“I can’t go out yet?”

Shaden moved in his seat. Eilae shook her head.

“The main guest must appear last,” she told him. “It will be the same for the other families. Each has brought lesser nobles with them, and they will appear after. There is a certain timing for these things.”

“So complicated. Seems unnecessary.”

“Appearances matter very much. It’ll become clearer once you read everyone’s emotions. There will be many. Try to keep a cool head.”

“That’s something I’m good at.”

He eyed himself in the mirror. “This is something else.” He raised his arms, feeling the clothing brush against his skin. “It’s as if the cloth is alive. What material is this? It reacts to my mana like—” He motioned to his silver bracelet.

“It’s the work of Lussi,” Eilae said proudly. “The cloth is weaved from a special fiber—material from the flora of Yrmar. Or so it would be normally. Yours is from the inner lands of Pflentum.”

“Pflentum? You mean where the dark elves live?”

Eilae nodded. “It’s not an easy material to come across. The clothing will shift to match your size, so it is an outfit for a lifetime. Do you like it?”

“I did choose from the designs,” Shaden said. “It’s wonderful.”

“Even eldest brother does not have one like it,” Eilae told him. “I hope our admiration for you comes through.”

“I’ll always be grateful. For you the most,” Shaden smiled. “You’re the closest friend that I have here.”

“But of course. You’ve known me the longest.”

Even longer than his friends in the waking world, Shaden thought. All others had come and gone. The Empire was a new experience, but being with Eilae seemed to give him some security. But if there was one thing that seemed off,

“Sometimes it feels like you’re not fully yourself,” Shaden said without much thought. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ve grown and I haven’t.”

Eilae glanced at her hands. “Does it seem that way? People change. That is inevitable. Do you not like change?”

“I have mixed feelings about it.” Shaden crossed his arms. “Like here. Here is nice. But the north? It did get better, but I wouldn’t want to go through it again.”

“Change is inevitable,” Eilae smiled, looking towards him. “You mustn’t cross your arms. It’ll wrinkle the cloth.”

“It’s magical, so no problem, right?”

“And it’s bad manners.”

“Ah, fine.”

Shaden sat upright while Eilae inspected his attire for the final time. After a final pat on his shoulder, she nodded, touching his cheek.

“You have an appearance anyone would long for,” she told him, “so be confident. When your heart falters, read mine.”

“I don’t think it will be that scary out there,” Shaden guessed. “It’s just a birthday party, right?”

“With many powerful and important individuals present,” Eilae reminded. “But yes…just a party.”

“I’ll do as I practiced.”

Eilae lowered her hand just as there was a knock on the door. “Enter,” she said, and Rose stepped in, bowing before them.

“They are ready to receive you,” she told them. “Please, follow me.”

“And so it begins,” Eilae smiled. Shaden thought he sensed a wisp of worry, but confidence overpowered all in her heart. “Shall we?”

Shaden nodded. “I just wanted to say you look great today,” he added as they walked out of the room, remembering that he hadn’t returned her compliment. “Well, you always have.”

“My beauty is breathtaking,” Eilae agreed. “But you mustn’t say such things to any lady.”

“Of course not.”

“But really, be careful of your words. I’ll be close by if you falter. All of us will be close by.”

“Proceed with absolute caution, got it.”

The commotion in the main hall was great, resounding through the building through vibrations bouncing off of the walls. But as his footsteps neared the curtain that separated the hall from the path he was walking on, the noise died down until only the faintest murmurs could be heard in his keen ears. He felt the air grow colder on his skin.

No circulation—for now, he decided, balling up a fist. Okay, maybe a little.

He’d been told that circulating within the court was a sign of weakness—proof that one couldn’t control one’s own body without mana’s help. But naturally, people did circulate. The key was not getting caught. But for the regular noble, circulating and containing one’s mana required much energy and concentration, and should one suddenly collapse due to exhaustion, they would become the laughingstock of the month, maybe the year. So, circulating only when needed was common sense. Intense emotion would leak mana as well.

Then there were times when people openly released their mana in a contest of wills. But such a thing wouldn’t happen during someone’s celebration. It was rude. A celebration was generally peaceful without the need for mana use. So things would be fine.

“My father believes you’re the incarnation of the goddess,” Eilae suddenly whispered in his ear. “But you’re just like me. Don’t be so nervous.”

Shaden cleared his throat. “I think I’ll circulate a little. Can you tell?”

“Hm. At least your emotions haven’t been wiped clean. No, I can’t tell. But others may. There are many accustomed to magic and those like my brother who are skilled in battle.”

“If a dragon couldn’t tell, I don’t think they will either,” Shaden shrugged.

Eilae’s eyes lit up. “Do you mean Prince Boren and Markendrath?”

Shaden thought back to the Guardian.

“Yeah, them,” he nodded.

Eilae wrapped her arms around his. When he looked at her, she grinned.

“Are you sure you want to go in like this?” Shaden asked. “I thought you were joking.”

“Well, it won’t hurt. We’re still children, after all,” Eilae chuckled. “You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s nice,” Shaden smiled. “Just don’t trip.”

“I’ve practiced walking much more than you have.”

The instruments began to play. Someone was speaking loudly into the crowd. Shaden took in a deep breath—and stepped in between the drawn curtains that revealed the blinding chandeliers.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

Compared to the rumors and prestige of the Veurbois that stretched far and wide across the Empire, the actual manor was underwhelming in the eyes of those who lived lavish lives, but many were already aware of the elegant frugality with which the great family carried themselves with. For every coin not spent on paintings, vases, or sculptures would be used elsewhere. Such appearances would never cause the nobility to underestimate the Veurbois. After all, many had, and they had paid with everything.

But history tended to repeat itself. At the center of the great hall stood a man who thought of himself as more intelligent than most, and he surveyed the room, eyes sliding over the servants, food, and decoration that didn’t quite satisfy him. There was a reason why he thought himself sufficient to judge the great family.

“They are declining, for certain,” Goita muttered to himself, taking a sip of wine that a servant had brought him. “Dark colors for a celebration? Hmm. Perhaps it is intentional.”

He called over a servant. “There is a certain sourness in this wine. Perhaps it has been left out for too long?”

The wine wasn’t bad. Rather, it was excellent.

“Apologies, my lord. We will see to it immediately,” the servant bowed, holding out his hand. Goita placed his cup on it, and the servant swiftly headed towards the back where he located the servant with the wine bottle. Talking to him quickly, the one with the bottle left the room, soon returning with a new bottle.

“Correct to the letter,” Goita muttered. At least the servants satisfied his expectations. The dishes were good as well, frequently being changed for hotter ones. It was the decorations that bothered him. Why so dark and plain?

He sat down on a comfortable seat to the side, gazing over the lesser nobles. While his two elder brothers would be speaking with whomever they could, he knew that his efforts would result in nothing. After all, he was the third son. But he still had some importance, being here representing the Dofleur name. He was still of use. And he would prove himself to be of use. Nitpicking a party was not the best way to do it, but he knew his name carried weight. If he found faults, it would taint the Veurbois’ name, and the others would use it to their advantage.

Besides, he’d arrived first. While the other big shots weren’t around, he was highest in name. Once the other families began to arrive, the attention would shift away from him, and he would likely observe the party from the back, keeping an ear out for information. He wondered who the other families would send. This was an obscure party with no secret letters. His family, having more important matters to tend to, had sent him. But the others?

Do not be rash. But do not be a coward, his father had warned him. Leave no room for weakness. Keep your mouth shut if you have nothing important to say. Trivial as the invitation may be, you are there as a representative.

He would have to hold back on the wine today. Getting drunk was no excuse, but a disaster. When the servant brought him a new cup with new wine, he waved it away regretfully. Now he sat alone. The lesser nobles of Louverie were there. From them, he could gain information about the current state of affairs of the Veurbois. But…it was bothersome.

“Lord Medis of Entamen has arrived!” a servant announced as the doors swung open. All gazes shifted to the entrance.

Goita’s face brightened. Finally, a familiar face. Pushing aside those who dared to get in his way (most moved before he touched them), he greeted Medis before anyone else, clasping hands in a firm handshake. Medis grinned.

“Why, I had a feeling that you would come,” Medis said as they walked among the lesser nobles. “You always had an eye out for celebrations.”

“You know the others are busy,” Goita replied in a low voice. “But it is good to see you. I assumed you had matters to tend to as well.”

“Ah, but this invitation was too peculiar to pass by,” Medis smiled. “A vague party with an invitation to the family itself, not to a lord or lady.”

“But too vague to be considered cardinal,” Goita muttered.

“Yes. It’s strange,” Medis agreed. “It’s almost as if they do not care who comes as long as someone is present.”

“To declare something.”

“Maybe. But this party does have an honored guest. It is, after all, a birthday party.”

“That’s what confuses me,” Goita sighed. “Who is this guest? Not one of the Veurbois. Nor of their marquesses, counts, or viscounts.”

“You did your research.”

“Barely. There were no informants to spare,” Goita snorted. “Rather, I would buy information from you.”

“I happen to know a little something about the guest,” Medis said.

Goita’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced around the room for prying eyes. Pulling Medis aside, he took them to the side of the room, giving hard looks at anyone who showed even the slightest sign of moving their way.

“Pity magic isn’t allowed,” Goita muttered.

“But if you don’t get caught,” Medis grinned. “Too afraid?”

“Too complicated for a small event such as this. Now, tell me. Who is this guest? Let me know the source of this commotion.”

Medis straightened his back. “He’s not in this room, not yet,” he said softly. “A boy not yet of age. Black hair, black eyes. Not someone you’d see around here.”

“A—boy?”

A deep frown came over Goita’s face, which he straightened right away. “Who is he?”

“Not a name you will recognize, and neither have I,” Medis answered. “A foreigner, likely. But speaking of peculiar foreign boys, have you heard of the genius mage of the Sixth Tower? Or the miracle worker of Arrow Wall? Surely many more individuals exist, and this must be one of them.”

“But to celebrate this openly? Would not a true genius be a threat? They will restrict him.”

“Or the boy could merely be a distraction.”

As they were talking, a servant stepped out of the entrance, holding his chest up high.

“Lord Bathar and Lady Cona of Tralan have arrived!”

The doors flung open, and two nobles with dark hair stepped into the area. A sudden quiet came over the room as numerous eyes fell upon the noble with black glasses and his youthful sister. A few nobles began to make their way towards them—Tralogan nobles whose domains were near Louverie—to exchange greetings.

“Him, of all people?” Goita breathed. “The Tralans must be out of their mind.”

“Their actions will decide on their intentions,” Medis whistled. “Etiquette-wise, it’s not that strange.”

Goita felt excitement slowly boil within his gut. Bathar was one whose contempt towards the Veurbois was not so hidden within the public realm. Him being sent here—was it provocation? The invitation had been fairly improper, after all. If the Veurbois displayed any weaknesses or blunders during the party, no doubt Bathar would latch onto them like a rabid wolf. Though…it was strange that he had been sent with his sister. Cona was known for her kindness. Was her purpose to hold Bathar back? Oh, he couldn’t wait to see what would happen.

“I thought I would be the most criticizing here,” Goita chuckled, “but I have been humbled. I now gladly stand as a spectator.”

“Will you speak to them?” Medis asked. “You must be closely acquainted with them.”

“They would not look at the third son under ordinary circumstances,” Goita replied. “They would humor me here. But I despise formality.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Medis grinned. “I will return.”

“Yes, yes, you must humor everyone,” Goita rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind me.”

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As Goita watched his friend go, he turned his eyes deeper into the room to see if the Veurbois had made their appearance. He’d spotted the eldest daughter talk to the servants here and there, but a formal reception hadn’t been made as of yet. Then again, the party had yet to begin. Still, the Veurbois were acting very passive—at least compared to what he’d learned. They were usually excellent listeners and speakers, always amidst the heat of the latest topic. But not today. Not today.

He’d forgotten how pleasantly talkative Medis could be. Watching him make Lady Cona smile, he felt some sullen mood nudge his stomach. Second sons always had a chance. Not the third son. If he was unlucky, this would be his last outing.

“Oh, distant farmland, here I come,” he sighed. “You there, bring me a glass of wine and something sour to chew on.”

The servant went off, and he began counting the seconds it would take for him to return. Rarely did those of the great families become servants and maids, but it had happened more than once. Would becoming a servant be better than being a farmer? But why a farmer in the first place? He could be a scribe, a shop owner a district manager.

Why is he looking at me with them?

He nodded to Medis who nodded to him. Lord Bathar and Lady Cona were staring at him. Medis motioned for him to come. How humiliating. Sometimes his friend’s actions had no consideration for one’s pride. But he would humor them.

Goita leisurely walked to them. Surprisingly, the lord and lady of Tralan bowed before him, and he hastily followed their example, wondering why they would show him prior respect. Ah, perhaps because he had walked there?

“Lord Goita,” Lord Bathar spoke, reaching out his hand. “It has been a while. I hadn’t noticed you until Lord Medis informed us.”

“Yes, I was planning to stay quiet,” Goita said weakly. “Unlike many here, I would hold no significance in the future.”

He nearly glared at Bathar, remembering how the man had completely ignored him during their last meeting. But he turned to Lady Cona, the beautiful maiden. “My lady, you’ve grown even fairer.”

“Likewise, Lord Goita,” Lady Cona answered. “Um. I meant more handsome. Apologies.”

Just as before, Lady Cona did not excel in her words or thoughts. But her innocent beauty was a weapon in itself.

“It would be an honor to be called fair by you,” Goita grinned. “Should you truly think that, I would be delighted to be invited to tea time with the ladies.”

“That—um, tea time? I did not know you—Lord Goita enjoyed tea?”

“It is an excellent hobby.”

“I—I see…”

Lady Cona turned to her brother with worried eyes. While Goita wanted to tease her more, Medis’s questioning eyebrows made him reconsider. After all, though he wouldn’t matter in the future, he was now here bearing his family crest. He would not make a joke out of the Dofleur name.

“I jest, my lady,” Goita said. “Men who enjoy tea are like daisies.”

“I…see?”

“I’m glad to see that you haven’t changed, Lord Goita,” Lord Bathar smiled. “You are every bit the same as you were before.”

“A man must stay true to himself lest he become a wretched snake,” Goita smiled back. “Or that’s what a wise man would say.”

“I would think you wise.”

“I would as well.”

Lady Cona gulped in the background.

“Now, now,” Medis interjected, patting Goita on the back. “We are not here to measure ourselves to each other. It’s a party!” He took one of the fruits that had arrived and bit into it, and his face twisted in agony. “The food here is—goodness, what is this?”

“Something sour to chew on,” Goita guessed, taking the glass of wine from the servant and a fruit. “It wakes you up. It is good for long, meaningless pleasantries.”

“Oh. May I try some?” Lady Cona asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Goita held in a laugh after Lady Cona winced, forcing her eyes shut. Seeing Bathar’s face twitch was exciting as well. Though it would be meaningless, his curiosity took over.

“Do you still find the Veurbois…lacking?” Goita asked in a low voice. “And for what purpose do you think this party was held?”

Medis gave him a worried glance, but Goita ignored it. Lord Bathar’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. His lips curled up.

“Perhaps we share the same goal today,” he said. “I do not want to cause a ruckus during such a joyous occasion. But standards must be met, don’t they, Lord Goita?”

“Yes, they must be,” Goita agreed. “Are you here to do something?”

“Who knows? Now, if you will excuse me, there are some acquaintances I must see to. Cona, come.”

“Yes, brother.”

After they’d left, Medis placed a hand on his shoulder. “Remember you represent your family,” he warned. Goita knew it was out of worry, but the older man’s words were not what he wanted to hear.

“Had they truly cared about this party, they would have sent another,” Goita snorted. “But what would an insignificant party do to affect our great wealth? Let the families plot against each other.”

“I simply wish you no trouble.”

“And I will have none. I wanted to stay quiet, remember?”

Medis sighed. “Then I will leave you alone. I didn’t realize you and Lord Bathar were on ill terms.”

“I wouldn’t call it ill. Merely annoying.”

“Hah, that does seem more like it.”

After Medis left, Goita went to the side once more with his glass of wine, letting out a deep sigh through his nostrils. Maybe he would make a conversation with a pretty lady from a poorer noble family. All he looked forward to now was the beginning of the party. He wished for conflict. Destruction! In all honesty, excitement for his boring life. All six great families would be coming, for goodness’ sake. Things would happen. Or it would be a waste of time.

“Lady Veila of Rvenruck—and behind her, Lord Beridas and Lady Enis of Pailas!”

Goita’s drink spewed through his mouth. Quickly, he wiped it before anyone could see it and threw his cup on a nearby table, getting to his feet. Had he heard that correctly? Not one—but two heirs? Not only that—but the Lady Veila?

The doors swung open, and a shining figure of gold stepped forward into the room. Behind her followed two brilliant figures in dark blue, their robes flowing behind them like water. But all eyes were on the golden lady whose skin was like the finest dragon bone. Her mere presence lighted the room. Even the lowest of nobles could sense the terrible power that came from the three individuals—but Lady Veila’s aura overwhelmed them all. Here was one who did not need tools or artifacts to wipe out everyone in the room. And many were adept practitioners of magic.

“And they came together?” Goita muttered. It was known that the two families, having deep roots in magic, were close—but to appear like this at a mere party? A mere boy’s party? Goita gulped. Something was going on under the shadows. He wished with every fiber in his body that his elder brothers be here instead of him. But reality said otherwise.

And of course, Medis was already on his way towards them. The two from Tralan as well. Four of the great families were gathering together. And him? His family would execute him if he remained in his seat. He would bring disgrace to their name, and the other nobles would begin to falsely theorize how the authority of the Dofleurs had been lessened to that of a common house, unable to mingle with the others.

I don’t want to be struck between them, he silently cursed. His existence, after all, much like Bathar could be taken as a sign of disrespect towards the Veurbois. He was the only third child to attend. But he was a Dofleur, was he not?

They were talking when he appeared before them, pausing to look at him.

“Why, what a pleasant surprise!” Goita exclaimed, followed by a slight nod. “Lady Veila. Lord Beridas and Lady Enis. I would prostrate myself, but sadly I’m here on behalf of my family. Goita of Dofleur, at your service.”

Lady Veila gave him the slightest of nods without the faintest smile. Lord Beridas made an expression that was between a smirk and a grin, his emerald eyes glimmering with amusement. Goita laughed nervously, but he didn’t show it.

“You must be well-trusted to come here bearing the crest of your household,” Lady Enis replied, gently slapping her fan on her palm. “For it is not a simple occasion when all six families come together.”

Goita wanted to vanish.

“We merely wished to be observers in this case,” Goita answered, placing a respectful hand on his chest. “After all, should we face change, the Empire would lose its appetite.”

Lord Bathar’s eyes narrowed. No one else batted an eye. With a flick of her wrist, Lady Enis unfolded her fan, covering everything below her eyes with it. Goita’s heart froze—but a commotion at the entrance told him that it wasn’t because of him.

“So they’ve come,” Lord Beridas said.

Goita couldn’t feel anything. But then the faintest crack appeared in the door, and invisible fingers of cold iron brushed across his very soul. His breath stopped momentarily.

A smack on his back brought him back. It was from Medis.

“Circulate lest you faint,” he warned.

Goita nodded. Now wasn’t the time to be prideful. He began to move his mana, and the air became a bit more bearable.

What appeared next shocked him even more than Lady Veila’s appearance.

The room visibly darkened when two figures stepped into the great hall. The first, a fair lady; the second, her younger sister. Both had hair more brilliant than the stars, and their beautiful white dresses hinted towards their heavenly nature. Their beauty rivaled Lady Veila’s—or perhaps it was greater?

He heard Lady Cona gasp. He knew he would have done the same had he not prepared himself. For behind the ladies followed two dragons, one larger than the other, but both magnificent and terrifying to gaze upon. One dragon looked straight towards them, and Goita felt the urge to jump out the window.

“Maroeth, stop it!” the younger girl scolded. “We’re guests here.”

Immediately, the pressure of power lifted from the room, and Goita found himself able to breathe properly again. He glanced towards Medis, who was smiling gleefully.

There had been no introduction for them. But everyone in the room knew of their names. Princess Rayel and Princess Valencia, followed by their escorts—an exception for those of royal blood. The divine daughters of Melern—and their dragons.

Well, by my father’s beard, he cursed. What am I doing here?

A thunderous clap snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked towards its source—an older man in a dark suit, silver-grey hair and eyes that seemed to look beyond himself. Around him, his sons and daughters. None other than the head of the Veurbois himself—Esel Veurbois. He seemed…less intimidating than he’d imagined him to be.

“We have kept you waiting,” he announced, spreading his arms, “but now, the hour has arrived. Futures of the Empire, I welcome you.”

As was custom, all of them—including the heirs of the other families—lowered their heads. Goita did as well. All except the princesses of Melern.

“Honored guests from afar, I welcome you,” Esel greeted the princesses. They curtsied in return.

“You must be wondering why such an occasion has arisen,” Esel began. “You are all here on behalf of your families, to see and listen and report what you have experienced. But today is not such a tiresome day. Today is a moment to rest and celebrate! Eat, drink, talk, and enjoy with lightheartedness.”

Clapping filled the room from corner to corner. Goita frowned. Was this what everything was really about?

“Our family has been filled with joy,” Esel continued, “for promised love has come to us. I present to you the honored guest of this situation. For him, I would give my life.”

“...huh?”

Goita glanced at Medis. The man looked shocked as well. He looked at Lady Veila. Her face was that of iron. He looked back towards the front. The faces of the Veurbois were fixed and serene like that of dolls.

Had the Head of the Veurbois uttered a vow of allegiance?

Esel smiled. “Would you not give your lives up for your loved ones? Heed my words—he is dear to us.”

No one uttered a word. The air was as quiet as it could be. Had someone cast deafening magic? Goita felt a bead of sweat roll down his back.

Then he heard distant footsteps approaching from the upper entrance of the room. The curtains were drawn, and a beautiful girl stepped out. Goita raised an eyebrow. Was that not one of the Veurbois?

The girl reached into the curtains with her hand. When she moved, a boy followed behind her. Goita heard audible gasps from around the room. He could understand. The boy looked too perfect. Ethereal, similar to the princesses of Melern. But…that was all. He exuded no great aura like the greater nobles or the princesses but rather, was too unnoticeable. His footsteps were not audible. Perhaps he was too far away?

“Here is Shaden—and today is his birthday,” Esel spoke.

The boy looked around the crowd. He smiled, bowing.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said. “I hope you have a great time.”

So, Medis had been right. But that was still not enough information. Had he been the firstborn or the secondborn of his family, he might have been irritated for wasting his time on someone so insignificant and obscure. Why, perhaps he was a little annoyed. And worried. He couldn’t tell what the other nobles of the great families were thinking.

The sound of shattering glass suddenly filled the uncomfortable silence of the room. Goita watched with disbelief as the younger princess of Melern stood there shaking while her dragon lay curled up on the floor, head down. Her elder sister was clutching onto her arm, her dragon curled up in the same way. Their knights were already rushing towards them, hands on their weapons, ready to draw.

Goita’s jaw dropped. Poison? Had they been poisoned? He felt a dangerous tension rising in the room as nobles glanced uncomfortably at each other. Had the princesses truly been harmed within the estate of a Great Family, it would lead to one thing—war.

Goita truly wished that his brothers were here instead of him.

⤙ ◯ ⤚

A great noble’s party was an opportunity.

Mainly spending time within the capital of Astramilieu as a courtesy by the Emperor himself, Rayel and her sister had never experienced much of the other regions. Her advisors had warned her not to get involved with the Empire’s politics as their mere presence could send unintended messages to potential enemies. The King, her father, had told her the same. Remain within Astramilieu for their safety.

She and her sister, after all, were students—not tourists. That had been her wish. So when an invitation had arrived from the Veurbois, as excited as she had been, she’d brushed it aside without much thought. Her studies would be more important, after all.

That is, had certain messenger not arrived from Melern. She recognized his mark—one of the Reapers. He’d brought with him a sealed scroll from her brother.

“His Majesty has allowed freedom,” the scroll had informed her, complete with the magic seal of assurance. “You’ll find quite a surprise if you decide to go to a certain Veurbois birthday invitation. The boy you’ll meet will tell you a secret that must be kept a secret. But it isn’t a negative message. Safe travels, dearest sisters.”

She’d wanted to contact him through magic. But upon obtaining a connection, Boren had simply shaken his head.

“If anything, he deserves to tell you,” Boren had said. “Now, I’ve been quite busy preparing for the future. Tell Valencia I said hello.”

Her brother was frequently like this. He was vague, playful, and dismissive on matters he did not care to explain. But the message had piqued her curiosity. Why had her father suddenly allowed her and her sister to travel? Also—her brother was preparing for the future?

“It’s rather strange,” her sister had agreed. “But why not go? You’ve always wanted to venture.”

Valencia was right. She did want to venture. Twenty-one years she’d been caged within Melern. She wanted to see the world. So, hiring the best stylists and designers in the country, she’d arranged the perfect outfits for her sister and herself, an ocean of excitement bubbling inside of her. Even at her educational institute, making friends had been difficult. She’d rejected all invitations, after all. Now would be the perfect chance to share small talk with others. Take part in gossip and drama! Oh, how wonderful it would be.

But what was this?

Had she been fooled?

What was this presence before her?

She knew it very well; it made her instincts screen in terror. The moment she set eyes on the boy, her spirit called her to submit, to prostrate herself before the mighty being. Mariel and Maroeth, their kindred, were already on the floor in capitulation. She and Valencia, being human, had their wills, but being connected to their dragons, felt the fear entirely.

Dragon fear.

“My lady!” her knight—Willem—cried out.

Valencia fell on her knees when the boy took a step towards them. Rayel gritted her teeth and did all she could from whimpering. Her knights were already surrounding them in alarm, and all around her was a commotion. But she couldn’t speak. She knew she wouldn’t be able to until the boy let her.

But he seemed oblivious, taking another step. She heard a blade being drawn.

“Oh. Oh!”

The boy’s face burst into realization as he yanked something from his neck, putting it into his pocket. Immediately, the terrible aura vanished from him.

“I’m so sorry about that,” the boy called out, all eyes on him as he casually walked towards them, hands stretched. Her knights pulled their weapons out further, and the boy stopped. He looked worried.

“You’ll explain this at once!” Willem demanded, hand on his hilt. Rayel knew that if he drew his blade, someone’s head would drop at that very moment.

“Stand down,” Rayel told the knights, waving her hand. “Escort my sister to a quieter place.”

She saw the Veurbois girl reach the boy to whisper in his ear. He said something back, and she nodded, looking back to her father. Through Mariel, she sensed small wisps of mana in between them, but it wasn’t a means for a spell.

“Are you okay?” the boy asked once more. “I didn’t mean any harm. Please, the servants will guide you to a room where you can rest. Rose!”

A red-haired maid appeared next to him. “Will you escort them to the guest room?”

“With all pleasure,” the pretty maid nodded. “Please, this way.”

“Wait,” Rayel breathed. She’d already collected herself. “You will have to explain this.”

“I was sure Boren had told you,” the boy said quietly, glancing at the Veurbois girl.

“I mean no disrespect, but now is not the time,” the girl spoke softly. “The celebration must proceed. Shaden, will you not explain to them later?”

A flare of anger rose deep within the princess, but she would not make a fool out of herself any further. The boy would use her brother’s name so easily, and they would dismiss them like this? Her eyes inspected the back of the room where Esel Veurbois remained standing, hands on the balustrade. Was the man smiling? He did not attempt to apologize or remediate the situation but simply watched. His eyes were unwavering.

“Yes,” the boy agreed. “Again, I didn’t think it would be so…strong. Er, no harm intended.”

Rayel raised an irritated eyebrow. “Strong?”

“I promise I will tell you everything,” the boy promised. “I…was hoping we could meet more peacefully.”

Around them, the initial panic was breaking apart into whispers and murmurs. Even without looking, she could hear their snickers. Those of the Empire were many in variety, and among them were tasteless gossipers and insufferable slanderers. She’d learned with difficulty.

“You will explain,” she said audibly.

“I will,” the boy nodded.

Following the maid out of the room, she held back tears and prevented herself from gritting her teeth. So much for the grand entrance. They’d made a fool out of themselves, and the news would be all over the world within days, if not hours. Whoever the boy was, she’d make him answer for his crimes. What dreadful magic he had incurred.

“Brother, you liar,” Rayel sniffed. “What good news could he possibly bring?”

Beside her, Valencia was wiping her tears, her knights eager to give them their handkerchiefs. Their connection with their kindred made them immune to mental instability, but the boy’s appearance had done something to Mariel and Maroeth.

It cannot be, Mariel whispered to her. Why would a boy have such a thing?

Indeed, why would he? She was wary of the boy. Had her father and the Guardian sent him to warn her that she and Valencia were not truly free? To remember that they must return? And Boren had agreed to this? Why? They hadn’t done anything to displease the king. And how were the Veurbois involved in all of this?

“I’m worried, Willem,” she told her knight. “Something is happening, and I don’t know what it is.”

“We will protect you through it all, my lady,” Willem promised. “Not a single hair on your head will be harmed.”

Rayel wanted to cry. But she was the princess whom all of Melern looked up to. She would not falter. She would not lose heart. She would uncover who the boy was and what his purpose was.

“Shaden,” she whispered. “I won’t forget that name.”