The sun was already high when it caught the brass lanterns of the Roscaire carriage, sending little flashes of light across the palace courtyard.
Lioren stood beside the open carriage door, his hands clasped casually behind his back, shifting his weight from one boot to the other with the restless energy of an oversized hound waiting by the porch. A few paces away, Xavion was engaged in the rigid, agonizingly slow ritual of bidding farewell to the remaining Ostharian envoys.
The old diplomat was bowing stiffly, his mouth moving in those thin, practiced lines of official regret that diplomats always used when they were trying to hide how thoroughly defeated they felt. Xavion simply nodded, his face giving little away beneath that blue hair.
Lioren waited patiently enough, though he did glance between the two parties every few seconds, silently praying the Count wouldn’t drag the conversation out until the tea went cold back at the estate.
Finally, the envoys offered their last, icy bows and turned toward their own escorts.
"Alright then," Lioren said briskly, clapping his hands together with a hollow thwack that made the carriage driver jump. He stepped toward the folding iron steps and gestured grandly inside. "After you, Your Highness."
Xavion gave him a brief, measuring look with his single eye before stepping up into the cabin. Evelia didn’t wait for an invitation. She glided right past her brother, her silk skirts swishing loudly against the wooden doorframe as she swept inside to claim the best corner seat. Lioren hauled himself up last, ducking his head beneath the low frame, and dropped heavily onto the cushioned bench beside his sister.
He leaned back, letting out a satisfied, heavy breath. The door slammed shut, the driver cracked the whip, and the carriage lurched forward with a low, wooden groan.
Lioren grinned to himself. First major hurdle cleared. The documents were stamped, the King had given his amused blessing, and Xavion was officially out of that miserable palace wing. He sat there for a long moment, waiting for someone to say something, but as the carriage rolled past the iron gates of the palace grounds, an absolute, thick silence settled over the velvet-lined cabin.
It was a strange, heavy kind of quiet. Xavion sat perfectly upright across from them, his hands folded over his knee, looking like a guest who wasn’t entirely sure if he was allowed to breathe too loudly.
Lioren blinked, glancing between them. He cleared his throat. "So... where’s your attendant?"
Xavion turned his head slightly, his tone completely flat and calm. "I don’t have one."
Lioren stared at him. He blinked once. Twice. "What do you mean you don’t have one? Like... they’re coming in a second carriage? Or..."
"I was not assigned a personal attendant," Xavion explained.
Lioren’s brow furrowed, a sudden, genuine flash of irritation darkening his features as he rubbed the back of his neck. A prince, even a fallen, hostage prince, left without a dedicated body servant or a trusted valet to handle his medicine, his clothes, and his daily meals? What kind of petty, bureaucratic neglect had those Ostharian snobs been pulling behind closed doors?
"Unbelievable," Lioren muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Absolute cheapskates. Well... don’t worry about that anymore. House Roscaire has plenty of capable people. My head butler, Barnaby, will set you up with three or four candidates tonight, and you can pick whoever you actually like. You won’t have some nosey stranger forced on you."
He shifted in his seat, his eyes dropping toward the floorboards near Xavion’s boots, where a single, battered dark-leather trunk sat strapped to the luggage ring.
Lioren pointed at it, his face instantly lightening back up into a lopsided grin. "Though I have to say, Your Highness... you certainly know how to travel light. Is that it?"
"I do not possess many personal belongings," Xavion replied simply, resting his hand against the worn brass latch of the chest.
"Wow, I respect it!" Lioren said cheerfully, waving a hand in the air. "It’s minimalism! Very modern, very efficient. Less stuff to pack when the house catches fire. Honestly, it’s an excellent habit, I’m trying to get Therin to throw out half his ledgers, but the man clings to old paper like a barnacle."
Beside him, Evelia slowly turned her head, giving her brother a look of such profound, scolding contempt that it could have melted glass.
Lioren completely ignored her, leaning his elbows on his knees to shorten the distance between himself and the blue-haired prince.
Xavion looked at Lioren, a faint, lingering hesitation hovering around the corner of his mouth. "I... must admit, Grand Duke, I did not expect you to come to the palace in person today. I assumed His Majesty’s guards would simply escort me to your estate once the diplomatic seals were finalized."
Lioren looked genuinely baffled by the suggestion. "Escort you? Like a sack of flour being delivered by the royal post?" He shook his head vigorously. "No way. I couldn’t do that. You’re my betrothed now, Prince Xavion."
He said the word so casually, so naturally, that even Evelia stopped glaring at him for a second.
"I’m not going to have you bundled into some unmarked guard wagon and dropped at my front gate as if you’re just another political item on a trade ledger," Lioren continued, his voice dropping into a straightforward, unpretentious warmth. "If I took responsibility for you in front of the King, then I intend to treat you with the respect you deserve from day one. It’d be pretty hypocritical of me to make a huge speech in the ballroom and then leave you to ride across town with grumpy city guards, wouldn’t it?"
Xavion didn’t answer. He slowly lowered his gaze, his shoulders dropping a tiny fraction of an inch as the stiff tension in his posture loosened.
Lioren noticed the subtle shift and felt a small, silent wave of relief wash over him. He sat back, grinning, only to glance toward Evelia a moment later and find her already staring at him. Their eyes met, and Evelia subtly shifted her gaze toward Xavion before looking back at him, her meaning painfully obvious.
Lioren’s smile slowly faded as he stared at her with an expression that practically screamed, What do you want me to do? Evelia merely raised her brows and flicked her eyes toward Xavion again, as though the answer should have been obvious. Lioren narrowed his eyes at her, silently refusing to play whatever ridiculous game she had started.
Evelia stared at him for a long moment, her expression slowly shifting into one of complete disbelief, as if she had just discovered that her supposedly clever younger brother could, in fact, be spectacularly dense when it mattered most. She finally let out a small sigh and shook her head, looking thoroughly disappointed by him.
Evelia blinked, cleared her throat with an exaggerated, elegant cough, and sat up remarkably straight, smoothing down her sleeves.
Lioren frowned at her sudden shift before his brain caught up with him. "Oh. Right." He turned back to Xavion, rubbing the bridge of his nose awkwardly. "Sorry. I got so busy arguing with this menace that I forgot my manners. Prince Xavion... this is my older sister, Evelia Roscaire."
Evelia immediately abandoned her sharp, lethal demeanor, transforming in a single heartbeat into the epitome of high-society grace. She offered Xavion a warm, perfectly executed incline of her head, her eyes softening with genuine sincerity.
"It is a true honor to finally meet you, Your Highness," Evelia said, her voice dropping into a rich, pleasant tone. "I have heard a great deal about your bravery during your golden days, and... well, I am deeply pleased to welcome the partner my brother somehow convinced to join our family. If you ever require anything, anything at all, please come directly to me. Do not rely on Lioren. His brain operates on a very strange, highly unreliable frequency."
"Hey!" Lioren protested loudly, throwing his hands up. "Evelia, I swear to God! You’re supposed to be using pretty words around His Highess, not filling his ears with your foul-mouthed slander!"
"Foul-mouthed?" Evelia gasped, placing a delicate hand over her heart with theatrical shock. "I am offering the prince a lifeline before you drive him insane with your nonsense!"
"You’re a bully! A maroon bully!"
"And you’re a green-headed disaster!"
A tiny, almost silent sound cut through their back-and-forth shouting.
Lioren stopped mid-sentence, his eyes darting toward Xavion. The blue-haired prince was still sitting upright, but the tight, guarded line of his mouth had softened. A faint, almost invisible curve touched the corner of his lips, and a quiet, breathy exhale escaped his chest.
"You two... seem remarkably close," Xavion murmured quietly, a subtle flicker of genuine amusement dancing in his single violet eye.
"We are NOT close!" Lioren and Evelia bellowed in absolute, perfect unison, both turning to glare at him with identical expressions of horrified disgust.
"Do not encourage her, Prince Xavion!" Lioren warned, pointing an accusing finger at his sister. "If you give her an inch, she’ll start showing you my embarrassing childhood drawings!"
"As if I’d waste my time showing him your scribbles when I have the legal records of your failed attempts at sword-fighting!" Evelia countered instantly.
Lioren chuckled, a strange, warm feeling settling in his chest. For the first time since they’d left the palace, Xavion didn’t look like a prisoner being transported between cells. He looked... comfortable. Human.
Before the argument could escalate into another hair-pulling debate, the carriage slowed to a final halt, the iron wheels crunching over the fine white gravel of a private courtyard.
"We’re here," Lioren announced, popping open the carriage door before the footman could even reach the handle.
He jumped down onto the driveway first, stretching his long legs with a satisfying pop of his knees. Evelia stepped down next, gracefully taking the footman’s offered hand and smoothing her skirts.
Lioren turned back toward the cabin, holding the heavy wooden door wide open and gesturing inside. "Alright, Your Highness. Don’t be shy. Come on."
Xavion paused at the threshold. Lioren caught that tiny, hesitant pause. He took a deep breath, trying to summon every ounce of noble dignity he possessed to give the moment the proper, serious weight it deserved.
After everything Xavion had endured, Lioren wanted his arrival here to feel like more than simply being brought from one place to another. Finally, Xavion stepped down from the carriage and onto the gravel, his gaze slowly lifting toward the Roscaire residence before drifting across the grounds surrounding it.
He stood quietly beside Lioren, taking in the broad courtyard, the old stone walls, the gardens stretching beyond them, and the familiar bustle of servants moving about the estate. For a few moments, neither of them said anything. Lioren simply stood there beside him, watching Xavion take it all in, a small smile settling across his face.
"Welcome to your new home, Your Highness," Lioren said softly.
Then his brain immediately over-processed his own sentence, and he winced awkwardly.
"I mean... well, technically this is just our capital residence," Lioren stammered, coughing into his fist as Xavion stepped onto the gravel beside him. "The main Roscaire estate is up north. It’s... much bigger. Lots of snow. Way more drafty. But this place is fine for now! The roof doesn’t leak or anything, and the cook makes incredible roast lamb..."
He trailed off, realizing he was rambling like an idiot and completely ruining the grand, heroic atmosphere he’d spent five minutes building.
Lioren let out a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked Xavion straight in the eye.
"The point is..." Lioren smiled, his bright blue eyes shining with simple, unshakeable honesty. "Welcome, Prince Xavion."