“Fine. Let’s see how strong this ‘stronger than dragons’ person really is,” her voice flashing like a drawn blade in sunlight.

The soldier’s face turned plum-dark, the Queen’s pressure rolling over him like a stormfront, yet he still straightened like a reed and tried to lead.

“Your Majesty, they’re… resting in the guest parlor,” he said, breath wobbling like a lantern in wind.

She gave a polite nod, then slipped past him like a swift deer on a forest trail. A Queen knows her own halls, and curiosity burned like a lantern in fog.

A human stronger than pure-blood Dragonfolk—she couldn’t help it; the word “human” rang like a bell under ice, and she quickened her steps.

—Loading 1%… 191.9% complete. Maiden’s prayer: success.—

Curiosity bright as morning dew, the Queen crossed the threshold on long, willow-slim legs and saw Alicia resting on a wooden chair like a quiet pier.

She drew a breath, a hunter’s fox-sure sniff. A thin Dragonfolk aura curled off Alicia like smoke, faint as a dying ember.

But another scent lay thick, like dark honey in the air. Not human, not dragon, not beast, not demon, not god, and certainly not Elvenfolk.

The unknown didn’t birth fear; it opened like a night-blooming flower, her thirst for knowledge rising like a spring from bedrock in the Elvenfolk soul.

Yet she was Queen. Reason fell like cool rain and tamped down instinct, and her face kept its courtly moon-calm.

“Mom!”

Elfe popped out like a squirrel from brush, giggling as she threw herself into the Elven Queen’s arms, warm as sunlit moss.

Only then did the Queen register her own daughter, then a side glance caught Ling, a small shadow by the hearth.

No odd scent touched her nose, only clean air and oak. The Queen filed Ling away as an ordinary little girl, guard dropping like a lowered visor.

Tagged harmless without knowing, Ling ran to Alicia and settled on her lap like a cat, basking in her favorite soft, warm lap-throne.

“I’m sorry. Elfe must’ve caused you a lot of trouble, right?”

She pressed Elfe’s head down with a gentle palm, then the Queen herself bowed a shade, a swan dipping its neck on clear water.

Alicia felt heat rise, awkward as a harp string pulled too tight. A queen should never bow; Elfe must weigh heavy in her heart.

Alicia drifted in thought and missed her cue, but the Queen didn’t mind. Her smile stayed, a constant crescent over calm seas.

“I’m Amelia Roland. If strict etiquette bothers you, just call me Amelia. Heavy rituals feel like iron shackles to me.”

Hearing a fellow hater of hoops and ladders, Alicia brightened like a window thrown open to spring wind.

“That’s perfect! Then call me Alicia, and this one in my arms is Ling. We hate all that ceremony too.”

Maybe Alicia was too carefree, tossing trust like petals in a stream, not sorting polite fluff from true stone—bad footing for diplomacy.

At least that’s what Ling thought, after binging a hundred mind-game anime while keeping her IQ at a proud fifty-two.

But so be it. Even if we take a hit, I’m here, she thought, calm as winter pine. Nothing left to fear.

A flag raised to the sky has a way of catching storms, but Ling had already set her feet and wouldn’t trip Alicia’s natural charm.

“Hehe. I didn’t expect someone as strong as Miss Alicia to shrug off etiquette,” Amelia said, voice smooth as tea steam. “Strong and free is rare.”

Compliments landed out of nowhere. Alicia scratched the back of her head, sheepish as a schoolgirl, her eyes flicking to Ling like a quick fin in water.

“Strong… am I?” she muttered, words as small as a pebble dropped in a pond.

Noticing the glance, Amelia blinked. Was that unassuming little one a sheathed blade? The thought sparked, then guttered.

She shook her head, steady as a pine in wind. She trusted her nose; no true powerhouse could hide from that keen hunter’s sense.

She clapped lightly, sound neat as chop on wood, and drew Alicia’s gaze back like a kite on a line.

“All right. Keeping you sitting here isn’t ideal. Tell me your plans, and we’ll arrange things so the road runs smooth.”

Kind phrasing felt like silk, but the weft hid steel: she needed to know their aim wouldn’t cut across Elvenfolk interests.

Alicia wasn’t dull. Princess lessons had stitched diplomacy into her bones like careful embroidery; earlier she’d just been giddy at a kindred spirit.

Now the room cooled, and her training rose like tidewater. Amelia’s words shifted in her ear, music with a second melody.

Sincerity means plain speech. Hints smell like fear, and fear weakens your hand. In a negotiation, murk is a net you cast on yourself.

So Alicia inhaled, eyes steady as stars over dark water, and spoke.

“We want to invite you to join our Mystic Realm.”