Interstellar: Return of the Villain
Chapter 203: A Royal Invitation

Chapter 203: A Royal Invitation

To be honest, Lyra couldn’t quite make sense of Lucien’s motives.

He was, after all, the distinguished Second Prince. Why would he overlook someone like Isadora, a proper marquis’s daughter, and instead focus on her—a woman surrounded by controversy and complications?

"Forgive me, Your Highness," she said with careful politeness, "but I’ve been unwell and am taking this time to rest. Attending social events is not convenient for me right now."

With a graceful nod, Lyra turned on her heel and walked away, cutting off any further discussion.

She had no interest in getting tangled in royal games. Her goal was to use the nobles as leverage, not to become one of their pawns.

However, it was becoming clear that Lucien had other plans—plans that involved drawing her deeper into their world.

By the next morning, the situation had escalated. A royal butler arrived at the Calvin estate, accompanied by an entire fleet of royal carriages. They formally extended the Queen’s personal invitation to Lyra for a banquet.

The news spread quickly, causing a buzz throughout Central City.

Benedict, ever composed, exchanged pleasantries with the butler but couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. "May I ask what this is all about?"

The butler’s response was diplomatic yet firm. "Her Majesty holds Miss Shedd in high regard and would like to meet her personally."

It was clear: they weren’t leaving without Lyra.

Understanding the delicate line she had to walk, Lyra knew refusing the Queen could cause trouble she didn’t need.

"Give me a moment to change," she said, accepting the situation.

The butler smiled. "Her Majesty has already selected a gown for you."

That alone was a rare honor—a signal that this wasn’t just any ordinary invitation.

Watching from a distance, Isadora barely concealed her irritation. Her eyes followed Lyra as she stepped into the royal carriage, and with a huff, she stomped her foot in frustration.

Storming back to her room, she vented her anger to her mother, Genevieve, while rifling through her dresses in preparation for the evening.

"Why would the Queen take such an interest in HER?" Isadora fumed, pacing back and forth.

"Silly girl," Genevieve replied, giving a dismissive wave as she appraised the red gown Isadora had chosen. She motioned for the maids to fetch another. "If the Queen were considering a match for the Second Prince, YOU would obviously be the first choice."

"Then why send the royal butler after Lyra?"

"It wasn’t the Queen’s doing."

"His Majesty, then?" Isadora frowned, trying to piece it together. "Is it because of all the noise she’s been making lately?"

Genevieve only hummed in response, clearly dissatisfied with the current dress selection. She finally rose and plucked a stunning violet ballgown from the wardrobe herself.

As Isadora allowed the maids to help her into the dress, she muttered under her breath, "I wish I’d gone to military school, too..."

Her complaint was cut short by the sharp look her mother shot her.

"You are a real lady. You should aspire to be a refined miss, not one running around with swords and guns like some common mercenary."

Isadora pouted but sighed, her defiance fading. "Still, with everything going on right now, it might’ve been smart to have military training."

Before Genevieve could deliver another lecture, Isadora twirled in front of the mirror. "This gown feels a little heavy."

"A little weight is a good thing. It fits you perfectly," Genevieve remarked, fastening a lavish necklace around her daughter’s neck. She smiled in satisfaction. "Tonight, you will be the most beautiful woman at the banquet."

Meanwhile, Lyra had arrived at the palace.

The royal gardens were breathtaking, with their lush greenery and vibrant blossoms. But Lyra, focused as ever, paid little attention to the scenic beauty around her. She followed the butler silently, her mind already turning over strategies.

The butler led her into an opulent fitting room, where rows of gowns—each more exquisite than the last—hung like treasures waiting to be chosen.

Lyra wasted no time. She brushed past the elaborate, voluminous gowns with hoops and heavy skirts, uninterested. Instead, she selected a sleek, floor-length slip dress made of creamy white satin.

The gown hugged her figure in all the right places, with a draped neckline that gave it a relaxed, effortless elegance. A daring slit ran up one side, adding a touch of boldness to the otherwise understated look.

She chose simple accessories—a silver arm cuff set with icy blue gemstones and a matching gold bracelet.

Her shoes were minimalist, pearl-strapped sandals with slender heels.

Her dark hair was swept into a low bun at the nape of her neck, and she completed the ensemble with a delicate necklace and earrings, both adorned with the same icy blue stones.

In the span of moments, Lyra had transformed into a vision of cold, ethereal beauty.

The sleek lines of her dress and the icy elegance of her jewelry made her look like a queen in her own right—someone who could command a room without uttering a single word.

The stylists and makeup artists around Lyra stared in awe.

"It’s like we’ve barely touched her, and she’s already a masterpiece," one of them whispered, marveling at how naturally she carried herself with grace and beauty. She needed only the barest enhancements.

The butler, regaining his composure after his initial shock, bowed slightly. "My Lady, if you’ll follow me to meet His Majesty."

Lyra lowered her gaze in acknowledgment and quietly fell into step behind him.

As she suspected, it was not truly the Queen who wished to meet her—this was King Edmund’s doing.

They passed through a grand corridor lined with intricate murals, the ceiling soaring high above. The path ended at a pair of golden doors with ornately carved handles.

The butler bowed once more and announced her arrival. "Your Majesty, Miss Lyra Shedd has arrived."

"Enter," came the deep, commanding voice from within.

Lyra lifted her head as she stepped inside the chamber, taking in the scene before her.

At the far end of the room, seated on a raised platform, was King Edmund. He looked younger than expected, his sharp features exuding authority.

His piercing dark eyes, framed by thick brows and a neatly trimmed mustache, seemed to evaluate her at a glance.

Next to him sat the Queen. She was draped in a lavish golden gown, her lips painted a deep crimson. Though her smile was warm, her gaze was distant, calculating.

To Lyra’s surprise, Aurelius was here too, watching her entrance.

With perfect poise, Lyra performed the formal noble greeting—a flawless combination of grace and precision.

A flicker of approval crossed King Edmund’s eyes, followed by a chuckle. "So Calvin wasn’t exaggerating. You are truly a remarkable young lady."

The Queen nodded in agreement. "Your manners surpass many of the noble ladies I’ve encountered."

Even Aurelius, who had seen Lyra in action countless times, was momentarily taken aback. The fierce competitor who had once knocked him to the ground now appeared as someone entirely different—poised, calm, and almost untouchable.

A chair was set for her, and after a gesture from the King, Lyra sat with perfect posture, her every move controlled and elegant.

"Your Majesties, your praise is too generous," she said smoothly, her tone respectful yet distant.

Edmund laughed heartily, slapping the armrest of his throne. "I’ve seen how decisive and formidable you are in your work. Why the sudden modesty now?"

Without missing a beat, Lyra replied, "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I suppose the grandeur of this place makes even me feel a bit nervous."

Aurelius, standing stiffly by the side, couldn’t stop the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

There she was again, delivering sharp lines with the utmost composure, making it impossible to tell whether she was being sincere or mocking.

Realizing she wasn’t one for small talk, Edmund got straight to the point. "I’ve heard of your recent accomplishments and admire your capabilities. I hope you’ll continue to excel in your work."

His words, though polite, carried a clear message: ’Keep stirring up trouble in the military—it’s what we want.’

The Queen extended her hand, offering Lyra a small, gleaming Space Button. "A token from me, for our first meeting. It contains some jewels and rare plants from my personal collection. I trust you’ll find them suitable."

Lyra accepted the gift with a gracious nod. "You honor me, Your Majesty."

With that, the brief audience came to a close. Edmund turned to his son. "Aurelius, since both you and Miss Shedd serve in the Direct Force, I’ll leave her in your care for the evening."

Aurelius stepped forward, bowing low. "Yes, Your Majesty."

He approached Lyra, extending his gloved hand. "Miss Shedd."

Without hesitation, Lyra placed her hand in his, showing no signs of discomfort as they left the grand hall together.

The doors behind them closed with a heavy, echoing thud.

Once outside, Aurelius couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at her. Their eyes met, and he was immediately caught off guard by the cold intensity in her gaze—her dark eyes seemed to pierce right through him, as if reading every thought he had.

"So, it seems Your Highness’ only remaining utility is for political marriage, then?" Lyra remarked coolly as she withdrew her hand. "I thought that role was usually reserved for princesses."

Aurelius stiffened, his expression darkening.

"We’re all pawns in the end," he muttered, his tone bitter. After a pause, he added, "My father believes you have a future in the military. The royal family may not wield as much power as it once did, but we can still help you escape the Reserve Corps. After all, I’m just a pawn myself, placed in the military by the crown. Why not take the opportunity?"

To him, the offer was logical—a mutually beneficial arrangement. She could secure her position, and the royal family could gain a valuable ally.

But Lyra merely gave him a sidelong glance, her voice steady and firm. "I haven’t fallen so low as to trade my body for influence."

Her words were calm, but the strength behind them was undeniable. She wasn’t someone who could be swayed or bought so easily. For now, everything remained firmly under her control.