In other to not loose you coins please don’t open Chapter 122, because I resend the sa Chapter.thank you please enjoy your reading.
The n had been speaking in low, sharp tones—plans, structures, things only kings of their world would dare discuss—when a silence stretched too long.
Roman felt it first, the prickling weight of a stare. He turned.
Julie.
Her pout was small, unintentional, but it struck him harder than any blade.
Across from her, Samantha wore the sa expression, luminous eyes fixed unblinking on Lazarus, lips drawn into the faintest sulk as if daring him to notice.
For the briefest heartbeat, both n froze—Roman and Lazarus, rulers of empires, caught off guard by their won’s attention. Then, without a word, they shifted.
The business dissolved like smoke.
Roman leaned forward, his gaze darkening with sothing softer, sothing possessive.
His hand found Julie’s with ease, lifting it to his lips. He kissed her fingers one by one, slow enough that ti itself seed to hold its breath.
"How long," he murmured, velvet-low, "have you been looking at like that, hmm? No wonder the world felt... different."
Julie flushed crimson. She tried to pull her hand back, but Roman only held firr, brushing his mouth over her knuckles again. His eyes never left hers.
On the other side, Lazarus tilted his head at Samantha’s sulk, a slow smirk curving his mouth.
"Dangerous," he murmured, leaning closer until she could feel his breath, "the way you look when you pout. You’re casting spells on without trying."
His thumb traced her lower lip, coaxing it back into a smile. "And I think you’ve already won."
Samantha’s chest rose sharply, her cheeks afla as his touch lingered. She tried to glare at him, tried to form words—but her lips betrayed her, trembling between a smile and surrender.
The soiree shifted.
Whispers rippled through the room like silk. Queens leaned toward one another, fans fluttering as they spoke in hushed tones.
"Look how Roman adores her... Did you see how he kissed her hand?" Their eyes flicked with envy toward Julie, voices sharpened by longing.
A few tilted their chins high, pretending disinterest—but their stares betrayed them.
The n muttered too, between glasses of wine. "That’s love, pure and clear," one said with a laugh.
Another shook his head, voice heavy with approval, "If Roman smiles at her like that in public... imagine what he does in private."
Their admiration was almost exaggerated, n trying to one-up each other with praise, as though Roman’s devotion gave them permission to be bold with their own affections.
And then—her.
At the far corner, half-hidden by shadows, a young woman froze where she sat on an old man’s lap.
His hands road her beneath the table, but her mind was elsewhere. Her eyes had found Roman.
Her breath stopped.
That smile—the warmth he gave Julie, the softness in his eyes as he touched her hand—it cut deeper than any knife.
She rembered it. That smile had once been hers. That devotion, that quiet way he used to look at her, as though she were the only woman alive.
And she had shattered it.
She rembered his care, his protection, his tenderness, how he once loved her with a fire so pure it terrified her.
She had broken him into pieces, watched him bleed, and thought he would never rise again.
But here he was—risen higher than ever, moved on without her, his heart claid by another.
Her nails dug into the old man’s shoulder, but he didn’t notice. Her body smiled, but her soul withered. Jealousy coiled hot and venomous in her chest.
Because Roman had walked away. He had rebuilt himself. And now he gave to Julie everything she thought he’d never give again.
Her lips parted in a silent vow ’ From the start you are mine Roman and I won’t let anyone take you away.’
The queens whispered more. The kings laughed and nodded. All eyes, sohow, ca back to the four of them—two n, two won, in their own worlds.
Roman bent close enough that Julie felt his lips graze the shell of her ear.
"Tell , Mia bella," he teased low, intimate enough for only her to hear, "should I please you until you forget why you pout?"
His thumb brushed the corner of her lip, sending heat flooding her cheeks.
She tried to turn away, but he caught her chin, making her et his gaze. Her heart thundered, not only from his touch but from the stares she felt burning from every corner of the hall. He doesn’t care, she realized, dazed. He’s not ashad. He’s claiming before them all.
Across from them, Lazarus leaned in until Samantha nearly trembled under the weight of him.
"Look at like this," he whispered, voice velvet and steel, "and I’ll give you everything you don’t even dare to ask for."
His hand cradled her jaw, tilting her face up, his eyes burning into hers as though he were writing spells into her soul.
Julie and Samantha forgot the room. Forgot the whispers, the envious stares, the murmurs of queens and kings.
But the room had not forgotten them.
Roman and Lazarus had turned the soiree into a stage—and their won into its brightest stars.
The hall shimred beneath golden chandeliers, music spilling gently from a corner quartet. Nobles and dignitaries filled the seats, their laughter mingling with the clink of glasses.
The Master of Ceremony, tall and smooth-voiced, stepped forward with practiced grace.
He spread his arms wide, his smile bright enough to pull the restless crowd into silence.
"Ladies and gentlen," his voice rolled like velvet, "tonight we are honored by the presence of great n and won who walk among us as kings and queens in their own right. Let us welco—most especially—His Excellency, Mr. Bellanti."
Applause broke out, rising and falling like a wave. All eyes turned to the man rising from his seat.
Mr. Bellanti moved with unhurried poise, dark suit pressed to perfection, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. He reached the stage, accepted the microphone from the MC, and inclined his head to the guests.
"My dear friends," Mr. Bellanti began, his voice warm and asured, "thank you for gracing this evening with your presence. It is no small thing, to set aside ti and lend your company to a gathering such as this. To each of you—my queens and kings—I extend my heartfelt gratitude."
His gaze shifted, steady and deliberate. "In particular, I wish to thank Arbiter Lazarus for standing with us tonight. Your presence honors this house." His eyes slid further, catching the man seated beside Julie.
"And of course, Roman Thompson. Your attendance is no less a privilege."
Polite applause followed. So faces were open with admiration, others guarded, lips pursed in envy. Bellanti gave a final nod, returning the microphone to the MC, who bowed with a flourish.
"Magnificent words, sir," the MC said smoothly. Then, pivoting with a polished smile, "Now, perhaps we should hear from the very ones our host has praised. Arbiter Lazarus, would you do us the honor?"
Lazarus rose, his tall fra commanding the hall without effort. He clasped Samantha’s hand briefly before striding to the stage. A smile lingered on his lips, softening his usually sharp features.
"Good evening to you all," Lazarus began, his tone warm, threaded with pride. "It is always a gift to stand among such company. Tonight, I celebrate not myself, but the bonds we forge in gatherings like this—bonds of trust, of loyalty, of shared vision. For , this is more than politics. It is personal. Because behind every ambassador, every man who holds an office, stands soone who gives him strength."
His hand lifted slightly, pointing without sha toward Samantha. Her cheeks flushed pink as murmurs rippled across the hall.
"Yes," Lazarus said, his voice carrying reverence. "Allow to introduce her—not as a shadow beside , but as my partner. Samantha, the woman I love. My girlfriend, and, by God’s grace, the future wife of an arbiter."
The words drew applause, softer but sincere. Samantha lowered her eyes, her lips curving into a shy smile that could not hide her pride.
The MC’s eyes glead. "A toast of admiration for love so boldly declared! And now—" his voice steadied into solemnity, "—the man whose presence alone stills a room. Roman Thompson."
A hush followed.
Roman rose without hurry, his height and presence pressing on the air itself. He didn’t smile as he mounted the stage, didn’t soften himself for their comfort.
He stood at the microphone, his dark gaze sweeping the hall as though asuring each soul before him.
"I thank you," he said simply, voice low, calm, and deliberate, "for your welco. Like Lazarus, I do not co here for politics. I co for loyalty. For family. For respect that is not spoken only in words, but shown in action."
He paused, letting the silence stretch until even the clink of glasses ceased. Then, without breaking eye contact with the room, he reached his hand toward Julie.
She looked up, caught in his gaze. Her breath caught—half disbelief, half awe. Slowly, she placed her hand in his. Her pulse roared in her ears as he drew her to her feet, his motion protective, unyielding.
Oh God, she thought, cheeks burning. He’s declaring before them all. He’s burning every bridge for .
"This," Roman said, voice carrying like iron across marble, "is my wife. Julienne. Soon—very soon—you will all receive the invitation to our wedding. Until then, know this: her honor is my honor. Her na is mine. Speak of her as you would dare to speak of ."
Gasps scattered through the hall. Whispers rose—half awe, half outrage. Married? Without a word to us? Faces turned, brows furrowed, lips tightened. Yet none dared to rise against him openly.
Julie’s throat tightened. Her fingers curled into Roman’s as though anchoring herself to his strength. Pride swelled inside her, fragile but fierce. Whatever storm ca, she would face it—because he had placed her at his side, not behind him.
The MC cleared his throat, voice smoothing like glass over stone. "Well. It seems both gentlen have given us reason to cheer tonight. Arbiter Lazarus with his radiant Samantha, and Mr. Thompson with his Julienne. If devotion were a crown, surely they both would wear it."
A ripple of chuckles followed, though subdued, eyes darting back to Roman as though weighing how far his shadow reached.
Lazarus leaned toward Samantha, whispering sothing that made her blush harder. Roman, anwhile, stood immovable, his arm firm around Julie’s waist, his expression daring anyone to question his claim.
And though envy swirled in quiet corners, one truth lingered heavy in every mind: tonight, two n had not only declared their power, but their love.
And under golden chandeliers, that truth settled over the gathering like a crown none could ignore.
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