How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 674: Frozen North 6

"It wrapped up sooner than expected..."

"Fufu, I warned you I'd handle it~"

A soft sigh escaped Riley as he strolled alongside her, moving further from the balcony.

"That's fine, sure, but didn't we ought to hear what he thought about it? You caught his expression, didn't you? The elderly fellow likely won't catch any rest tonight."

Snow gave a gentle laugh, her pace relaxed and steady.

"You could be right. Yet, had we let him share his worries fully, he'd have pulled out all stops to keep us from heading there in person."

From the side of her vision, she shot him a look, her mouth curving into a sly grin.

"Plus... weren't you the one eager for a swift and smooth resolution?"

"...You got me there."

"Exactly?" Snow remarked casually. "At times, a firm choice proves more merciful than dragging out talks. Particularly with folks already at their wits' end."

Riley paused briefly, then another idea popped into his mind.

"Does His Majesty know about your intentions?"

"Most, yeah," Snow answered steadily. "No need to fret. I'll update him personally after we pick our departure date."

Her voice conveyed certainty—this wasn't a request for approval, but a duty she was overseeing with care.

As they headed deeper into the majestic ballroom, the faint melody swelled, mixing with chuckles and chatter.

Riley eyed Snow, examining her features with an odd expression.

Dependable.

Capable.

Steady in tough spots.

Could this be another advantage of her crown princess role? he pondered.

"Hm?" Snow caught his stare and cocked her head. "What's with that look?"

"It's nothing," Riley said. "That chat earlier hit me with a realization."

"Care to share?"

She inquired, a subtle sulk appearing as she faced him.

Her face plainly asked: So, what have you thought of me before?

"That you're genuinely royal," he admitted straightforwardly.

Snow's eyes widened for a second... then she squinted a touch.

"What do you mean by that?"

Riley couldn't hold back. A low chuckle rumbled from him, one side of his mouth quirking up.

"Quit giggling,"

Snow murmured, giving his arm a soft nudge with her shoulder.

"Sure, I loosen up and get closer with you, but I still honor my responsibilities—my poise and stature as a princess, got it? Was I not convincing?"

"You were,"

Riley answered without effort.

"No overthinking. I meant it because around me... you're simply Snow. Not the Princess Snow the world knows."

The statement surprised her.

Snow's stride faltered slightly, a light flush rising to her face.

"W-Well..."

She averted her gaze briefly, then whispered softer,

"that's the part of me reserved just for you."

No playfulness colored her words now—only sincerity.

Their brief intimate exchange concluded as the grand hall's entrance swung open ahead.

Melody spilled out, lavish and refined.

Gilded glows danced on sleek surfaces and sparkling fixtures, and the instant they entered, gazes shifted in their direction.

However, contrary to Riley's assumptions, nobody swarmed them.

Folks observed.

They murmured.

They wavered.

A handful nodded respectfully from distance.

Some feigned engrossment in talks while sneaking peeks.

’Approaching Snow isn't a simple feat, it seems...’

Riley grasped the reason swiftly.

Even in the academy—supposedly a place beyond ranks—Snow remained the Germonia Empire's crown princess.

The sovereign's cherished heir.

An impending leader.

Elegant.

Inapproachable.

That unseen burden sufficed to make most reconsider.

Nevertheless... some didn't yield.

Certain daring souls, experienced traders and hardened aristocrats who'd weathered far worse than uneasy quiet, mustered bravery and started closing in on her.

While Snow started chatting with them.

Meanwhile, Riley remained at her flank, silently observing as she interacted with those drawing near.

This marked his first true glimpse of her in this light.

Not the playful Snow who bantered with him, or chatted freely in privacy—but the attentive listener.

One who responded promptly, and delivered words with poised command that drew ears and commanded respect.

Regal bearing... yep, it suits her.

How she steered dialogues, addressed issues without overcommitting, and deflected absurd demands with a soft grin—it flowed effortlessly from her.

Effortlessly to an almost uncanny degree.

For a fleeting instant, Riley speculated if this explained dragging him along tonight.

For him to witness it.

Such skill didn't develop in a day.

Snow wasn't merely playing the part of a coming sovereign—she embodied it.

Unbeknownst to himself, he began noting her speech patterns and her navigation through the throng.

As her intended partner, such spectacles would soon turn routine.

His eyes wandered across the chamber.

It held more than traders and prominent academy commerce players.

Outsiders were present too—evidently from beyond the realm.

He even picked out a couple of elven envoys amid them.

That was rare in itself.

Elves typically scorned human trade, viewing it as base and avaricious.

Yet, outliers abounded, and where gains beckoned, egos often flexed.

Though positioned next to Snow throughout, nobody neared Riley himself.

Her aura deterring them?

Or his own standing?

He brushed it aside quickly.

Whichever, it suited him fine.

Navigating idle flattery and hollow exchanges had never appealed.

Keeping his survey discreet, Riley pondered the whereabouts of this tale's central female lead.

She ought to have arrived already...

Then he saw Snow fixing her sight on him.

Their stares locked, and she flashed a tiny, mischievous wink—before he could respond, she gave him a gentle shove aside.

The motion was so discreet that those nearby missed it entirely.

Riley angled his head a bit.

What's this about?

Snow offered no reply.

She merely pivoted back to her group, resuming the exchange seamlessly.

That deepened his bewilderment.

Initially, he'd figured she invited him purely to savor the evening jointly.

A serene night, casual exchanges, perhaps touching on northern affairs peripherally.

But currently.

Her subtle steering of him toward independence, leaving him solo—aware of his aversion to such events—pointed to a single intent.

She aims for me to adapt to this.

The notion took root softly.

Logical. Standing with her ahead, such evenings wouldn't be uncommon.

This transcended mere festivity—it served as training.

He looked her way again.

Snow beamed warmly in discussion, utterly poised, fully commanding.

Right... his hunch likely held.

Riley breathed a hushed sigh and drifted back, affording her room.

Topics lingered he wished to broach—northern strategies, private matters for just them, perhaps snatching a secluded instant in this uncommon backdrop.

Yet presently...

Those would need delaying.

...

Sigh...

Janica released a faint exhale, resting against a column along the vast hall.

Wine glass dangled idly in her grasp, and she sipped lightly while scanning the assembly.

The venue felt overwhelmingly spacious.

She'd sensed it upon entry, but immersion amplified it.

The space stretched boundlessly—gilded illumination, glossy tiling, murmurs merging into endless buzz.

She remained a tad daunted by the opulence even then.

She'd roamed solo plenty already.

More than plenty, really.

Having that fool nearby would've helped...

The notion emerged unbidden, but she dismissed it with a head shake.

Nope. For his benefit, this was essential.

Glancing over, Janica located Lucas far off.

Predictably, he was mobbed—traders, elites, backers, all clamoring, vying for his focus.

A faint grin tugged at her mouth.

Hehe... you'll grasp your true sway at last.

She'd long managed Lucas's social tangles—choosing contacts, bypassing nuisances, phrasing replies to avoid slights to key figures.

But eternity wasn't an option.

If knighthood was his true course, he'd master this independently.

Awkward chit-chat included.

Crucially, before genuine crises arose down the line.

Janica sipped her wine anew, viewing his floundering with blended mirth and subtle faith.

You'll pull through... pride dents and all.

Naturally, should matters tangle excessively—or some irksome female encroach too near Lucas—she'd intervene without pause.

But presently, growth was his domain.

With me forgoing our time today, you'd best absorb it well...

Janica's look warmed as she observed from afar.

Truthfully, she'd craved lingering beside him this night, particularly in such a scarce event.

Such instances were scarce, their value clear to her.

Yet, more opportunities awaited.

Provided we claim the closing dance.

That remained absolute.

Opening and closing dances held the deepest romantic weight.

All understood. Regardless of interim chaos, yielding that was unthinkable.

Still, solo traversal of the hall carried unease. Janica disliked aimless floating in packed spots like this.

Fortunately, the orderly spread of treats compensated—sweets foremost.

Her gaze lit up upon a exquisitely arranged cake portion, stacked with finesse and adorned in glistening candy blooms.

That seems tempting...

Right as she prepared to approach—

"Might you be Lady Janica Mortelina?"

"Hm?"

A soft, refined voice addressed her. She turned, momentarily stiffening.

The gentleman facing her was... captivating.

Golden-blond locks cascaded in gentle curls to his rear, shimmering with each faint shift.

Violet eyes held serenity and intensity, while his pristine attire—edged in elaborate gold designs—hugged his frame perfectly, as if crafted to seize notice.

He offered a courteous smile.

"I think this our initial encounter. Delighted to meet you. I'm Alain Etrama Zelova—second prince of the Zelova Kingdom."

"...Prince?"

Janica's eyes widened, real astonishment coloring her tone.

Prince Alain's grin broadened a fraction at her response.

"Indeed. If I may presume..." he pressed on fluidly, voice polite and even, "...could I claim a bit of your time? Preferably in privacy."