Ellios did not retreat. Nor did he turn his face away.

  Instead of blushing or trembling at the sensual intimidation, Ellios did the unexpected: he smiled calmly. Perfectly calm. As if Reine’s finger pressing on his cheek were merely a fallen dry leaf, not the sharp talon of the most powerful woman in Carta.

  He ignored the question of whether Louis was "satisfying" or not. It was a trap question designed to make him sound defensive.

  "I am certain eagle eyes are sharp, Madam," Ellios replied, his voice steady, staring straight into Reine’s black pupils. "Those eyes can spot a rabbit from a mile up in the air..."

  Ellios raised his hand slowly, then with a polite yet firm movement, he lowered Reine’s hand from his face. He held the woman’s wrist a second longer than necessary—a silent challenge—before releasing it.

  "...But even an eagle cannot see a snake hiding beneath a pile of rocks, can it?"

  Reine’s eyebrow arched, intrigued.

  "Regarding Porto Royale..." Ellios continued, dropping his voice to a seductive conspiratorial whisper. "There may be a few sentences that would satiate the hunger of Carta’s flying predator. Something that escaped aerial surveillance."

  Ellios saw a glint of pure curiosity in Reine’s eyes. He knew the bait had been taken. Information was the most valuable currency in Ironseat, and Ellios had just flashed a thick wallet.

  He took a step back, creating breathing room, then extended his hand toward a white marble gazebo near the rose bushes.

  "Would My Lady care to sit and chat a moment? Well... perhaps tea and biscuits?" Ellios offered casually, as if inviting his aunt for afternoon tea, not conducting a classified military information transaction with the Prime Minister.

  "Think of it this way," Ellios added, head tilting slightly with a calculating smile. "Of 10 facts about the Southwest border, I am certain you and the Blackmere spy network already know 9 of them."

  Ellios raised one slender index finger.

  "But I..." his eyes narrowed sharply, "...I can reveal 1 new point to you. One small point that might change how you view the war map."

  Silence.

  The morning wind blew gently, swaying the hem of Reine’s midnight blue gown.

  Then, the sound was heard.

  "Hahahaha..."

  Reine Blackmere laughed.

  It wasn't a polite laugh like at a ball. It was a free laugh, the laugh of someone who had just found a toy far more interesting than she expected. The laughter sounded crisp, yet dangerous.

  The woman shook her head slowly, looking at Ellios with a new gleam in her eyes. The dismissive look from earlier vanished, replaced by a look of recognition toward a fellow player.

  "I like you, Ellios," Reine said directly, a smirk decorating her beautiful face. "I really like your guts."

  She stepped past Ellios toward the gazebo, her gown rustling on the path.

  "Tea and biscuits sound perfect," she called without turning back. "Do not disappoint me with that tenth point, Little Fox. Or I will truly make you an eagle’s meal."

  Location: Prime Minister’s Official Residence, Ironseat North Wing

  The promise of "tea and biscuits" was kept, but not in the open garden gazebo.

  Ellios now sat in a room hidden deep within the belly of the North Wing—the coldest part of the Ironseat complex, rarely touched by direct sunlight. This was the Prime Minister’s official residence, the Eagle’s private nest.

  This room was called The Silent Study.

  Ellios observed his surroundings with a wary gaze hidden behind false calm.

  The room wasn't overly large, yet designed to intimidate. The walls were clad in black ebony wood panels polished to a shine, absorbing light rather than reflecting it. No windows here. Air ventilation was managed through intricate hidden gaps, ensuring no sound could leak out, and no ear could eavesdrop from outside.

  The floor was covered in a thick, dark gray fur rug, instantly deadening every footstep. Silence. Absolute.

  Lighting came only from a gothic-style crystal chandelier in the center, emitting cold white light, and several wall sconces casting sharp shadows in the corners.

  On one wall hung a large portrait of a Blackmere ancestor—an old man with a cruel gaze holding a severed wolf head.

  Sweet taste in art, Ellios thought sarcastically.

  Ellios sat in a high-backed chair upholstered in dark blue velvet. Opposite him, separated by a small round black marble table, sat Reine Blackmere.

  The atmosphere in this room was heavy and dense. Air pressure felt different, as if gravity worked twice as hard here. The scent in the room was no longer agarwood, but the smell of old paper, ink, and cold metal.

  Clink.

  The sound of a porcelain cup placed on its saucer rang loud, breaking the silence.

  On the marble table, a pure silver tea set glinted coldly. Thin steam curled from a cup of fragrant Darjeeling tea. Beside it, a small plate of butter biscuits was arranged neatly—an innocent contrast amidst an atmosphere ready to kill.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Reine sat with legs crossed elegantly. She no longer stood tense as in the garden. Here, in her lair, she looked completely relaxed. She held her teacup in a very aristocratic manner, pinky slightly raised.

  Her eyes watched Ellios from behind the tea steam.

  "The North Wing is always a bit colder," Reine said softly, her voice bouncing gently off the ebony walls. "But this is the only place in Ironseat where the walls have no ears."

  She set down her cup, then leaned forward slightly. The crystal light refracted in her silver eagle brooch.

  "Now, Ellios..." Reine picked up a biscuit, breaking it in two with a crisp snap.

  "...Enjoy your tea. And tell me about that tenth point. The point that makes you so confident before me."

  Ellios reached for his cup. The warmth of the cup spread to his cold fingers. He felt like he was sitting inside the belly of a sleeping beast; calm, but he could be ground up at any moment.

  Ellios didn't sip his tea immediately. He merely swirled the thin porcelain cup slowly with his long fingers, letting hot steam dance between his face and Reine’s.

  "Certainly, that tenth point is ready to slide off my tongue," Ellios said, his voice calm, yet possessing the weight of a businessman holding an Ace. "But I am no charity storyteller, Madam. I am a merchant, just like my father."

  He placed the cup back on its saucer with a precise and deliberate click.

  "And I will ask for a good exchange for my news."

  Ellios leaned forward slightly, staring straight into Reine’s mysterious black eyes. He wore a thin smile, a smile showing measured hunger.

  "I hope My Lady will satisfy my small stomach..."

  Silence for a moment.

  Then, Reine’s shoulders shook gently.

  "Hahahaha..."

  The woman laughed again. This time her laughter was lower, deeper, like the purr of a big cat playing with a mouse daring to squeak. She looked at Ellios with genuine amusement, as if Ellios’ threat about a "small stomach" was the most adorable joke she had heard all year.

  "Small stomach, huh?" Reine repeated between residual chuckles, shaking her head.

  Behind his face that maintained a polite smile, Ellios growled.

  Damn it, he swore inwardly.

  His blood boiled cold. He hated that reaction. He hated how Reine looked at him—not as a threat, not as an equal partner, but as an entertaining circus act.

  This woman... she truly underestimates me, Ellios thought sharply. She thinks I'm a fox cub whining for milk?

  Ellios felt a vein in his temple throb faintly. He wanted to wipe that amused smile off that beautiful face. He wanted to see those eagle eyes widen in shock.

  Laugh all you want, Witch, Ellios cursed silently, hands clenching under the marble table. Let’s see if you can still laugh after hearing what I know about that 'frozen lake'. I will make your stomach turn, Reine.

  Ellios didn't answer the laughter immediately. He let the echo of Reine’s laughter die slowly in the static air, until silence took over again.

  He stared at the tea liquid in his cup, then slowly raised his gaze.

  "Has My Lady ever heard..." Ellios began in a low tone, as if discussing the weather. "...That the Northern Alliance has united?"

  Time seemed to stop.

  Ellios didn't see Reine’s eyelids blink. He didn't see her breath hitch. The woman was a perfect ice statue. However, Ellios’ eyes—fox eyes trained to spot cracks—caught one small thing.

  Reine’s index finger holding the teacup tensed. Very faintly. Just a fraction of a millimeter of excess pressure on the porcelain. Her pupils dilated for an instant before narrowing sharply again.

  Gotcha, Ellios thought coldly. You're shocked. Your mask cracked, Witch.

  Ellios didn't rush to continue. He took a deliberate pause.

  He lifted his cup to his lips.

  Slurp.

  He sipped the Darjeeling tea slowly. Very slowly. He let second after second pass, torturing Reine with feigned calm. He gave time for the information to propagate in the Prime Minister’s brain, letting panic grow behind her flat face.

  Ellios swallowed his tea, then lowered the cup.

  Clink.

  The sound of the cup bottom meeting the saucer sounded final.

  "We already know."

  Reine’s voice sounded flat. Fast. Too fast.

  The woman put down her cup too, her face expressionless again. "Old news, Ellios. Our spies reported movement in the North since last month. If that is your tenth point... I am disappointed."

  Ellios looked at her for a moment.

  Liar, he thought. You know there is movement, but you don't know they have 'united'. There is a big difference between gathering and uniting, Darling.

  However, Ellios didn't argue. He smiled wryly, an expression of defeat he had practiced perfectly.

  He stood up from the velvet chair.

  "Ah... what a pity," Ellios said, straightening his suit with a disappointed motion. "It seems the speed of my information is still far inferior to the Prime Minister."

  He bowed politely, a little too deeply.

  "Forgive me for wasting your precious time with this stale news, Lady Reine. I take my leave."

  Ellios turned.

  He stepped toward the massive ebony wood door. His steps were steady.

  One...

  Two...

  Three...

  His back was straight, but his ears were tuned sharply backward. His heart beat fast. This was a gamble. If he reached the doorknob and turned it, he lost his trump card.

  The fur rug muffled his steps. Silence.

  Ellios could already see the intricate carving on the gold doorknob. He extended his hand. His fingers almost touched the cold metal.

  Come on... call me... he urged internally.

  "Wait, Young Randar."

  The voice sounded. Firm. Commanding. Unwilling to be refused.

  Ellios’ hand stopped one inch from the doorknob.

  He didn't turn immediately. He let a savage grin of victory carve onto his face turned away from Reine. His eyes narrowed cunningly.

  Hehehe... got you, Demon.

  You need the details, right? You need to know who united them. You need to know what they are planning.

  Ellios took a breath, erasing the grin, then turned slowly with a flat face full of innocent questioning.

  "Yes, Madam?"

  In his heart, he was spitting in the woman's face with victorious laughter.

  Damn you, Reine. Now, let’s talk about payment for my small stomach.

  Ellios didn't sit down immediately. He pulled the velvet chair slowly, enjoying the barely audible sound of chair legs dragging on the rug. He sat back down with casual movements, crossing his legs, as if he had just returned from grabbing snacks at a party, not just executed a political maneuver.

  "Madam," he began, voice low and intimate. "This information... unless Duke Ferdinand himself whispered it in your ear while sleeping, I guarantee you do not know."

  Ellios leaned forward, staring at Reine with a meaningful crooked smile.

  "Because I mined it myself..." Ellios tapped his temple lightly. "...Straight from his son. In bed."

  He saw it.

  Very subtle. Almost invisible.

  Reine’s eyelid twitched slightly. The corner of her lip tensed. It was a gesture of interest she couldn't fully hide. Information obtained from the "pillow talk" of a border prince had a terrifying level of validity. Reine knew that. Louis Ferdinand wouldn't talk to a common spy, but to his lover? That was another story.

  Reine was silent. She didn't deny, nor confirm. She waited for the price.

  Ellios leaned back, feeling on top of the world.

  "I want to know about House Rahgaras," Ellios said, mentioning the name of the host Rams visited last night. "I want to know the complete list of nobles affiliated with him. Who are the dogs he has fed."

  Ellios stared at Reine sharply.

  "Is it worth it? One secret from the frozen North, exchanged for a political map of the hot East?"

  Reine didn't answer immediately.

  The woman fell silent. Her pitch-black eyes looked empty for a moment, a sign her genius brain was spinning at high speed. She was weighing the gravity of Ellios’ information. The Northern Alliance uniting was catastrophic news if true. It could mean civil war or invasion. While Rhavas’ affiliation list was high-level secret, but not as urgent as an invasion.

  One... two... three seconds...

  Ellios counted his own heartbeats. He saw Reine take a short breath. Calculation complete.

  Reine looked at Ellios again. Her face was hard, no more amused smile.

  "Speak your sentence first, Ellios," she ordered coldly. "Only then will I decide if your 'small stomach' is worth filling."

  Ellios smiled thinly on the outside, but inside, he hissed.

  Damn it, he swore roughly. This cunning woman. She doesn't want to give a down payment. She wants the goods first.

  Ellios knew he had no choice. He had to roll the dice.

  "Very well," Ellios answered.