Still a little breathless from the intense dancing, Luna and the man walked away from the dance floor, laughing like accomplices in a prank in the middle of a royal ball.
The side lounge welcomed them with plush sofas, smooth air conditioning, and a sophisticated ambient soundtrack—electronic jazz with French accents.
Victória, Nikoly and Lumine were already there, recovering from the dance floor with new drinks in their hands.
As soon as they saw Luna approaching with the mysterious man by her side, their eyes lit up.
"Look who survived the dance with our blue storm," said Victoria, laughing.
"Or was it he who survived her?" Lumine murmured, her tone enigmatic.
"Was there intense eye contact?" Nikoly asked, as if filling out an espionage mission report.
Luna rolled her eyes playfully. "Girls, this is… hmm…"
She turned to him with a teasing smile. "What was your name again, your mysterious majesty?"
The man, still maintaining his charm, responded with a slight nod. "Callen."
Luna added, "This is Callen. He dances well. He can take a joke. And he didn't try to take me to the hotel with bad intentions."
She laughed and winked at him.
The three friends raised their eyebrows, now clearly curious.
But it was the Prince who was on alert.
As soon as he heard the surnames of the women there, his strategic brain screamed in internal alarm:
"Victoria Lancaster…
Nikoly Hoshinami…
Lumine Edelweiss…"
Three families with global influence.
Financial sectors, technology, media, cultural policy.
And Luna… was with them. Naturally. As if she had always belonged there.
This only added to the mystery.
Before he could ask any more questions, a new group entered the lounge.
Six stunning women, dressed in metallic hues and shimmering silk.
Custom-designed heels, impeccable makeup, imported perfumes that filled the air like elite troops.
And in the center of the group, the leader: Amara.
A Daughter of an emerging Euro-Arab dynasty.
Global influencer. Businesswoman. Socialite.
And clearly with his eyes glued to Callen.
She walked as if invading a territory with armed diplomacy.
He stopped in front of the group.
He gave a social smile.
"Good evening. I couldn't help but notice this… impressive table."
Her eyes were 90% on Callen, 10% on the others.
Maybe 1% on Luna, and that 1% was already measuring whether her dress was from the latest collection.
Victória, Nikoly and Lumine responded with subtle, cordial nods.
But no one said "sit down."
Amara, ignoring the lack of invitation, kept her gaze on the man. "I'm Amara von Lysenne. And you must be…"
Callen responded neutrally. "Callen."
"Callen," she repeated, as if savoring it. "Different. Mysterious. I like that."
Luna, who was beside him with a new drink in her hands, just watched.
And then… he smiled.
He lifted his glass, looked at Callen, and said, his voice thick with tart sweetness, "Wow… you must be truly irresistible. You even attract female attack squads."
Callen coughed, embarrassed and amused.
The three friends held back their laughter.
Amara kept her smile.
But there was a spark of tension in her eyes now.
Luna rested her elbow on Callen's shoulder, half possessive, half playful, and added, "Careful, Callen. If you keep this up, I'll have to put you on a leash."
She laughed, drinking it right away.
Callen just smiled.
The golden cup in Amara's hands glinted.
"Callen…" she said, placing the name on her lips like a newly discovered gem. "I know we don't know each other, but I have a feeling we have a lot in common."
Callen smiled politely.
But his attention wavered…
Now for Amara's elegant pose, now for Luna's silver eyes, who now sat to the side, like a bored goddess on a throne she had transformed into a sofa.
Amara continued her verbal parade. "My family is negotiating with the D'Anjou group, which has businesses in Zurich and Monaco… you've certainly heard about it."
She smiled. "Indeed, you seem to belong in that circle. Princes with steely eyes aren't common among commoners."
It was a compliment… and a test.
Callen looked away for a second.
But before he could answer, Luna stepped in.
She stretched slowly and rested her head on Callen's shoulder, with a long, melodic sigh.
"Ouch, I'm so tired of politics." Then she looked straight at Amara. "Does your D'Anjou group have a decent buffet, or do they also serve lukewarm champagne?"
Amara blinked—just once.
But the mask of social diplomacy trembled half a millimeter.
Callen coughed lightly, surprised.
And Luna continued, laughing lightly, clearly drunk and deliciously disrespectful of the rituals of high society:
"Mister Callen here is already in use, dear."
She tapped his chest lightly with her painted nail. "I found him first. And he dances well. Turns well. He can handle my craziness. Perfect for riding in the glove compartment."
The three friends watched in silence, their eyes wide with amusement.
Victoria whispered. "My God. She's going to start a clan war and laugh about it later."
Nikoly murmured. "I'm studying it as my thesis. Anthropology of Chaos in High Heels."
Lumine smiled calmly, like a villain who already knew the ending. "Amara lost the battle with Luna's second sip."
Amara, for her part, kept her smile.
But it was a hard smile, forced polite.
"I suppose you're joking…" She let out a short, dry laugh. "You seem… witty."
Luna lifted her head from Callen's shoulder and slowly crossed her legs, keeping her eyes fixed on Amara like someone evaluating a model in a shop window.
"Amara, right?" She raised her glass. "You've got presence. I'll give you that. But Callen here is already my dance partner, my couch support, and… who knows… my getaway driver if this party gets boring."
Callen smiled, despite himself.
The tension was delicious.
Amara tilted her head, finally looking at Luna more seriously. "And you are…?"
"A tourist," Luna replied, taking a sip.
"Tourist… from where?"
Luna looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Of the unknown. Of the mess. Of the chaos that wears heels. Choose your favorite destination."
Amara finally stopped smiling.
For two seconds.
Then he resumed his noble expression.
He gave a subtle, cold nod, as if he couldn't be bothered to respond to a provocation of a level below what was acceptable.
"It was… curious to meet you." And he turned to leave, dragging his group of silent beauties like a humiliated entourage.
As soon as Amara was out of earshot, Luna let out a whistle. "That one hates me more than glitter hates a vacuum cleaner."
Callen laughed, loudly, finally. A light, genuine laugh. "You really aren't afraid of anyone, are you?"
Luna blinked. "Me? I'm afraid of serious things. Like bills. Caterpillars. Awkward silence... and heeled stairs. But little princesses trying to use political charm on my drunken flirting? That's just cowardice."
The three friends burst out laughing.
The Prince, now clearly enchanted, looked at her as if he were seeing a hurricane of diamonds dancing among mortals.
The night continued drunkenly, charmingly, and increasingly dangerously fun.
Luna, her cheeks rosy, her hair slightly disheveled, and her mischievous smile at its peak, slammed her empty glass down on the edge of the crystal table. "Waiter! Another one of these… with more glitter and less ice, please!"
The waiter nodded as if he were facing a goddess hungry for lunar nectar.
She then turned to Callen and pointed to the wide sofa. "Come sit here with me. I don't want my… runaway dancer… getting away that easily."
Callen hesitated.
His noble blood screamed for restraint, composure, and perhaps a breath of fresh air to gather his thoughts.
But Luna looked at him like a spoiled child looks at a baby rabbit.
He tried to maintain his composure. "I don't think so. You're already… quite excited."
She pouted. "Pleaseeeeeee, Callenzinho…" And she clasped her hands together as if casting a drunken princess spell.
Defeat.
Instantaneous.
Inevitable.
Callen snorted, smirking, and sat down on the couch.
The next second, Luna sat on his lap.
Not with lust.
But like someone who found the most comfortable seat on the planet and decided to curl up like a cat.
Callen froze.
One arm tried to keep a respectful distance.
The other floated without knowing where to land.
"L-Luna… this… is not appropriate."
She turned in his lap, staring at him with narrowed silver eyes. "I haven't looked the least bit proper since the second glass, Your Majesty."
And she rested her head on his shoulder, letting out a contented sigh.
The three friends, sitting opposite, burst into silent laughter.
Victoria rested her chin on her hand and murmured, "So good to see royalty being tamed in person."
Nikoly, ever analytical, said, "We should sell tickets."
Lumine just looked at Matthew with that look and said, "Matthew Solarius, you're surrounded. Accept it."
Luna lifted her head from his shoulder, staring at him with raised eyebrows. "…Matthew what?"
Matthew slowly closed his eyes, as if accepting imminent social death.
"...Matthew Solarius," Lumine repeated. "Crown Prince of the Land of the Phoenix."
Luna blinked. "What are you? A real PRINCE??"
"...On."
"...And you told me your name was Callen??"
Matthew tried to explain himself, but Luna placed a finger over his lips like a slightly altered romantic comedy heroine:
"Shhh… no. It's too late now. Now you're going to hear it."
She straightened in his lap, pointing theatrically. "You danced with me… let me ride you like a throne… and you lied about your name? WHAT else is a lie? You really dance? Are you really real? Is this Narnia???"
The friends broke down.
Matthew sighed, completely defeated. "I… use that name at parties to avoid attention. Security, protocol, that whole thing."
"Yeah," Luna said, arms folded in his lap. "And how many other drunk girls have you let fall for you using that trick, huh, Matthew Solarius of the Phoenix?"
"None," he replied sincerely. "You were the first."
Luna froze for half a second.
Then… he smiled. "Good answer, Your Majesty. Very good."
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and lay down again, hugging the prince as if he were a royal pillow.