The Eyes That Focus on Him [Yes, host?]
"Scan Princess Lira for me."
[Target: Lira Moonlight]
[Name: Lira Moonlight
[Love Meter: 86% – Strong admiration detected.]
Leon’s eyes went wide as the scan came to rest. His eyes zeroed in on one detail, and for a second, he forgot to breathe.
That level of potential was uncommon—very uncommon. Throughout all his years from the time he came this word, only two people had ever shown such a gift. And one of them was standing in front of him.
His thoughts whirled. To be born with the Gift of an Elite grade in Galvia... not just luck—it was destiny. The road to someone of Lira’s caliber would be broad, radiant, and strewn with authority. If nurtured well, her potential would be equal to that of kings and generals. Maybe even greater.
And think—both Lira and Natasha carried such potential. One, a pawned gemstone. The other, an heir of the Moonlight.
His gaze moved once more.
His brow quirked upward slightly.
"Well, well..." he thought to himself, a smile creeping up the side of his mouth. "That’s a little higher than I figured."
So little fight left?
His mind wandered—no, slipped—where it shouldn’t have.
A flash in his brain: hourglass curves, a lithe body draped in royal finery. Silver-white hair that glowed like moonlight. Her mother’s hair.
And then another vision: young, radiant, soft with burgeoning womanhood.
And so, his imagination betrayed him.
Both in his arms. Silk and moonlight. Regal and radiant. Mine.
The absurdity of it came so close to making him laugh out loud.
Mother and daughter. A forbidden fantasy.
And yet... the thought hung, intoxicating in its impossibility.
A slow smile curved on his lips.
A light push shattered the illusion.
Nova stood beside him, her wine glass lifted in silent challenge, eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion.
And she wasn’t alone.
All of them—each of his wives—were looking at him.
Her head cocked, face inscrutable, but eyes fixed on him.
Cynthia was the one to finally shatter the silence, teasing as always.
"Darling," she purred with a playful spark in her eye, "you were just standing there grinning like an idiot. What were you dreaming of?"
Aria trailed after, her tone softer but no less inquisitive. "Yes, we’d all love to know."
Leon laughed, clearing his throat.
"Ah, nothing much. Just... considering how fortunate I am. Surrounded by the most lovely women in the Kingdom. No wonder the entire room is jealous of me."
The girls scowled. Obviously not believing him.
Nevertheless, they shifted slightly, casting quick looks about the ballroom—as if in need of proof. The grand room glimmered with candlelight and noble attire, but it was undeniable: several wandering glances hovered over their group. Unmarried lords, in particular, couldn’t help but glance.
Inquisitive eyes. Jealous whispers.
Even some noblewomen snuck looks—toward Leon, and toward the beautiful, laughing women by his side.
And yet... Nova wasn’t sure.
She did not say anything, but her quiet was eloquent. Her face did not change, but something in the look of her eyes was unmistakable: she could always spot when Leon was evading.
Rias tossed her hair over her shoulder with a sneer. "Let them gawk. Frogs have always admired swans."
Syra’s laugh was low and cutting. "Or tried to compare themselves to dragons—and weep when they’re singed."
Aria gave a serene nod. "Shadows by the moon. Let them come."
Cynthia smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Fools gazing at fire, praying not to get burned."
Aria chuckled, entertained. Cynthia nodded in quiet contentment. Kyra stayed calm, arms crossed loosely, as Lira spoke up with a scoff, her voice tinged with mirth. "They’re all morons, literally."
Leon gave them a half-smile for their repartee—thankful, secretly, that they’d bitten. He’d gotten away with diverting their attention without any deception. After all, he’d spoken truthfully: the court’s eyes were on them.
He allowed his gaze to drift about the ballroom, looking nonchalant, describing a detail here and there as part of the diversion.
Then—something changed.
Across the wide hall, over the music and the clinking of goblets, far above the lights and whispers... a figure leaned against the distant balcony.
Half-hid by shadows, half-enveloped by veils. Eyes—black as the dark night—fixed only upon him. Unblinking. Unmoving. Watching.
Her shape was unmistakably female, shrouded in stillness. And yet her presence cut into him like a knife.
Leon’s smile lessened just a fraction. His eyes grew narrow, hard and cautious.
He looked at Nova next to him. She was calm, oblivious.
Nova, as he was, was a Grandmaster—a cultivator attuned to fine pressure. She would have sensed that gaze.
Even Aria, Cynthia, Kyra, and Syra—each newly promoted to the Grandmaster ranks—should’ve picked up on something. Their magical bracelets hid their cultivation levels, yes, but not their instincts.
None of them responded.
No tension. No glimmer of awareness.
His eyes focused on the enigmatic woman.
That’s not right, he thought. Whoever she was—she invited only him to be aware of her. To feel her eyes. A silent summons over a sea of oblivious nobles.
Something moved in his chest. An echo of instinct. He made his decision.
He cleared his throat.
Then—he smiled and turned toward the group.
"Sweethearts," he said warmly, "enjoy yourselves. I need to say hello to a few nobles."
They exchanged curious glances, but didn’t question it. He was a Duke, after all—courtesies came with the title.
Nova didn’t speak. But her eyes lingered.
Leon leaned closer, brushing his knuckles along her arm with a tenderness only she could read.
"Enjoy yourself too, my moons," he murmured. "I’ll be back soon."
She gave a small nod, her lips parting in a quiet, knowing smile.
Draining the dregs of his wine, he offered the glass to a floating servant and appropriated it with a new one in the same fluid motion. With the self-assurance of a man in no hurry, he strode towards the far end of the ballroom.
The eyes that hadn’t released him since he came into the room.
Every movement had gravity—not in resonance, but in purpose. The music in his wake dissipated under the buzz of interest, but Leon only heard one thing.
Her look. Still present.
Heavy. Levelling. Waiting.
And now—he was going to learn whose it was.
The eyes who fix on him.