Chapter 3

THREE

R oqron Tharvis strode into the royal dining hall, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure against the backdrop of sleek Tharvisian architecture. The room pulsed with soft, bioluminescent light, casting an ethereal glow over the assembled dignitaries and royals. Much softer than the bright, direct light of the lab.

As he made his way to his seat, Roqron’s black and silver eyes scanned the room, taking in the political undercurrents swirling around him. He searched for the one person he came here to see—Mila Arison, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

She stood out like a vibrant splash of color against the muted tones of Tharvisian formality, her bright blue eyes alight with curiosity as she examined the strange, glowing dishes laid out before her. She studied her food just as intensely as she did her research earlier. Lab or dining room, she was stunning.

Roqron couldn’t help but notice how the soft, pulsating light played across Mila’s features, accentuating the curve of her cheekbones and the slight furrow of concentration between her brows. Her dark hair was still pulled back into a simple, no-nonsense ponytail, a stark contrast to the elaborate hairstyles of the Tharvisian noblewomen present. Yet, there was an effortless grace to her that Roqron found oddly captivating.

He shook his head slightly, trying to dispel these unexpected thoughts. Mila was to be his wife, yes, but this was a political arrangement. He shouldn’t be noticing the way her eyes sparkled with mischief or how her lips quirked into a half-smile as she poked at the alien delicacies before her.

Roqron took his seat beside Mila. The proximity sent a jolt through him, an unfamiliar sensation that he quickly suppressed. He was a prince, after all, and this was a political dinner. Yet, as he glanced at Mila from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but notice how different she was from the other guests.

Where they sat stiffly, adhering to every nuance of royal protocol, Mila lounged in her chair with casual grace as if she were at a backyard barbecue rather than a formal state dinner.

“I hope the seating arrangements are to your liking,” Roqron said, his tone formal but tinged with genuine curiosity. He wanted to see how she’d respond, whether she’d play along with the expected niceties or continue to buck tradition.

Mila turned to him, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Oh, absolutely. Nothing says ‘political alliance’ quite like being seated next to your future spouse while surrounded by a bunch of stuffy dignitaries. It’s downright romantic. Did you plan this yourself, or is there a Royal Matchmaker on staff?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, fighting back a smile. Her sarcasm was refreshing, like a cool breeze in the stifling atmosphere of royal decorum. “I’m glad you appreciate the... romantic atmosphere,” he replied, allowing a hint of dry humor to creep into his voice. “I’ll be sure to inform the palace event planners that their efforts haven’t gone unnoticed. As for the Royal Matchmaker, I’m afraid that position was eliminated centuries ago. These days, we rely on good old-fashioned political necessity.”

Mila let out a soft snort of laughter, quickly disguising it as a cough when a nearby dignitary shot her a disapproving look. “Well, thank goodness for that. I’d hate to think our impending nuptials were the result of anything as frivolous as compatibility or mutual attraction.”

Roqron was both amused and intrigued by her boldness. Most people would be intimidated by the prospect of marrying into Tharvisian royalty, but Mila seemed utterly unfazed. He wondered, not for the first time, if she truly understood the magnitude of the role she was stepping into.

As the first course was served, Roqron watched with fascination as Mila examined the dish before her. The plate held an array of exotic fruits and vegetables, each pulsating with soft colors. One particular fruit, no larger than a grape, twitched slightly on the plate.

Mila raised an eyebrow, poking at the moving fruit with her fork. “Is this dinner or a science experiment? I didn’t realize Tharvisian cuisine came with its own escape plan. Should I be concerned about my food outrunning me?”

Roqron couldn’t contain his amusement any longer. A low chuckle escaped him, earning surprised glances from nearby guests. “I assure you, it’s not trying to escape. The movement is a sign of freshness. It’s considered a delicacy.”

“Ah, of course,” Mila nodded sagely. “Nothing says ‘delicious’ quite like food that fights back. Is this part of some elaborate Tharvisian fitness program? Burn calories while you eat? Chase your dinner around the plate for optimal health benefits?”

Roqron relaxed into their banter, his usual stoic demeanor softening. “Indeed. We Tharvisians believe in efficiency in all things, even our meals. Why simply eat when you can also get your daily workout? I’m surprised Earth hasn’t adopted similar practices. It seems like a missed opportunity in human evolution.”

Mila’s eyes widened in mock seriousness. “Brilliant. Earth’s been doing it all wrong. Forget gym memberships, we just need more aggressive produce. I can see it now: ‘Tharvisian Diet Craze Sweeps Earth - Salads Fight Back!’”

As they continued their playful exchange, Roqron became aware of his parents’ arrival. King Brakus and Queen Erida entered the dining hall with regal grace, their presence immediately commanding the attention of every guest. Roqron straightened instinctively, years of ingrained protocol kicking in.

King Brakus, tall and imposing with his silver hair tied back in a regal style, took his place at the head of the table. His black eyes, so similar to Roqron’s own, swept over the assembled guests with a gaze that seemed to miss nothing. Queen Erida, her dark hair cascading down her back in soft waves, sat to his right, her warm smile a counterpoint to the king’s stern demeanor.

Roqron watched nervously as his parents’ gazes fell on Mila. He braced himself for the inevitable looks of disapproval or concern at her casual demeanor. To his utter astonishment, neither the king nor the queen seemed perturbed by Mila’s relaxed posture or the way she was playfully poking at the moving fruit on her plate.

In fact, as Roqron watched in disbelief, his mother’s smile grew wider, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes as she observed Mila’s antics. Even his father, known for his strict adherence to protocol, seemed to soften slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching in what Roqron recognized as his version of a smile.

“I see you’ve discovered our livelier cuisine, Lady Mila,” Queen Erida said, her voice carrying easily across the table. “I do hope it’s not too... overwhelming for your Earth palate.”

Mila looked up, her fork still hovering over the twitching fruit. For a moment, Roqron tensed, worried about how she might respond to the queen. But Mila simply grinned, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, not at all, Your Majesty,” she replied cheerfully. “I’m just trying to decide if I should eat it or adopt it as a pet. Do you think it would get along with Earth hamsters?”