage doors open. From it stepped a man — dressed in royal black attire, adorned with ornaments, holding a small golden egg in his hand.
It was Draelon the Second.
As his feet touched the ground, a thin layer of dust rose into the air.
He looked at Thalorin and smiled — a smile that carried a faint scent of fear behind its politeness.
Slowly, he walked toward the minister.
Thalorin bowed slightly and said,
"Prince, welcome to our kingdom."
Draelon paused for a moment, gazed at him, and replied in a calm, cold voice,
"We are pleased to be here… but this is not my first visit. I have been here once before — this is my second time."
Thalorin smiled politely and said,
"Please come inside, Prince. The Queen has been waiting for your arrival since yesterday."
Draelon gave a gentle smile and stepped forward.
As he entered the palace, a low whisper spread among the lines of soldiers —
"He is the one… the prince of the Dravaria Empire… an extremely powerful spiritual master!"
There was a flicker of fear in their eyes.
Because in the Dravaria Empire, practicing any kind of spiritual energy without permission was strictly forbidden.
Anyone who dared to do so met only one fate — death.
If there was any alternative at all, it was to seek permission — the only option left.
Draelon the Second entered the palace — Queen Elara stood before him in the corridor.
A royal gleam shimmered in her eyes.
Minister Thalorin bowed and said,
"You both should talk, Your Majesty. My duty was only to bring him here."
Saying this, he bowed respectfully and left.
Now the two stood face-to-face —
Different desires burned in their eyes, but the same cunning glimmered behind them.
Politics and diplomacy stood silently between them like invisible weapons.
Elara stepped forward and smiled,
"Welcome to our small kingdom, Prince."
Draelon the Second replied politely,
"I am merely a prince of my own empire, Your Majesty.
Your kingdom, your command, and your strength — they are far greater than mine.
Perhaps a weak prince like me wouldn't even please you."
Elara smiled and said,
"First, we should sit and talk… and keep these formalities aside."
With a gesture of her hand, she asked him to follow.
They both walked toward a grand hall,
where two chairs stood facing each other — a teapot and two cups placed neatly on the table between them.
Elara said calmly,
"Perhaps you will like the tea of our kingdom."
She poured the tea into both cups.
Draelon the Second smiled, placed the golden egg he was holding on the table, and said,
"I hope you will like this gift.
I brought it for you from the faraway mountains — after defeating thousands of monsters."
Elara said pleasantly,
"I will test it, but for now, we should put aside such things and talk seriously."
Draelon the Second lifted his cup and took a sip of tea.
"I agree with you… but I'm in no hurry.
I can wait for our marriage."
Elara too replied softly,
"Why not, as you wish."
But deep inside, Draelon the Second burned with anger —
"This woman has no taste for sweet words… and she's cunning too."
Before they could finish their tea,
their eyes reflected not affection,
but the clash of politics.
Both had realized — this meeting was not the beginning of an alliance,
but the beginning of a battle for dominance.
Queen Elara gave a faint smile while bidding farewell, but it held neither formality nor warmth.
She deliberately appeared a little informal — as if silently hinting to him that she did not like him, and that this engagement was nothing more than a political obligation for her.
Without saying a word, she walked Draelon the Second to his carriage and swiftly turned back toward the palace.
She closed the door immediately — no words of farewell, no glance over her shoulder.
Draelon the Second stood there for a moment, staring at the closed gates.
Then, slowly, he stepped into his carriage.
As the sound of the wheels faded into the distance, the lines of anger on his face deepened.
In his mind, he muttered under his breath,
"She'll have to be dealt with soon… this woman's attitude is far too high for her own good."