Chapter 080: Meeting the True King

Seeing that someone had “burst” out of the room, the maids who were holding the small dress that someone had just “chosen” hurriedly ran after her, fearing she might fall. But as soon as they came out, their gazes involuntarily shifted from someone to Lance.

Lance, too, had clearly dressed up before coming to tease her. His pale blue, tailored formal suit gave him an air of solemnity mingled with elegance, reminiscent of the legendary Aquarius god, his muscular arms fully exposed for once. The graceful lines, paired with Lance’s harmless smile, made him exceptionally attractive, while the complex, patterned style of his attire was a hallmark of the Kairinia fashion.

The maids’ shy blushes and smiles were testament enough to Lance’s considerable charm.

But someone had no time to be enchanted. She leapt anxiously from Lance’s embrace, covering her burning ears and snapped at him, “Why are you dressed so revealingly? The king isn’t even into your type!”

Lance arched his eyebrow, making a courteous gesture as he replied, “Then do your best. Maybe the king is fond of your type?” As he spoke, Lance pointedly glanced at her flat chest and the dress she had “chosen” in her panic.

She shot Lance a glare and followed his gaze to the dress in the maid’s hands.

This… this… this was… She was shocked by her own instinctive selection. Look at the lace trim, the butterfly bows, the tiered layers like a cake, and the swathes of pink.

There was something incongruous yet oddly familiar, familiar yet a touch dazzling, dazzling yet tinged with embarrassment—what was going on here?!

“Nice taste?” Lance teased.

“Did your eyes grow on top of your head? You call this nice? What would you call bad?” She rolled her eyes at Lance, utterly speechless.

Lance smiled, accepting the eye-roll, and replied, “For someone to faint at the sight of a dress, do you not think that’s a bit off, especially for a woman?”

She turned her head with pride, “You don’t know anything. I care not for appearances, but for substance!”

“Oh, substance?” Lance’s eyes crinkled into slits as he grinned. He didn’t argue, but his all-embracing demeanor seemed to say, “Be good, stop being silly.”

The maids tittered behind them, snippets of words drifting into her ears—“lover, awkward, cute, shy”—these were repeated most frequently.

Faced with such overwhelming odds, someone could do nothing but blush again and again, and seeing she was no match for their wit, she simply fell silent and pushed all the choices onto Lance.

“You’re my mentor, aren’t you?” She shoved Lance into her room to pick out her dress. “Remember to choose something with substance!”

Thus the farce ended with Lance selecting a blue gown. Unlike the previous “ocean” style, this dress was simple in design, with minimal layering, but its skirt was painted with a scene of Kairinia’s central city plaza, lending it both elegance and dignity.

Of course, the most crucial detail was its demanding waistline. Watching her companion, face flushed, struggling to walk while holding her breath to keep her waist in check, Lance was—quite frankly—delighted.

Finally, they began their journey to meet the king. Since she was recovering in the palace, there was no need for a carriage. They soon arrived at the Hall of Righteousness, the very place where they first encountered the false king.

She was conflicted, gasping for air, and took several deep breaths before entering to steady herself. Lance watched her amusement. “Really, it’s just meeting the king. Why so nervous?”

“You don’t understand. I’m regulating my breathing,” she replied calmly, continuing her deep breaths. “Just in case he doesn’t offer a seat, I need to be able to speak smoothly.”

Seeing her flushed cheeks, Lance seemed to understand.

Soon, a palace attendant came to escort them, and under his guidance, they entered the Hall of Righteousness without trouble. Unlike their previous warm reception from the false king, this time they were met by the legendary unchanging iceberg face.

Bradley sat upright on the royal throne, his black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon them. After her enthusiastic greeting and salute, he merely nodded slightly in acknowledgment. She wondered if it was just her imagination, but Bradley seemed to harbor a strange hostility toward Lance.

The murderous look in his eyes made it obvious, but Lance appeared not to notice, keeping his usual smile. For a moment, neither spoke, and the atmosphere grew cold.

She kept silent, struggling to breathe, and since Bradley knew she was only pretending to be the “ambassador,” there was no need for pretense, and she couldn’t even be bothered with pleasantries, focusing solely on her breathing.

Lance, however, was enjoying himself, exchanging glances with Bradley. He didn’t understand why Bradley was hostile toward a stranger, but the mystery only heightened his amusement. He smiled even more.

Bradley scrutinized the two before him. Though he had saved them and they had rescued him in return, he knew little of either her or Liang Yin. His spies in Kairinia were limited, and years of estrangement and lack of real conflict had reduced communication between their nations. Clearly, it was time to foster genuine ties with Kairinia. Knowing these two weren’t true cultural ambassadors, and feeling no pressure, Bradley became engrossed in his own schemes.

The tension mounted, until finally she broke the silence.

“Your Majesty, could you please grant us a seat?” With no burden of etiquette, and feeling exhausted and stifled, she finally lost her composure.

Bradley’s reverie was abruptly interrupted. He narrowed his dark eyes, staring at her, making her uneasy enough to bow her head and silently beg for forgiveness. If only time could turn back—she would never do such a foolish thing as offend the king!

Seeing her reaction, Bradley finally dropped his impassive expression. His features relaxed, his brows unknotted, and the corners of his mouth even lifted in a barely perceptible smile. With a careless wave, he said, “Sit.”

She was utterly enthralled by Bradley’s deep voice, hurrying to the nearest seat and sinking down, wiping sweat from her brow, silently lamenting: etiquette is nothing but suffering!