Lysander sank into a plus velvet couch with a regal posture despite the casual air he exuded. The rich scent of cigars and fine wine mingled with the faint floral undertones of the ballroom beyond, yet none of it masked the tension between him and the man who sat stiffly at his side.

The man cut an imposing figure, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of a well-tailored black and white striped suit. His black hair, neatly slicked back, contrasted with the network of scars that marred his sharp, weathered features. A jagged mark ran from the corner of his brow down to his jawline, lending a grim weight to his otherwise disciplined expression.

But despite the man's intimidating appearance, Lysander extended a cigar toward him. The man hesitated, hawkish eyes narrowing as if weighing the gesture before finally accepting.

A flicker of disdain crossed Lysander’s thoughts, though his expression remained one of composed charm. So predictable, a snake that never learned to shed its skin.

The man leaned back slightly, lighting the cigar with a practiced hand. The smoke curled upward, blending into the faint haze of the room. "Why the sudden desire to meet, Lysander?"

Lysander chuckled as he raised his own cigar to his lips. The ember glowed briefly as he inhaled, the earthy flavor mingling with the satisfaction blooming in his chest. Exhaling a plume of smoke, he tilted his head before speaking. "Surely you’ve heard the, Merrick. A certain... incident involving your youngest boy, Remus?"

Merrick chuckled as he flicked ash into the crystal tray between them. “Oh, Lysander, you’re not fooling anyone. Of course, you knew what would happen the moment you sent Natasha into the fray with that boy shadowing her. You practically gift-wrapped the opportunity for Remus to embarrass himself.”

Lysander’s smile widened, his sharp features bathed in the soft, amber glow of the nearby fireplace. He rested his elbow on the arm of the couch, cigar perched between two fingers as he took another deliberate puff, then exhaled. “Naturally, I knew. But, humor me, what do you think of Remus’ little outburst?”

“What do I think? I think the brat isn’t worth losing sleep over. He’s hot-headed, reckless, and frankly, an embarrassment more often than not. Romulus is where the future of the Blythe's lies, Remus is just there to fill space, if you will.”

“Ah, the spare. A role as old as time itself. I suppose that leaves you with fewer headaches, doesn’t it? No pressure to refine him, no need to hold him accountable for his mistakes.”

“Then tell me, what would you have done?"

"I'd teach him discipline at the very least. A boy his age should at least know to be humble, greenhorn's wont last long with an inflated ego."

"So what? Remus is still a Blythe in the end, he should know his place in the world and use it to his advantage. I'd be more embarrassed of him if he just rolled over and let people step on him."

"And there's a line between pride and foolishness."

"Careful with your words, Lysander. Only I get to call my sons foolish."

A servant soon entered the room, her polished heels tapping softly against the marble floor. She carried a silver platter laden with fresh cigars and a decanter of what Lysander recognized as one of Merrick’s finer brandies alongside some wine glasses.

She filled their glasses without a word before retreating as quietly as she had come. Lysander’s gaze followed her for a moment before returning to Merrick, the faintest smirk curling his lips.

“The world is a brutal place, my friend. Your suns will have a hard time if they don't know humility."

Merrick leaned back, the cigar dangling loosely between his fingers. Smoke curled from its ember, twisting lazily toward the ceiling. “Ah, yes. The great Lysander Whitewynn, paragon of humility. Tell me, then. How do you reconcile your... activities with your moral grandstanding?"

Lysander chuckled, his gaze sharpening as he leaned forward, the glint in his eye matching the shine of the gemstones on his rings. “I believe that principles matter, no matter who you are. There are certain rules even enterprising men such as us must follow."

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"Easy for you to say, rules are only ever enforced by the strong anyway. The Blythe's have power in South Tusk, just as the Whitewynn's do, we get to set the rules, Lysander, and you know it."

"And that is why, Merrick, it's important for us to maintain a degree of stability. In fact, I value peace so much that I'm willing to speak to you one on one, just in case."

"In case of what? Did you really think I was going to make a scene because Remus made a fool of himself?"

"I just thought it was a possibility."

"Then don't worry, I would never escalate things unnecessarily… unless it benefits my household, of course."

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, tempered only by the quiet crackle of the fireplace and the muted hum of the ballroom beyond. For a moment, neither man spoke. Then, Merrick leaned back, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

“You’re insufferable, Lysander.”

“And you’re a hypocrite, Merrick.”

The laughter that followed was bitter, shared only because both men knew it was true. Lysander lifted his glass and tilted it toward Merrick in a mockingly solemn toast. Merrick mirrored the gesture, though his lips curled into a wry grin as their glasses met with a soft clink. And for a moment, they sipped in silence.

“That boy, the one sticking to Natasha earlier. Who is he?” Merrick asked, finally breaking the silence.

Lysander’s gaze flicked toward Merrick as he swirled the contents of his glass. He allowed the question to hang in the air for a moment before answering. “His name is Adrian.”

“Adrian… a common enough name. But I doubt he’s a common boy. Not if he’s caught your interest.”

“Indeed, he is far from ordinary. Adrian is... unique. A talent worth nurturing.”

Merrick leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he scrutinized Lysander. “Unique how? I know you too well to believe this is mere altruism. What’s your angle?"

The glint in Lysander’s eye sharpened, though his smile remained firmly in place. “My dear friend, not every decision I make is driven by self-interest.” He paused, letting the words settle before adding with a smirk, “Though it often works out that way, doesn’t it?”

Merrick’s laugh was a short, sharp bark. “Spare me the theatrics. You’re always playing the long game. So what’s the end goal this time?”

Lysander set his glass down. “Adrian has potential, and a whole lot of it. I won't get into specifics, but a boy like that, with the right direction, could shape the balance of power in ways most can’t even begin to fathom.”

“And where does Natasha fit into this equation? Don’t tell me you’re throwing your own daughter into the mix for some grand scheme.”

“Natasha seems to enjoy his company, that's all."

Merrick raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"Indeed, you're free to believe or not believe me. It doesn't matter." Lysander said.

“And the Mourne? Are they part of this as well? Or should I say, is this boy part of their plan?”

“I don’t take my orders from the Mourne, Merrick. Whatever ties I have to them are purely transactional. You of all people should understand that.”

“Transactional,” Merrick repeated with a scoff, eyes narrowing. “Don’t act so high and mighty. You’re tied to them as much as I am, maybe more."

"That's simply your opinion, you're free to believe what you wish, but don't conflate your beliefs with facts."

The room grew heavier, the faint crackle of the fireplace filling the pause in their conversation. A servant slipped in, refilling their glasses before retreating as silently as she had entered. Neither man acknowledged her presence, their focus locked on each other.

“The Mourne,” Merrick muttered, leaning back in his chair and then taking a puff from his cigar. “What a mess they are. Half the time, you don’t even know who you’re dealing with. One faction works for one master, another for someone else entirely.”

Lysander inclined his head slightly. “Their... disorganization keeps them from becoming a true threat. And yet, they’re capable of remarkable things when properly directed.”

“That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? Nobody knows who’s pulling the strings, or if anyone even is. For all we know, you’re playing right into their hands.” Merrick said.

Lysander’s smile stretched wider, sharp and precise. “I might be, but I’m a man who never makes losing bets.”

Merrick leaned back slightly, the embers of his cigar flaring as he took a slow draw. He exhaled a plume of smoke, letting the silence settle between them before speaking. “You’re a dangerous man, Lysander."

The corner of Lysander’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile but an acknowledgment. He reclined in the velvet embrace of the couch, the cool weight of his glass resting against his fingertips.

Neither man spoke, the silence filled only by the soft crackle of the cigar and the distant murmur of the ballroom beyond. Lysander’s gaze never wavered, though his mind worked with relentless precision, cataloging every detail of Merrick’s posture, his tone, his hesitations. He doesn’t trust me, but he’s too smart to show his hand. Good. That makes him useful.

Finally, Lysander lifted his glass. “To peace, Merrick, however fleeting it may be.”

Merrick’s dark eyes flicked to the glass, then back to Lysander’s face. He hesitated, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The tension in his shoulders loosened just enough to reveal a thread of reluctant camaraderie. “May we both manage it a little longer.”