Danarre stood before the polished mirror in his small suite, breathing slowly, carefully. The bandages were gone, replaced by the faint imprint of healing bruises beneath his simple linen shirt.
Aveline had chosen his attire tonight: no embroidery, no family crest, just a plain, high-collared tunic in a deep green shade and dark trousers. Nothing ostentatious that might draw envy or contempt from siblings who watched him too closely.
Nothing too humble that would mark him as weak.
"Breathe," Aveline whispered behind him, her voice low. "If you look nervous, they will smell it."
He nodded. He did not need her reminder, but he appreciated it anyway.
The day after the healing ward, he had tested walking and found no twinges of agony, just a dull ache. Now, on the evening of this small family dinner that Hendric had called, Danarre felt that ache shift from physical to something more intangible, tension coiled in his chest.
So much had changed after the assassin's attempt. He had survived, and that fact alone altered the household's dynamics.
"Let's go," Danarre said quietly. Aveline slipped past him to open the door.
Outside, the corridor seemed brighter than usual. Torches burned evenly spaced along the walls, and guards stood at every junction, far more than he'd ever seen before.
They were alert, steel helms polished, hands resting near sword hilts. He didn't recognize some faces; perhaps Hendric had brought in more loyal blades, men and women from trusted sources.
The halls, once hushed, now hummed with a steady undercurrent of vigilance.
Aveline walked half a step ahead of Danarre, guiding him with the subtle care of someone who knew these corridors by heart. She'd been in the household long before Danarre could form words, a quiet presence who understood the importance of propriety.
Tonight, she wore a simple dark dress, no jewelry, her posture stiff. She was as on guard as the soldiers.
As they passed a corner leading to the grand staircase, Danarre caught a glimpse of two older servants whispering to each other. They saw him and fell silent immediately.
He noticed how their eyes lingered on him for just a fraction too long. They knew.
The whole estate knew about the assassin and this boy who should have died but did not. Rumors, likely wild and distorted, must be circulating: that he had magic protections, that he'd killed the intruder himself, that the patriarch now watched him differently.
Danarre kept walking, ignoring their stares. Let them wonder.
When they reached the double doors of the dining hall, two guards stood at attention. At a nod from Aveline, they stepped aside to open the doors with measured precision.
A soft glow spilled out, warm candlelight reflecting on polished wood and stone. The scent of roasted meats, herbs, and fresh bread teased Danarre's nostrils, enough to stir his appetite, but he knew better than to appear greedy in front of Hendric and his siblings.
Aveline touched his shoulder lightly, a silent show of support, before stepping back into the position of a servant who was not meant to sit at the family's table. Danarre straightened his posture, entered, and took in the room at a glance.
It was a long table, not the largest one the estate possessed, but still grand enough. A deep red tablecloth draped down its sides, and silverware and goblets gleamed under candlelight.
Several siblings were already seated, all in their designated spots. A hush fell as Danarre stepped in, though they pretended to continue their subdued conversations.
He noticed Emiline first, as she gave him a polite nod. Her expression was neutral, but she'd once brought him flowers in the healing ward.
That small kindness set her apart. Beside her, Alberic leaned back slightly, arms almost crossed, his eyes barely registering Danarre's presence, detached, perhaps curious, but not openly hostile.
Marleine allowed herself a faint smirk as their gazes met. That smirk could mean anything, amusement, ridicule, or a secret acknowledgment that he had survived something deadly.
Armond and Leonard were harder to read. They had the cool composure expected of older sons who'd weathered many storms in this household.
Marian and Vera watched him with eyes that weighed and measured. Marian's gaze flicked from Danarre's chest, where the assassin's blade must have struck, to his face, as if assessing how close he'd come to death.
Vera's gaze was more like a hawk: sharp, analytic, ready to catch a slip.
Danarre bowed slightly, just enough to convey respect but not subservience. There were no empty words exchanged.
He approached the end of the table where a small, child-sized chair awaited him. Clearly someone had arranged it so he wouldn't appear too small, too weak.
Or perhaps so he wouldn't feel too comfortable. Everything in this house had a purpose.
He took his seat, noting the heightened presence of servants moving around the table: more than usual, some holding trays, others pouring watered wine. The hum of conversation resumed, low and measured.
He picked up fragments: "Academy schedules... budgets... the new set of instructors..." Words that meant the wheel of their world kept turning despite attempts at murder.
Hendric had not yet arrived. This was typical.
The patriarch always made an entrance, and everyone waited for him. Danarre let his eyes drift from face to face, searching for tension at the mention of his presence.
Emiline's features remained neutral, though he sensed a mild relief, as if glad he'd recovered. Alberic's posture betrayed nothing.
Marleine tapped her finger lightly against the table, a rhythm that might be impatience or amusement. Armond and Leonard spoke quietly to each other in low tones, not including anyone else.
Marian sipped from her goblet, looking thoughtful. Vera pretended to focus on adjusting her napkin, but Danarre caught her stealing a sidelong glance at him again.
A sudden hush blanketed the room. Danarre felt it before the door swung open: a pressure, a presence that pushed thoughts to the edges of his mind.
Hendric de Blaise entered.
The patriarch wore a tailored coat of deep midnight blue, trimmed with silver thread that curled into lightning motifs at the cuffs. He strode with measured steps, no haste, and his eyes swept the table.
In that moment, Danarre couldn't help but sense the aura Hendric carried. It was not visible lightning, not a burst of magic, but the weight of authority honed by decades of command and dominance.
Everyone sat straighter. A servant rushed forward to pull out Hendric's chair at the head of the table.
Hendric sat, steepling his fingers. A servant poured a dark wine into his goblet.
For a long moment, he said nothing, letting silence coil around them. Danarre didn't dare shift his posture.
He could feel his heartbeat in his throat. The assassin's shadow lingered in his memory.
Hendric's aura seemed to say: "I control this domain. Any who challenge it will break."
Finally, Hendric spoke: "A fine evening."
His voice was calm, unhurried. The siblings murmured agreement, each acknowledging his greeting in their own subdued ways.
Hendric took a sip of wine. His eyes drifted over each child's face, lingering on Danarre for just a fraction longer than on the others.
No mention of the assassin. Not directly.
But Danarre caught a subtle hint in the patriarch's next words: "We have endured unexpected trials of late. Such events test a household's strength... and resilience."
Resilience. Strength. Danarre knew this was a nod to him, to surviving.
If any sibling doubted that Danarre's survival had caught Hendric's attention, that doubt must have faded now. Hendric's gaze slid away, focusing on the main course placed before him, roast pheasant with a glaze that smelled faintly of spices.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Plates were served. Danarre received a smaller portion, simple cuts of meat and a slice of bread.
He picked at it methodically. The bitterness of medicinal herbs still clung to his memory; this meal, while rich, turned slightly sour under the tension.
Conversations resumed, guided by Hendric's subtle cues. He asked Armond about the progress of advanced sword drills with lightning infusion.
Armond answered in measured tones, describing new training regimens, improved strike speeds. Hendric nodded, pleased but not effusive.
He turned to Marian, inquiring about healing arts studies. Marian outlined a new spell to reduce bleeding time by half.
Hendric approved of her continued improvement, but his praise remained muted.
Vera mentioned receiving updated magical theory scrolls from a distant aunt, one from the Senate Branch, no less. That mention introduced a slight chill in the room.
Hendric said nothing openly negative, but Danarre sensed everyone's discomfort. The Senate Branch was rumored to have political ambitions that clashed with Hendric's iron rule.
Danarre's assassination attempt could have been linked to them. In that moment, Danarre watched closely.
Which siblings stiffened at the mention of distant cousins? Which ones narrowed their eyes?
Emiline's posture straightened, her knuckles tightening briefly on her goblet. Marian lowered her eyes to her plate.
Leonard's jaw tensed almost imperceptibly. Alberic glanced at Hendric, searching for a reaction.
Marleine's smirk vanished. Armond kept his eyes forward, controlled.
Vera, having introduced the topic, wore a mildly curious expression, as if testing the room's temperature.
Hendric did not lash out. Instead, he offered a soft hum.
"The Senate Branch has many documents and resources. Not all are valuable." He paused. "We must be discerning."
Danarre noted the dismissive tone. A subtle reminder: The Senate Branch is watched, and their influence may not be welcomed.
Hendric steered the conversation toward the upcoming academy training schedules. "The academy," he began, his voice cutting clearly through the quiet murmurs, "will soon conduct preliminary evaluations for all who wish to study its higher disciplines. This household will produce candidates. Some of you are old enough to consider entrance exams. Others," and here, his gaze flicked to Danarre for a heartbeat, "are younger, but might prove ready sooner than expected."
Alberic cleared his throat. "Father, the academy's standards have grown strict. Some say they've introduced new aptitude tests."
Hendric nodded. "They have. The instructors at the academy do not suffer the weak or the ill-prepared.
This is necessary. The world beyond these walls is not forgiving."
Danarre kept silent, absorbing the words. If Hendric intended for Danarre to enter the academy earlier than his siblings once believed possible, it meant he saw potential.
It also meant more pressure, more watchful eyes waiting for him to fail. He ate another small bite of meat, careful to keep his face neutral.
Emiline spoke up, voice gentle but firm. "There are rumors, Father, that some distant cousins, those tied to the Senate Branch, may try to influence which candidates the academy selects. They might attempt to block certain entrants or offer bribes."
Hendric's gaze fell upon Emiline, and she held it without flinching. "Such attempts," he said quietly, "would be... unwise."
No one doubted the threat behind those words. It was a quiet knife laid on the table: interfere with the patriarch's chosen candidates, and suffer the consequences.
Danarre turned this over in his mind. He wondered if the assassin's presence had been some clumsy attempt at preventing future competition in the academy.
Perhaps someone thought eliminating a promising child before he even stepped into that larger arena would secure their own position. Danarre reminded himself to stay vigilant.
As servants refilled goblets and brought a second course, some root vegetables in a light sauce, Hendric addressed the table at large. "Discipline and skill are not negotiable. Each of you will face aptitude tests within this estate before any of you set foot in the academy's halls. I will see your progress measured by strict standards, and no child of House de Blaise will receive special treatment."
His voice settled over them like a heavy cloak. The implication was clear: Danarre, despite being young and recently surviving an attempt on his life, would receive no leniency.
Nor would Emiline, or Alberic, or any of the rest. Weakness would be exposed; failings would be punished, or at least recognized.
Danarre finally allowed himself a quiet nod, not rising to speak, but showing that he understood. He was not here to seek pity.
He had survived an assassin, good. Now he must thrive in tests set by someone even more dangerous: Hendric himself.
Marleine's smirk returned. Perhaps she found entertainment in this situation.
She asked, "Father, these aptitude tests, will they measure more than just sword skill and magic? The academy sometimes values strategy, negotiation, and other talents."
Hendric considered this. "Certainly. I will not limit your evaluations to raw combat.
Strategy, problem-solving, discipline in study, all matter." He let the words hang, then added, "If anyone thinks they can excel by force alone, they will soon be disappointed."
Marleine inclined her head, as if satisfied. Danarre noted her interest; maybe she considered herself strong in the less direct arts, or perhaps she simply wanted to know how to exploit the tests.
Leonard spoke briefly, asking about the timing. "When do you intend these aptitude evaluations to occur, Father?"
Hendric took another sip of wine, his expression thoughtful. "Within the next few weeks. Specific dates will be announced with little warning.
Preparedness is constant, no excuses."
A ripple of tension traveled around the table. No one complained aloud.
They knew better. Complaints would only show fear or lack of readiness.
As the meal continued, servants brought out small portions of spiced greens, thin slices of cured meat, and flaky pastries. Danarre ate sparingly.
He watched the siblings, looking for subtle signs: the way Vera's fingers drummed on the table when the Senate Branch was mentioned, the tightness around Marian's eyes when healing was discussed. He watched Emiline's composed face and wondered what she truly wanted.
Alberic's detached manner intrigued him; was it true detachment or a mask? Armond and Leonard shared a quiet exchange of looks, perhaps about the upcoming tests, perhaps something else entirely.
Hendric gave no outward indication that he noticed these small frictions. His control over the atmosphere was absolute.
He dominated the room not by shouting or direct threats, but by simply existing, every word and silence was calculated. He did not bring up the assassination attempt again, not openly.
Yet Danarre felt that everyone understood the subtext: one child had endured a brush with death, and Hendric had not cast him aside. Instead, he had brought this child to the table, allowed him to sit and eat, and now demanded that he prove himself further.
In House de Blaise, that was a kind of grim respect.
Danarre caught Marian's gaze again, and she inclined her head by a fraction. He wasn't sure what it meant, acknowledgment of his recovery?
Recognition that he'd survived something brutal? Or a warning that healing arts could not always save him if this happened again?
The conversation shifted to subtle political rumors: distant lands testing the kingdom's borders, rival noble houses investing in new elements of magic, dungeons rumored to have awakened deeper in the wilderness. Hendric spoke of these matters in broad strokes, not revealing much of what he thought, but ensuring his children knew the world outside would not remain static.
Allies, enemies, and unknown factors all loomed. Such knowledge was never given freely; it served as a reminder that their personal struggles here were just a microcosm of larger conflicts.
Eventually, some of them would face dangers far greater than an assassin in the night.
Danarre listened intently. Each rumor and hint of strife sharpened his understanding: strength, cunning, and preparation were everything.
If someone found him a threat now, it would only intensify once he stepped onto bigger stages, like the academy or beyond. He would need not only to survive but to excel.
Hendric's eyes narrowed slightly as he mentioned "internal factions" and "distant cousins" who might benefit from the weakness shown by a breach in security. "But," he said, "we will not show weakness again. The guard rotations have been doubled, wards strengthened. Any further attempt to test our patience will be met harshly."
Danarre thought of the assassin who lay dead or disposed of, and of the conspirators who must have arranged that attack. He wondered if they were sweating under Hendric's heavy hand now.
Good. Let them fear.
The dinner began to wind down. Servants cleared plates, brought a final selection of fruits and a mild cheese.
Danarre took a small slice, his appetite never fully leaving but his nerves still taut. He kept his gaze lowered, watching everything from beneath half-lidded eyes.
This was a skill he'd learned in a past life, observing without drawing attention.
Hendric allowed a brief lull in conversation, then placed his goblet down with a soft clink. The sound, though quiet, commanded attention.
Everyone looked to him.
"In the coming weeks," Hendric said, voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of steel, "I will oversee a series of aptitude tests. Each of you will be evaluated, no exceptions. Those who excel will be given opportunities. Those who falter will find their paths made more difficult."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"These tests will not be announced far in advance," he continued. "Life seldom offers warnings.
You must be ready for anything: martial trials, magical challenges, tests of healing skill, strategic puzzles, anything I deem necessary. Consider yourselves already under scrutiny."
A tension gripped the table. Danarre felt it like a current passing through every sibling present.
Armond, Leonard, Marian, Vera, Marleine, Alberic, Emiline, each would have to prove themselves anew. For Danarre, this was perhaps even more critical.
He was the one who'd survived an assassination attempt, who had caught Hendric's eye as something other than disposable. Now he had to earn that standing with concrete results.
Hendric stood then, a sign that the dinner would soon end. Servants hurried to pull his chair away.
He did not leave immediately, instead turning his gaze over the assembled children once more. His aura pressed down, making the air feel heavy.
"No more excuses," Hendric said quietly. "Our name will not be tarnished by weakness or indecision.
Adapt, overcome, thrive, or be overshadowed."
With that, he gave a curt nod and stepped away from the table. Servants and guards fell in line behind him like a shadowy retinue.
He left the dining hall in silence, and no one dared speak until he had completely disappeared behind those heavy doors.
The moment Hendric was gone, everyone seemed to exhale at once. The tension, though lessened, still lingered.
Danarre remained seated a moment longer, finishing the last bite of his cheese, careful and slow. He noted how Armond and Leonard exchanged a final glance and stood together, leaving without a word.
Marian departed gracefully, followed by Vera, who cast a last curious look in Danarre's direction. Marleine strolled out humming a tune, as if she found the entire ordeal amusing.
Alberic left quietly, nodding to no one.
Emiline paused by the door, turned, and met Danarre's eyes. There was something in her expression, concern or perhaps cautious encouragement.
She inclined her head slightly and then left without speaking.
Now Danarre sat alone at the table, except for a few servants clearing the dishes. The candles still flickered, illuminating vacant chairs and half-empty plates.
He was alive, here in the heart of House de Blaise, having faced Hendric's silent judgment and the lingering echoes of an assassination attempt. He'd survived the dinner, learned hints about future tests, and witnessed how easily Hendric's presence controlled everyone.
He rose to leave. Aveline waited near the door, giving him a subtle nod, relief in her posture.
As they exited, Danarre's thoughts churned. He had gleaned much tonight: the siblings' reactions, the silent hostilities, the patriarch's unwavering grip on power, and the promise of upcoming tests that would challenge him and everyone else.
The estate's halls were quiet now, as if holding their breath. Guards stood vigilant, and the night air drifting through the windows carried a promise of approaching storms.
Danarre walked back toward his suite, mind whirling with plans and possibilities. He knew sleep would be elusive tonight, but he welcomed the chance to think, to strategize, to prepare for whatever trials Hendric would soon unleash upon them all.