Lioren watched the subtle tightening around Xavion’s single violet eye, and for a fleeting second, his internal monologue took a sharp, panicked left turn.
Ah. Right. Bad choice of words.
Leaning in with a cryptic, low voice and asking ’What do you think I want?’ to a man who’d spent his entire adult life being lied to, poisoned, and sold off as a bargaining chip? Yeah. Not exactly the gold standard of comforting communication. In hindsight, it sounded less like a reassuring knight in shining armor and more like a shady villain about to demand a soul contract in a dark alley.
"I mean... look," Lioren cleared his throat hastily, straightening his spine and taking a very deliberate half-step backward to give the prince some breathing room. "That came out wrong. Forget the ominous tone. Let me give you at least one absolute certainty, Your Highness. Whatever it is I’m after, it isn’t anything bad. I’m not here to ruin your life. I can promise you that."
Xavion stared at him, his pale face beneath the warm golden light of the chandelier. A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch caught the corner of his lips.
"With all due respect, Duke Roscaire," Xavion said, his voice coming out soft, dry, and entirely devoid of heat, "stating it in such a manner makes it remarkably difficult not to anticipate the exact opposite."
"Hey now! That hurts," Lioren gasped, slapping a gauntleted hand over his heart with exaggerated offense. "Where is the trust? Where is the basic faith in human nature? How could I possibly entertain the thought of harming someone who literally saved my life less than an hour ago?"
Xavion blinked. The guarded caution in his posture flickered, replaced by genuine, quiet confusion. "Saved your... life?"
"We’ve been over this!" Lioren solemnly reminded him, leaning forward slightly and tapping his own chest for emphasis. "I was a single, tragic cough away from becoming Lioren Roscaire, the Defeated Grand Duke Who Choked on a Honey Tart. Do you have any idea how awful that sounds? The bardic songs would have been horrendous. The northern soldiers would never have recovered from the sheer embarrassment. Had you not stepped up and hit my back like a warrior, there would be no Grand Duke standing before you tonight."
Xavion stood entirely still, watching the green-haired warlord weave an entire dramatic tragedy out of a stray piece of pastry crust.
"I merely assisted you because... well, anyone standing in that corridor would have done the same," Xavion pointed out gently, his tone laced with a faint, hesitant disbelief that anyone could frame such a minor incident in such massive terms. "It was hardly an act of grand heroism."
"Nonsense," Lioren declared with total conviction, waving a dismissive hand through the air. "A debt is a debt. Where I come from, and in the North, especially, a man doesn’t just walk away from someone who kept him from suffocating on baked goods. I don’t leave debts like that unpaid. Consider this betrothal the first installment of my gratitude."
Xavion opened his mouth, clearly preparing to offer another quiet, logical rebuttal, but the words never made it past his lips.
"Your Highness."
The voice that cut through the quiet bubble between them wasn’t warm. It wasn’t friendly. It had the unmistakable sound of a man who had spent the last hour practicing how to ruin someone’s evening without technically being rude about it.
Elorius strode up from the side wing, flanked by three senior Ostharian officials. Their silk cloaks rustled against the floor, their faces settled into tight, artificial smiles that didn’t reach their eyes for a single second.
In the span of a single heartbeat, the atmosphere around Lioren shifted completely.
The bright, absurdly friendly grin vanished from his face as if it had been wiped away with a wet cloth. His shoulders squared, his chin raised, and his eyes, which had been warm and full of chaotic amusement just seconds prior, turned flat, cold, the amusement disappearing as though someone had flipped a switch.
He didn’t move away from Xavion, but his posture changed, subtly placing himself half a stride ahead of the blue-haired prince, his heavy frame acting as a shield against the incoming delegation.
Lioren didn’t dislike foreign dignitaries as a general rule, he dealt with them every now and then. But these men? These were the precise, cowardly court parasites from Ostharia who had watched Xavion bleed for their kingdom, allowed him to be poisoned in his own home, and then neatly packaged him up as a human surrender gift the second his magic flickered out. The sheer hypocritical audacity of their presence made a dark, dangerous heat rumble deep in Lioren’s chest.
"Count Elorius," Lioren acknowledged, his voice dropping into a formal, icy pitch that could have frozen a glass of water at ten paces.
"Grand Duke Roscaire," the Count replied, offering a stiff, impeccably timed bow. "We must offer our formal congratulations. The court was... thoroughly surprised by your sudden declaration tonight, but Ostharia acknowledges the Crown’s decree."
"I’m sure you do," Lioren said, his tone entirely flat. "It saves your delegation the trouble of drafting three separate housing agreements, doesn’t it?"
Elorius’s thin lips twitched slightly, a flash of irritation passing over his hawk-like features before he smoothed it over with another diplomatic nod. "We are simply pleased that the matter of His Highness’s placement has been resolved with such... extraordinary prestige. It bodes well for the treaty."
The envoy turned his narrow gaze toward Xavion, his tone shifting back into that condescending, formal authority used for disgraced royalty. "Your Highness, the imperial physician must conduct a mandatory health and mana assessment in your bedchamber. Given your fragile condition and the late hour, you are expected to return to your quarters immediately."
Xavion didn’t flinch. He simply lowered his head in a quiet, practiced motion that he must have performed ten thousand times in his life. "Of course, Count."
Lioren’s jaw set into a hard line. He didn’t like the way the envoy spoke to him, like Xavion was a piece of misplaced luggage they needed to load onto a cart before morning. His fingers twitched near his belt, craving the heavy leather hilt of his broadsword just to give these pompous aristocrats something real to be nervous about.
"He does need rest," Lioren agreed smoothly, his icy tone softening just a fraction as he looked down at Xavion. "Ensure your physician keeps the examination brief, Count. By all means. But tell your doctor to keep it short, Count. If your people keep him up all night poking at him, I’m going to have a very serious problem with you."
Elorius blinked, clearly taken aback by the casual, sharp possessiveness in the Grand Duke’s words. "Naturally, Your Grace. We shall follow all proper protocols."
The envoy stepped back, gesturing for Xavion to walk ahead of the delegation.
Xavion paused for a brief, flickering second. He turned his head, his single, striking violet eye locking onto Lioren’s face one last time. There was still a lingering cloud of confusion in his expression, but deep down, buried beneath years of exhaustion and cynicism,a tiny, fragile thread of something new seemed to take root.
Lioren met his gaze, the icy, formidable mask slipping just enough to let a small, reassuring, completely unhinged grin break through one last time.
"I’ll see you soon, Your Highness."