NOVEL NEXT Chapter 435: Princess Lekiza
Minute Ago
The doors to the meeting room creaked open with slow, deliberate grandeur, as if the building itself understood who was stepping through.
The Human Emperor entered with the air of someone used to commanding armies and shifting nations with a glance.
Draped in layers of velvet-trimmed ceremonial armor, his silver-lined cloak trailing behind him like the shadow of conquest, he walked with calm arrogance—one honed over centuries of political dominance and blood-forged victories.
But the moment he saw the room, that calm cracked ever so slightly.
He was being made to wait?
The Human Emperor—one of the few Rank 20 Awakened beings in the entire Mortal Realm—had been led into a minimalist chamber of obsidian and glass, more subtle elegance than grand opulence. A long curved table of polished stone sat at the center. Crystal decanters gleamed softly in the filtered moonlight, and holographic maps of Ether borderlines flickered quietly in the corner.
He sat, slowly, fingers tapping once on the armrest.
This rubbed him the wrong way.
He wasn't some second-tier lord. He was the Human Empire. The old dragons of the east still whispered his name when the wind howled. Yet here he was… waiting in a room like a mid-tier envoy.
Across from him, Lizzie stood near the entrance, posture sharp and diplomatic. But she felt it. The chaos surrounding the Emperor was thick enough to slice through.
She bowed deeply. "Please excuse me for a moment, Your Majesty."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Lizzie exited in silence.
Moments passed—quiet, but weighted. The Human Emperor leaned forward on his seat—eyes sharp, voice like velvet over steel.
"Lekiza. Come here." His voice was soft, but it echoed through the golden marble chamber like scripture whispered across centuries.
A shimmer tore through the air beside him, delicate at first, then blossoming into a swirling portal rimmed with iridescent glyphs—sigils only royal blood could walk through unscathed. And from its core stepped a figure that made the world hold its breath.
She emerged like a star descending from myth.The Oldest Princess of the Human Empire.The one whose name appeared in secret poems and forbidden dreams.
Lekiza.
She was eighteen, but every step she took defied her age—confident, elegant, the kind of beauty that sculptors spent lifetimes failing to capture. Her skin shimmered like kissed bronze beneath the translucent folds of her silken dress—royal crimson laced with silver veils, slit high enough to make even the gods question propriety.
A thin, jeweled chain circled her waist, low and loose, drawing eyes to her hourglass figure with sinful precision.
Her legs were long, sculpted like she walked on temptation itself. Her heels were made of molten glass, shimmering with enchantment. One hand lifted her flowing braid of obsidian-black hair from her shoulder, revealing the sharp line of her jaw and the elegant curve of her throat.
It exposed everything it wasn't supposed to.
The fabric—if it could even be called that—clung to her like a breath of forbidden magic. The curve of her waist was carved like a lie too beautiful to question, arching inward with predatory grace, only to flow into the dangerous line between her thighs—a place hidden, yet flaunted in just enough shadow to make every soul in the room imagine and ache.
Above, the swell of her breasts defied innocence. They moved with the rhythm of power and pulse, barely contained by a jeweled harness—a lattice of gold and obsidian that wasn't meant to support.
It was meant to draw the eye, trap the thought, enslave the will.
And it pulsed.
Not with magic.
With heat.Like it had a heartbeat.Like it was alive.
Veins of silver lace wound down her thighs, tracing her skin in patterns too perfect to be man-made—spiderwebs spun by gods high on desire, delicate and dangerous, gleaming under the light like they'd snap if touched.
But you wanted to touch them anyway.You needed to.
Every inch of her was a promise.Not of love.But of consumption.
Her body didn't just invite desire. It manufactured it—layer by layer, breath by breath, like her skin was stitched with enchantments meant to tear apart resolve.
She wasn't wearing an outfit.
She was wearing your downfall.
Her skin—sun-gilded bronze—glowed with a sheen of divine oil, kissed by enchantments that amplified beauty beyond human understanding. Her long, obsidian-black hair spilled behind her in loose, wild waves that looked tangled by pleasure, not wind.
Her lips…Dark red. Glossed. Bite-worthy.
Her eyes…Amethyst fire. Sharp, playful, hungry. The kind of stare that promised she wouldn't just ruin you—she'd enjoy it. Slowly.
She walked like every step was meant to be watched.Like her hips knew they were breaking laws just by moving.Like her body wasn't born—it was designed.
This was prey that wanted to be chased.A challenge dipped in perfume and power.Royal danger. Lustful danger. The kind of danger you beg to be burned by.
Then the door opened again.
And Pyris walked in.
Not alone.
Beside him was Elsa, her presence like a winter flame—calm, composed, utterly unbothered. But all eyes—even the Emperor's—locked onto Pyris.
The aura wasn't flaunted. There were no divine surges. No golden light. No trembling air. Just presence. Unspoken authority, the kind that doesn't ask to be noticed—it demands it, simply by being.
And for the first time in decades, the Human Emperor blinked… twice.
There was no doubt in his mind—this being before him was dangerous. Not in magic. Not in skill. But in reality. He'd stood before gods, fought beside titans, and yet Pyris… felt like something else entirely.
And yet.
Why the fuck was the world so unfair?
That thought hit him hard.
How could someone look like that?
It wasn't just attractiveness. It was sculpted perfection—the effortless elegance, the cosmic-level symmetry, the posture of someone who didn't bend to divine or mortal rule. The man looked like he belonged in a myth the gods tried to erase out of envy.
Pyris felt the stare. He didn't react.
He wasn't fond of men looking at him that way—but he wasn't petty enough to care. Not unless they tried something stupid. And it wasn't like he and the Emperor were close enough to throw a jab or share a joke.
So, without a word, Pyris crossed the room with graceful ease and took the seat directly across from him.
He leaned back.
Expression calm.
Tone unreadable.
"Your Majesty," Pyris inclined his head with the precise degree of respect due to an emperor from the son of a duchess of a rival empire. Not a bow—that would suggest submission. Not dismissive—that would be war. Just acknowledgment between equals who happened to rule different realms.
The Emperor's eyes narrowed slightly. This young dragon knew exactly what he was doing.
"Young Lord Obsidian," the Emperor replied, his voice carrying the weight of mountain-moving authority. "Son of Duchess Emberly. Your reputation precedes you, though I must say, the stories hardly do justice to..."
He gestured vaguely at Pyris's presence.
Pyris turned to another person in the room.
"I didn't expect you here, President." That's right, right next to the emperor sat someone Pyris remembered very well, the council president herself. "Princess Lekiza, right? Pleasure meeting you again."