I narrowed my eyes in confusion, gazing toward the end of the line where a man sat on a wide golden sofa, dressed in a black stand-collar formal suit. The butterfly mask on his left cheek shimmered with golden light, complementing the intricate embroidery on his collar—stunningly beautiful, his handsome face impossible to ignore—Lancaster!
A faint smile played on his lips as he sat with effortless grace. The lace cuffs of his shirt, peeking out from his sleeves, swayed like white camellia petals with every movement of his hand. Yet his entire aura was icy and imposing, unmistakably that of a lofty monarch.
Heavens, I should have guessed. As a royal duke, Duchess Bella would naturally rely on her status as a regional overlord to "welcome" him with grand ceremony.
