’Well, that could’ve gone better. I managed to spy on a princess, insult her cat, and then perform what was probably the worst royal greeting she’d seen all year.’
Still, there was no time to spend worrying about it.
He had somewhere he was actually supposed to be.
By the time Adrien reached the registration chamber, the room was already crowded.
And Absolute Mana Sense nearly made him stop at the entrance.
’Oh. There’s a lot of power in this room.’
The ability couldn’t tell him every detail of another person’s Core simply by looking, but the difference between ranks became surprisingly obvious when enough strong people stood in the same room.
Density. Pressure. The amount of mana moving through their bodies.
Adrien could roughly place most of them.
And there were several people in this room who could probably erase the current version of him without needing a second attempt.
The borrowed memories supplied the names.
Konrad Falkenrath stood nearest the registration table.
Seven Stars.
The man had shoulders wide enough to fill his coat without padding and a beard cut square beneath the jaw, grey only beginning to appear around the edges. A cane rested in his right hand, although Adrien watched him take three steps and immediately understood that he didn’t need it.
’Seven Stars. Konrad Falkenrath commanded armies before Father was even born, and he still looks like that.’
Core advancement did more than increase power. As the Stars rose, the body changed with them. People aged slower, remained stronger longer, and at the upper ranks age became a poor way of judging how long somebody had actually been alive.
Konrad signed first.
He returned to his place without hurry, and the people around him moved aside before he needed to ask.
’Military house. Oldest one here. And easily the strongest person in the room.’
A Crown official stood behind the open register with an inkpot beside his elbow and two scribes behind him who seemed to exist mostly because Crown officials apparently travelled in packs.
The man lifted a flat seal and struck the table twice.
The room settled.
Adrien watched him for a moment. ’Another thin man with a book. This kingdom seems to run on them.’
The names began.
"Gaspard Arquenay."
Adrien recognized Léon immediately beside his father.
Gaspard was tall and narrow, with dark hair slicked tightly back against his head. Absolute Mana Sense placed him somewhere around Five Stars, but nothing about the man suggested he relied on that power very often.
He signed.
On his way back, Gaspard glanced around the chamber.
"At least the Crown has finally discovered a way to make nobles queue like merchants."
Four people laughed almost at once.
The official did not.
’Political.’
Adrien understood the man inside one sentence. Gaspard didn’t need to raise his voice to reach the room. He knew exactly who would hear him and exactly who was supposed to laugh.
Léon noticed Adrien.
His mouth moved slightly.
Adrien gave him nothing back.
"Aubin Vaucaire."
Six Stars.
Aubin was enormous, built almost as wide as he was tall, with a red face that Adrien suspected had less to do with temperament and considerably more to do with whatever was inside the cup in his hand.
He reached the desk, signed, then tapped the page with one thick finger.
"If I sign twice, do I get twice the land?"
The Crown official’s mouth almost betrayed him.
"No, Lord Vaucaire."
"Truly a shame."
Aubin returned to his place.
Unlike most of the room, he looked directly at Adrien. There was no hostility in it and no disgust either.
When he passed, he raised his cup by about an inch.
Adrien gave him a small nod. ’Interesting.’
"Estienne Montferrand."
Five Stars.
Black hair, expensive clothes, and a man who clearly knew both suited him. His wife held his arm beside him while wearing enough jewelry to make Adrien wonder whether she had accidentally robbed a mine on the way in.
Estienne signed without issue.
Then he turned back toward the crowd.
His eyes came close to Adrien.
Very close.
Suddenly, something on the far wall became incredibly interesting.
Estienne studied it with impressive dedication until he had passed Adrien entirely.
’There’s one.’
Adrien remembered him.
"Reinhard Kaltenbruck."
Six Stars.
A northern lord, weathered through the face, with a scar beginning at his hairline and disappearing near the place a helmet strap would have rested.
He signed his name with considerably more letters than Adrien thought any name required.
On his way back, Reinhard passed Adrien and gave him the smallest dip of the head.
It cost him nothing, but he had done it in front of everyone.
Adrien stored that away too.
"Hélène Duverne."
Four Stars.
Her hair had been pulled back so tightly that Adrien wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t supporting part of her skull. Rings covered six fingers, and unlike the old pieces he’d seen around Greymoor, every one looked deliberately chosen.
She was weaker than most of the people here. Absolute Mana Sense made that obvious.
Adrien still disliked her immediately.
Hélène reached the desk and greeted the official by name with enough ease to make it clear they’d spoken before.
She signed.
On her way back, she looked directly at Adrien.
Then she smiled warmly.
It lasted perhaps a second and a half.
Adrien smiled back. ’Yeah. I trust that less than the people pretending I don’t exist.’
"Thibaut Serrelune."
Two Stars.
Finally, somebody Adrien would have believed was actually as young as he looked.
Ash-blond hair, narrow shoulders, and a coat that looked as though it had belonged to somebody slightly larger before the title reached him earlier than anyone had expected.
Thibaut signed.
Then signed again.
The official looked down.
"Lord Serrelune."
Thibaut followed his eyes to the page.
"Oh."
A few quiet laughs moved through the room while one of the scribes fixed the mistake.
"Sabine Rossignac."
Four Stars.
Small, thin, dressed in black that looked less like mourning and more like something she’d simply stopped changing out of.
She reached for the pen before finding it properly, forcing the official to place it directly into her hand.
Sabine signed and turned.
Then she approached Adrien.
Four steps away, her pace slowed. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
She lifted her chin instead and continued walking.
Adrien watched her pass. ’You regret it. And you want me to know you regret it, but you don’t want that regret to cost you anything.’
That told him enough.
"Osmund Bellafort."
Five Stars.
Adrien’s attention sharpened.
Osmund was thick around the waist and getting thicker, with a heavy chin pressing against the collar of clothes clearly made by one of the best tailors in Valebrand.
The clothes were excellent.
The man inside them was doing his best to fight back.
Absolute Mana Sense placed him at Five Stars, though Adrien doubted Osmund’s personal strength was what made House Bellafort important.
Men and money.
Those were usually better weapons anyway.
Osmund signed the register and, on his way back, stopped briefly beside Konrad Falkenrath.
"The south is warmer than it should be this year."
"So I’ve heard."
That was it.
Osmund returned to his place.
He did not look at Adrien, but he didn’t avoid him either. He didn’t change course, turn his head, search for another conversation, or perform any of the little tricks Estienne had used earlier.
Osmund simply crossed the room as though Adrien Clairmont were another chair someone had placed against the wall.
’That one’s comfortable. I’m not sure whether that makes him better or worse.’
The list continued.
One house after another. Names, signatures, small bows and carefully measured greetings.
Adrien watched all of it.
Absolute Mana Sense gave him another layer beneath the performance. Five Stars here. Four there. Six from an older woman near the windows. Three from a lord who carried himself as though he were Seven.
’Power doesn’t always match confidence. Good to know.’
Eventually, the room thinned around the register.
Then the Crown official looked down at the final name.
"Adrien Clairmont."
Of course.
Last.
Adrien had known it would happen before the man said it.
’Make the traitor’s son wait. Nothing anyone can complain about, but everyone understands it. Fair enough.’
Adrien stepped forward.
The room changed around him.
Nobody insulted him and nobody laughed. That would have been too obvious here.
But conversations stopped one after another until the scratch of the official’s pen and Adrien’s footsteps were about the only sounds left.
He reached the table.
The register was open to a clean line.
House Clairmont.
Adrien picked up the pen and took his time.
He wrote his name cleanly beneath the house that half the people in the room had probably expected to disappear from this book a week ago.
Adrien Clairmont.
Head of House Clairmont.
He set the pen down.
"Recorded."
Adrien turned.
Nobody spoke to him. That was fine to him.
As he crossed the chamber, Konrad Falkenrath’s people found suddenly useful reasons to look elsewhere. Estienne remained deeply invested in architecture, Reinhard gave nothing more than the acknowledgment he’d already offered, and Aubin lifted his cup by one finger again.
Then the room began moving.
People were leaving for their rooms to prepare for the evening.
Adrien noticed Osmund Bellafort heading toward a side door with Hélène Duverne beside him. Just before disappearing through it, Osmund stopped.
He turned.
For the first time that afternoon, he looked directly at Adrien.
Then he inclined his head with perfect courtesy.
Adrien returned the gesture. ’Interesting.’
"Lord Clairmont."
A new voice came from his right.
Adrien turned.
A young man had stepped out from the remaining crowd.
Blond hair. Brown eyes. Clothes surprisingly plain for someone who could probably have worn enough gold to finance one of Greymoor’s farms.
And beneath that, Absolute Mana Sense pressed against something deep and controlled.
Six Stars.
Adrien recognized him immediately.
Aurelian Valleroy.
First Prince of Valebrand.
Aurelian walked straight toward him.
Several nearby conversations slowed.
Then the prince extended his hand. His entire hand to be precise.
It wasn’t the shallow noble greeting Adrien had watched people exchange for the last hour. It was a proper handshake, offered in front of representatives from more than ten houses.
Adrien looked at it for less than a second before taking it.
"Prince Aurelian."
"Adrien. I’ve been meaning to meet you."
Aurelian’s grip was firm without turning the greeting into a competition.
That sentence immediately made Adrien more careful.
"A dangerous thing to tell someone."
Aurelian laughed.
"Is it?"
"Usually."
"I’ll remember that."
He released Adrien’s hand.
"I heard about your assessment. SSS. Quite an entrance after eighteen quiet years."
"News travels quickly."
"In Valebrand? Faster than people."
Aurelian glanced toward the windows before turning back to him.
"How is Greymoor?"
That caught Adrien more than the compliment had.
"Still standing."
"I’m glad."
"Are you?"
Aurelian’s mouth curved slightly.
"I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t."
Adrien didn’t answer immediately.
That was a very friendly thing for the First Prince to say.
Especially here.
Especially loudly enough for other people to hear.
Adrien understood exactly why that bothered him.
"I’ll take that as a compliment."
"You should." Aurelian stepped back. "Enjoy the evening, Lord Clairmont."
He seemed to reconsider.
"Or endure it. That’s what most of us do."
Adrien gave him a small smile.
"I’ll see which one works."
"I’m sure you will."
Aurelian turned and walked away.
Adrien watched him disappear into the crowd.
Friendly, relaxed, funny when he wanted to be. He had extended a full hand to the son of a condemned traitor in front of half the kingdom and treated him like an equal when almost everyone else in the room had chosen the safer option of keeping their distance.
’Yeah. I don’t like him.’
Adrien had known plenty of men like Aurelian in his previous life. Men with one face for rooms full of people and another for when the doors closed.
The version Adrien had just met was polished perfectly with time. An approachable prince, a reasonable man, someone who seemed to have no problem speaking to Adrien when everyone else did.
Maybe part of it was even real.
That didn’t matter.
’People like him don’t walk across a room unless there’s a reason, and Aurelian walked directly to me.’
By the time Adrien left the registration chamber, darkness had settled over Valebrand. Lights powered by mana had begun to glow across the castle grounds, and the halls were filling again as nobles left their rooms dressed for the evening.
The waiting was over.
Oathday was about to begin, and Adrien had already found the person in the castle he intended to watch most carefully.
...
AN: Add the novel to collections and send support if like it ;)