The World Is Mine For The Taking-Chapter 1216 - 187 - The King Of Bethlan (5)

The man who was waiting for me was large—no, huge—the kind of burly that made you instinctively double-check your posture without realizing it. His frame was broad and solid, the sort that didn’t look bulky for show, but functional, like every inch of muscle had a purpose. His hair was stark white, standing out sharply against his tanned skin.

I couldn’t tell whether that color was natural or the result of time slowly bleaching it away.

Either way, it suited him far too well.

He wore a simple tunic paired with standard black pants. There was nothing flashy and nothing overly decorated. At first glance, it almost looked plain. Well, almost. But the longer I looked, the more obvious it became that the fabric itself was expensive. The cotton was smooth, well-stitched, and clearly high quality. This wasn’t something you picked up from a market stall on a whim.

You wouldn’t look at this man and think poor.

Not even close.

If anything, the simplicity of his clothing felt intentional, like he didn’t need to prove anything with excess. People who needed to show off usually weren’t confident enough to dress like this.

Looking at his stature alone, I could only guess that he had fought in countless battles, and somehow walked away without a single scar. Either that, or any wounds he’d taken were buried so deep beneath experience that they no longer showed on the surface.

He looked like the kind of warrior who ended fights before they truly began.

An absolutely exceptional one.

At least, that was my initial impression.

His posture was straight without being stiff and he was also relaxed without being careless. Every movement he made was economical and controlled, like he was always aware of his surroundings even when standing still. There was a presence about him and it was something very heavy, like something pressing down on the air around us.

It was authority.

Intimidation.

The kind that didn’t need to shout to be heard.

If I were weak, I would’ve crumbled just from standing there. Not metaphorically, either—I could already imagine someone’s legs giving out, knees hitting the ground before their brain caught up.

Fortunately, I wasn’t weak.

Still, I understood why others might be.

He was nothing like his daughter.

If his daughter was bright, bubbly, and expressive, this man was a storm cloud. Calm on the surface, but clearly capable of leveling everything if provoked. Where she radiated warmth, he radiated pressure.

Complete opposites.

"It’s an honor to finally meet you, Your Highness," I said, bowing politely.

I kept my movements respectful and not exaggerated. Overdoing it around someone like this would only make things worse.

"Oh?" he replied, one thick brow lifting slightly. "I didn’t know you recognized my face." His gaze sharpened, studying me. "Are you simply assuming I’m a king, or have you seen me before?"

Of course I had.

He was Titania’s father. The King of Bethlan. Even if I hadn’t met him personally, this world was slowly crawling toward modernity. Portraits, records, public appearances. I mean, information traveled.

Still, telling him outright that I recognized him felt like stepping on a landmine.

Especially when he already looked like he didn’t trust me.

"Well, it’s just based on assumption," I said carefully. "Given your posture and the way you carry yourself, even while wearing a disguise, it felt natural to think you might be royalty. I also heard from Nia that you were here, so... that kind of confirmed it."

The moment the name Nia left my mouth, his expression shifted.

Not violently and not dramatically.

Just enough to make the air feel colder.

"I never expected another man to speak her nickname," he said, his voice low, almost growling. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. Then he looked at me—really looked at me.

The stare was vicious.

If looks could kill, I wouldn’t have time to regret anything.

"I’ve heard about you from Nia," he continued. "She said you’re someone remarkable. Someone she looks up to."

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "Frankly, I believe she looks up to you more than she does me."

That one landed heavier than expected. To him, at least.

"You must be quite incredible," he went on, "to make my daughter admire you more than her own father."

"That’s probably just exaggeration, Your Highness," I replied calmly. "She likely said it just to make you jealous."

A risky comment.

But honesty wrapped in humor sometimes worked better than pure formality.

"You really know how to play with words," the knight beside him muttered, his tone rough and clearly irritated. His glare was sharp and predatory, like he wanted to jump at me and behead me on the spot. "As expected from the man who managed to snare the princess."

That look alone would’ve made most people flinch.

I didn’t.

The king’s attention remained fixed on me, and as expected, it was very heavy and unrelenting.

Up close, his presence was overwhelming. It wasn’t just authority. It was also the weight of someone who had ruled, commanded, and decided the fates of others for years. You didn’t need a crown to know he was a king.

It was written all over him.

"You’ve caught my interest," he said at last. "You’re involved with Nia. At the same time, you’re connected to the princess of this kingdom."

His voice was steady and very analytical. "Under normal circumstances, such a situation would be impossible, unless of course you’re acting with a plan."

I had to admit, his intuition was frighteningly sharp.

To deduce that much without any concrete evidence wasn’t just impressive. It was actually quite dangerous.

Still, this wasn’t the time to reveal anything.

Playing dumb wasn’t just an option. It was necessary at this point in time as well.

There was no reason to tell him the truth.

At least, not at this current point in time.

Even so, I had no illusions. A man like this would eventually piece everything together.

"Nothing," I said simply. "I just love Nia."

"Bullshit," he replied without hesitation.

"I disagree," I said, meeting his gaze. "My feelings for her are genuine."

He stared at me again, long and hard, before scoffing quietly.

"If you truly loved her, you wouldn’t pursue other women," he said. "What you’re saying contradicts itself."

That way of thinking was natural. Common, even.

Most men who surrounded themselves with multiple women didn’t love them equally. Some were favorites. Others were conveniences.

But that wasn’t how I saw it.

I didn’t rank them. I didn’t measure affection like currency.

I loved all of them equally.

Loving one more than another felt wrong—cheap, even.

"As someone who has never lived that way," he said slowly, "I could never understand such a thing."

I remembered hearing that he had only ever married one woman. Despite having the power, the status, and the freedom to take more, he chose not to.