Leona ordinarily paid no mind to anything Etienne did, but it was different when he had to stand before many people. Separate from her dislike of him, she hated seeing him slighted by anyone other than herself.
After all, Etienne was her child—and blood of House Herace.
“Your Highness!”
At the news of Etienne’s arrival, Count Herace came out and called to him in a booming voice. Etienne inclined his eyes in greeting as the count approached.
“It has been a while, Count Herace.”
“Hey now, don’t be so cold. What’s with ‘Count’? Call me Uncle, like before.”
With a slick grin, Count Herace plopped a hand on Etienne’s shoulder. At the rude touch, Ben, standing behind Etienne, flashed a murderous glare. He could not, however, call it out. If he said a word, the count would only brazen it out—Can’t an uncle act familiar with his nephew?
Leian Herace.
The late-born son of Duke Herace and the Empress’s half brother, he was an uncle to Etienne, though not much older than him.
By rank, Etienne, as a prince, stood above a count and deserved proper deference; Leian gave none.
Ben shot Leian a look of pure dislike as those hands kneaded Etienne’s shoulder without hesitation. If others didn’t, he at least knew the truth.
Leian blatantly looked down on his nephew Etienne. And had for a very long time.
Knowing it changed nothing. Ben lowered his head, a wave of helplessness washing over him.
“Thank you for inviting me to such a fine affair.”
“Not at all. I should be the one grateful. Your Highness’s presence lends the occasion such luster—there could be no greater honor.”
Leian smiled with a fishy curl to his lips. For all the courteous words, his manner was unseemly to the extreme.
Etienne followed with a forced lift of the mouth. Bile kept wanting to rise.
“Please, come in.”
Leian led Etienne inside. Through a splendid lobby and into the ballroom where the gathering was held, clusters of young lords and ladies stood conversing in twos and threes.
Crossing the threshold, Etienne couldn’t help but frown. The hall was saturated with pheromones.
Alphas, as if to show off, were flooding the air with their own, and Omegas were letting a seductive scent seep out in kind. Feeling the nausea rise, Etienne opened his mouth.
“I can’t tell if this is a social hall or a pleasure den.”
“Haha. Must be all these young bloods gathered together.”
Leian laughed smarmily at the remark and stepped forward, signaling the doorkeeper.
“His Highness the Prince has arrived. All make your courtesies!”
At the doorkeeper’s cry announcing Etienne’s entrance, the noisy hall fell quiet at once.
“Homage to the Star of the Empire.”
“We pay our respects!”
One by one, the seated nobles rose and offered formal bows. Receiving their salutations, Etienne walked at an easy pace. Eyes followed his every movement.
Goodwill, wariness, envy, surprise, hostility, admiration, appraisal… gazes laden with every manner of meaning fixed on him.
“Welcome. I am Leian Herace, host of tonight’s gathering. It is an honor to receive those who will lead the Empire’s future.”
While Leian stood at the center of the hall offering his welcome, Etienne took the seat prepared for him.
“It’s been a while, Your Highness.”
“Mm? Ah, the young lord of Marquis Miles.”
Etienne checked the speaker’s face and gave a faint smile. The one addressing him was Theodore, heir to House Miles.
“Please, call me by my name.”
Since Etienne had used a formal address, Theodore asked to be called comfortably. He disliked the sense of a line being drawn.
“This is a public function. I can’t be discourteous to the heir of House Miles.”
“Discourteous? It would be the highest honor.”
Persistent.
Etienne looked at Theodore with a jaded eye; as always, stubborn over nothing.
The Marquis of Miles was a close aide to Duke Herace and counted among the Empress’s paramours. For that reason, Etienne had known Theodore since childhood.
From the day they first met, Theodore had shown his favor openly; Etienne, by contrast, was ill at ease. He had recognized the desire in Theodore’s gaze.
“I heard you’ve been very ill. Are you better now?”
“Well…”
Etienne let the words trail. During his heat, he was said to have been abed with sickness.
“I’m sick more days than not.”
He spoke as if it were nothing. Publicly, he was known to be very frail. It served to excuse sudden withdrawals when heat or a pheromone flare forced him to hide.
That had indeed been the initial purpose.
Recalling the state of his body, Etienne’s thoughts turned wry. In childhood, it had been a device to keep his Omega hidden. Now matters were different.
In truth, his health was poor. It was the side effect of the various medicines he had taken since youth to conceal what he was.
“Don’t say such things.”
Theodore set his face, looking at Etienne as if at glass that might shatter any moment.
Dusky shadows under the eyes, cheeks pale to the point of bloodless, lips nearly leeched of color… The face beneath his splendid attire looked sick at a glance.
“You will be well soon.”
“Thank you, for saying so.”
Etienne let out a thin laugh at the consolation. So long as this continued, his health would only decline. He could not voice the truth.
“Your Highness?”
Seeing him turn quiet, Theodore called carefully. The air around Etienne felt oddly heavy.
“What is—”
“Oh! Your Highness! It has been too long!”
Judging that their conversation had run its course, a figure who’d been loitering for a chance suddenly wedged in. The timing cost Theodore any further words.
“Greetings, Your Highness. Leon of House Stein.”
“Homage to the Star of the Empire. Eunice of House Leonhardt.”
“It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness.”
The first step is the hardest; the rest came easy. Young ladies and lords who’d been looking to mark themselves in Etienne’s eyes hurried in to pay respects.
“Tsk.”
Shouldered to the back in an instant, Theodore clicked his tongue. He wanted to drive out all the interlopers disrupting his talk with Etienne, but he had no standing to do so.
They were all, like him, guests invited by Count Herace. Swallowing his irritation, Theodore withdrew.
“Your Highness, do you remember me? Helena of House Serenis.”
“Sorry, I don’t.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t remember you, so don’t act familiar.”
“M-my apologies.”
A young lady who had approached with boldness faltered and retreated under Etienne’s chilly reply.
“Even receiving greetings is tiring.”
He made no effort to hide his fatigue, slouching back in his chair. The Empress wanted him to sit like a doll and smile at the nobles who came to greet him; he had no desire to oblige.
“All of you, withdraw. Consider your courtesies received.”
“But…”
At his order to disperse, those who had not yet greeted him hesitated. If not now, who knew when they would get another chance to be seen.
“Did I not make myself clear?”
“N-no!”
Narrowing his eyes and lowering his voice, he sent the reluctant scurrying. To pester him further here was to risk one’s head.
“Hoo.”
Left alone, Etienne pressed his temples with drained features. The ceaseless parade of scents pricking his senses had brought on a headache.
The reason he tired faster than expected was the pheromones shed by the nobles who came to greet him.
In gatherings where Alphas and Omegas met in number, the etiquette was to contain and suppress one’s pheromones; in truth, it was rarely observed to the full.
All the less so when, as today, those present were mostly young—late teens to early twenties.
At times instinct outpaced reason. Some, unskilled in control, unconsciously leaked scent in reaction to others’ body odor; others deliberately released pheromones to flaunt strength or appeal to someone they liked.
Thus the ballroom was tangled in dozens of pheromones subtly exuded by Alphas and Omegas. For Etienne, already sensitive, it was a wretched environment, nearly unbearable.
“Wine.”
Feeling at last a thread of air to breathe, Etienne twitched the hand holding his glass. A servant of the count’s household came swiftly and filled it.
“Ben.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Ben, a shadow at his back, answered at once. Etienne lifted his other hand without a word. It was enough.
Click.
From his breast, Ben drew a small case and carefully opened the lid. Etienne took out a round pill and placed it on his tongue, letting it melt like candy.
An apothecary of House Herace had processed a poisonous herb into a pellet that temporarily numbed the sense of smell, preventing perception of pheromones. The drawback was a dulled sense of taste.
“Now I can breathe a little.”
Feeling the multitude of scents that had tormented him fade, Etienne raised the glass to his lips. He had shown his face at the salon Count Herace hosted, just as the Empress ordered; his part was done.
He’d rather not remain a moment longer, but it would not do to storm out of a gathering that had only just begun.
Tok.
Setting the glass on the table, Etienne took out a pocket watch and checked the time. He would have to stay at least another hour.
“Another.”
Resolved, he lifted the glass again. Few torments equal sitting quietly as a spectacle for others.
There was nothing so suited as drink to endure the appraising gazes, as if he were an exhibit up for auction.
***
“Haha! I take this round.”
“Tch. One more game.”
The salon Leian hosted was a ball in all but the dancing. Naturally, there was no constructive debate or discussion of affairs of state.
The sweet strains the pianist played had long since been drowned beneath chatter and laughter of those drunk on merriment.
Guests whiled away the time with food and wine from the servants’ trays, conversation, or card games.
“Even the marketplace must be quieter than this.”
Hearing the clamor batter his ears, Etienne murmured to himself.
Maybe it’s time to go back.
He weighed it, tilting his glass. Since taking his seat, he had not moved once.
A few young nobles stole glances his way, but none dared approach or speak. They plainly wanted to cultivate ties with Etienne, who had finally come out of the palace, yet feared giving him a pretext to take offense.
There was reason for their caution. Among the nobles, Etienne was notorious for having no patience.
I don’t recall permitting anyone to address me.
Where did you learn the etiquette that lets you lay hands on a royal body?
At last year’s New Year’s ball, a young lord who approached him without knowing his temperament was soundly put in his place. Only months ago, a certain young lady of a count’s house had tried to seduce him at an imperial dance and left in disgrace.
Anyone could see Etienne detested socializing. He did not tolerate anyone speaking to him without leave or acting familiar. Less a matter of prickliness than of hiding that he was an Omega.
Though the number of Betas ennobled for merit was growing, noble society was still ruled by Alphas and Omegas—particularly the former.
He could not help being careful. If Alpha pheromones affected him and brought on heat, the consequences would be horrific.
For that reason, Etienne minimized contact with others. Leona, too, did not send him out unless the matter was important.
To those who did not know the truth, his behavior looked different. They thought him prickly and arrogant.
“A maladjusted neat freak.”
“A good-for-nothing of the imperial house lost in drink and smoke.”
“A frail Beta prince who never leaves his own palace.”
“A pretty doll who does nothing and hides behind the Empress’s skirts.”
Gossips who loved to talk said all manner of things about Etienne, few of them kind.
Ben felt a pang each time he heard such slander. Etienne himself was unbothered. He was used to being alone—and found it comfortable.
Indeed, he wished his reputation would sink further. Let Leona be disappointed and disappointed again until she abandoned the thought of making him emperor.
“Come to think of it… tomorrow is the triumph ceremony.”
At that remark from someone nearby, Etienne’s hand, lifting the glass, paused. There was no one here who didn’t know who tomorrow’s honoree would be.