The chaos at the lost and found property office had finally subsided, but Lucien’s ordeal had only just begun.
Being surrounded by a crowd of nobles huddled together, exuding an intimidating aura, was his personal definition of hell.
Seeing the increasingly unfavorable situation, Aryosha’s younger brother—who from the start had been filled with wild fantasies about being hanged and beheaded just because he accidentally looked into the eyes of a nobleman—immediately tugged at the hem of his brother’s shirt with a trembling body.
“Brother, I-I’m going back to the stall now!
Mom and Dad will probably need help cleaning up the noodle stall!” he whispered, his eyes darting wildly as if the imperial guards were about to pounce on him at any moment.
Without waiting for a truly complete answer from Aryosha, that child immediately turned around and dashed away, disappearing into the sea of festival people.
Aryosha chuckled awkwardly, directing a resigned look at Lucien who was standing limply with a paper bag containing the remaining fries that were starting to get cold.
“You’re going to the noble’s area!” Reichardt said in a firm, unyielding tone, cutting off Lucien’s escape attempt.
“No more wandering around alone.
You nearly gave me a heart attack by not being in your room this morning.” Lucien just sighed deeply, staring up at the slightly cloudy blue sky.
“I just wanted to eat some potatoes and sit quietly,” he thought dryly.
Choosing the path of least resistance and refusing to argue, Lucien looked at Aryosha and waved his hand gently.
“Aryosha, you come too.” As the group stepped out of the commoner’s zone and into the VIP pavilion heavily guarded by shining armored soldiers, Aryosha’s tension reached its peak.
There stood a tall, sturdy young man in a magnificent noble robe.
He had dark brown hair and a pair of sharp, intimidating emerald green eyes.
He was Roveniel Hawthorne.
Duke Hawthorne’s eldest son and heir apparent, known for being cold, rigid, and a workaholic.
Lucien massaged his temples slightly.
Roveniel’s presence at the folk festival was a major anomaly.
From what he knew from the original novel, Roveniel was a workaholic who spent 90% of his time in the dukedom’s study or managing the borders.
A colorful festival like this should have been at the bottom of his priority list.
Aryosha, who was stumbling beside Lucien, looked at Roveniel and then back at Lucien.
The difference between the two of them was truly like night and day, or fire and ice.
As far as he knew, every visible member of the Hawthorne family had dark hair and warm yet piercing green eyes.
As for Lucien?
He stood there like a breathing snow statue—absolute white hair and blood-red eyes.
Aryosha nudged Lucien’s elbow gently, whispering in a very cautious tone.
“Lucien…
I don’t mean to be rude, but…
are they really your family?
I thought you’d share at least one or two physical traits…” Lucien glanced at Aryosha out of the corner of his eye, replying in a flat, expressionless tone.
“You doubt the power of my ice?
Maybe when they created me, they were short on dye.” “Not enough coloring?!” Aryosha glared, processing the absurd answer for three seconds before finally falling silent completely, choosing not to ask further for the sake of his life.
Roveniel’s aura, which was dozens of times more intimidating than Reichardt’s, made Aryosha’s courage shrink to its lowest point.
Plus, realizing that everyone in this group—Crown Prince Seilas, Rose, Rayland, and even Kaelen—were annoying, “dangerous” humans with strange dynamics, Aryosha made a wise decision.
“L-Lucien, I remember my father’s stall needs extra help to move the tables!
I have to run—I mean, catch up with my brother now!” Aryosha exclaimed quickly.
Without waiting for a reply, he bowed curtly to the entourage of nobles and then sped away like the wind, swearing to himself that he would never have anything to do with this elite circle again.
Roveniel, seeing his younger brother’s arrival, immediately ignored everyone else.
He took long strides toward Lucien, his eyes scanning his younger brother from head to toe.
Roveniel’s expression hardened as he saw Lucien’s shabby clothes, reeking of stove smoke.
“Reichardt,” Roveniel’s voice sounded like broken ice.
“I told you to look after him, not let him dress like a downtown beggar.” Reichardt grimaced softly.
In fact, the main reason Reichardt panicked when he discovered Lucien had disappeared from his room that morning wasn’t just because he was afraid his brother had been kidnapped.
Reichardt had sent a secret letter to Roveniel a few days ago, inviting the eldest brother to come to the festival to hold a special celebration for the three brothers in celebrate of Lucien’s acceptance into the academy.
It was a private event they had planned well in advance, without any outside involvement.
However, instead of a quiet celebration for the three brothers, the VIP area was packed with some of the academy’s elite who had joined in.
Roveniel turned to stare at the group behind Lucien.
Without blinking, without the slightest hint of kindness, the future Duke waved his hand dismissively.
“All of you, leave.
This place is reserved for the Hawthorne family.
Your presence is disturbing my brother.” Those words were addressed to absolutely everyone—including Seilas, the Crown Prince of the Empire.
Reichardt immediately felt uneasy.
After all, Seilas, Rose, Rayland, and Kaelen had just gone to the trouble of helping search for Lucien throughout the festival grounds.
It felt incredibly rude to dismiss them so easily.
“Roveniel really has no filter when it comes to Lucien,” Reichardt thought, holding his throbbing temple.
However, they refused to be evicted just like that.
“I refuse, Lord Roveniel,” Seilas said with a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
His princely aura radiated, standing firmly facing Roveniel.
“As the Crown Prince, I am responsible for the security of this festival.
After all, I was the one who found Lucien in the first place.” Rose wasn’t about to lose.
She stepped forward, stamping her feet, placing her hands on her hips in front of Roveniel.
“I’m his adopted sister!
I have the right to celebrate his success too!
Why must you be so possessive, Lord Roveniel?” Rayland stood silently in the corner of the room, only there to try to get closer to Rose, while Kaelen stood ready behind Seilas.
Rayland watched the tense interaction between Roveniel, Seilas as his bodyguard, and Rose with a frown.
As an ambitious man, Rayland was filled with utter confusion.
“What’s wrong with these people?
Why are the Crown Prince and the Heir of Hawthorne staring at each other like they’re about to go to war over a fragile teenager?” Rayland began to suspect Lucien is using some kind of secret bewitchment magic to control these influential people.
With Seilas’ reluctance and Rose’s persistence, Roveniel was finally forced to let them be on the same VIP balcony, even though the atmosphere in the room became very cold and oppressive.
Lucien sat on the plush sofa of the VIP balcony, staring at the scene of chaos around him with the most nihilistic gaze ever.
“Crazy.
Everything is crazy,” Lucien thought boredly.
In the original novels he had read, these characters never gathered in one room just to argue about trivial things like who had the right to sit next to him.
They were the main characters, supposed to be busy with political conflicts, magical rivalries, power intrigues, and romantic dramas.
Their encounters usually take place at grand balls or battlefields, not on VIP balconies at festivals, vying for the attention of a mere extra who just wants to sleep.
Deviated plot.
This storyline has deviated too far.
And Lucien hates the fact that he’s at the center of this deviation, even though he didn’t do anything about it.
The sounds of parade music, drums, and cheers from the crowd from the streets below the balcony grew louder.
The street performance was reaching its peak.
Seilas snorted softly as he leaned against the balcony railing, Rose tried to sit near Lucien but was blocked by Reichardt’s tall body, while Roveniel took a position right next to Lucien’s left.
Oddly, Roveniel didn’t even glance at the magnificent parade below.
His emerald green eyes were completely focused on Lucien.
He watched his brother chewing on cold fries one by one in excruciatingly slow motion, his eyelids drooping heavily from sleep.
The cheers of the crowd outside suddenly soared as daytime fireworks exploded in the air.
Roveniel’s attention was diverted for two seconds to the sky.
However, when Roveniel turned his head to the side again, the bag of fries in Lucien’s hand had slipped and fallen to the floor.
Lucien’s body slumped limply to the side.
His white-haired head slumped helplessly against the back of the sofa, his eyes tightly closed, and his naturally pale complexion seemed even more frozen in the sunlight.
“Lucien?” Roveniel called, his usually cool voice suddenly trembling.
There was no answer.
Lucien’s chest rose and fell very lightly and subtly.
“Lucien!” Roveniel gripped his brother’s shoulders, a panic never seen before creeping across the future Duke’s face.
“Lucien, wake up!” Panic spread like a plague.
Reichardt leaped forward, his face pale.
Seilas barged forward, ignoring etiquette, and grabbed Lucien’s wrist to check for a pulse.
Rose let out a small scream, covering her mouth, while Rayland and Kaelen froze in place.
“Call a healer now!” Seilas snapped at Kaelen in a thunderous voice.
Roveniel stared at the remaining fries scattered on the floor with burning anger and deep guilt in his eyes.
Breathing heavily, the Hawthorne heir came to the most logical conclusion from his already chaotic mind: “Who…
who is the bastard who dared to sell poisoned fries to my brother?!” Amidst the panic, the cries for a healer, and the threat of death for street food vendors hovering in the air, Lucien kept his eyes closed.
He wasn’t poisoned, wasn’t under black magic, and wasn’t dying.
He was just full, and exhausted after helping at Aryosha’s family stall, and just fell into a deep sleep.