"Welcome to the Roscaire residence, Your Highness Prince Xavion Astervan!"
The greeting exploded through the vaulted foyer with such perfect timing that Lioren nearly jumped. Dozens of voices rang out together, every servant bowing at exactly the same moment like someone had secretly wound them all up beforehand.
Lioren stepped through the doors first, his chest swelling with a smug, almost indecent amount of pride.
Look at them. Just look at this magnificent lineup.
The entire household staff had lined up across the floor in neat, orderly rows. At the front stood Therin and Caldrin, both looking so stiff and respectable that Lioren almost wanted to poke them just to make sure they were still alive.
Well, look at that. The practice actually paid off.
He knew, of course, that his people were professionals. They knew how to bow to royalty. They’d been bowing to arrogant aristocrats for decades. But Xavion wasn’t just any royal guest, was he?
He’d even demonstrate the ’ideal Roscaire smile’, a gentle, half-lidded, perfectly relaxed curve of the lips. He held it for so long his cheeks began to twitch, until Therin had quietly leaned in and whispered, "My Lord, if I may... you currently look less like a welcoming host and more like a shady merchant trying to sell spoiled turnips at a markup."
Lioren had dismissed Therin’s cynicism on the spot, but looking at the staff now, it seemed the lesson had actually stuck.
Every single face in the row offered Xavion a gentle, pleasant expression. Not a single toothy wolf-grin in sight. Nobody looked like a murderer. Nobody looked like they were plotting a kidnapping. It was, quite frankly, a masterpiece of discipline.
Therin stepped forward, placed a hand over his chest, and bowed. "I am Therin Ilveris, aide to the Grand Duke."
Caldrin followed with a respectful bow. "I am Caldrin Perraine, captain of the Roscaire Knights."
Standing beside Xavion, Lioren kept his gaze glued to the prince’s face, trying to read the tiny shifts in his expression. Was he startled? Overwhelmed? Intimidated by the sheer volume of organized hospitality?
"Thank you," Xavion said. "I appreciate the gracious welcome."
"Right then!" Lioren announced, clapping his hands together briskly to break the formal spell before anyone’s legs went numb. "Therin, have the kitchen prepare some hot tea. Evelia, why don’t you go ahead and... well, go do whatever it is you do when you aren’t glaring at me?"
"I shall be in the library, attempting to recover from the sheer embarrassment of being related to you," Evelia replied smoothly, not even turning around as she walked toward the main staircase.
While the servants began dispersing into their respective wings, two young footmen moved toward the entrance to gather the luggage. Lioren, feeling a sudden surge of energetic host-duty, and perhaps wanting to show Xavion that he wasn’t just a lazy aristocrat who made speeches, spotted Xavion’s heavy trunk sitting near the threshold.
"Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ve got it!" Lioren said brightly.
He lunged forward to grab the brass handle on the side of the chest.
At the exact same instant, Xavion, who was clearly unaccustomed to letting other people handle his few remaining possessions, bent down to grab the exact same handle.
Neither of them anticipated the other moving. Neither of them slowed down.
THWACK
Their foreheads slammed together with a nasty crack.
Lioren stumbled back a pace, blinking through a sudden explosion of tiny, dancing white sparks behind his eyelids. His vision swam for half a second, his skull vibrating down to his back teeth.
Oh no.
The thought hit Lioren harder than the impact itself. Oh no, no, no. He didn’t care about the throbbing knot already rising near his hairline. All he could think about was the blue-haired prince currently standing two feet away from him.
They’d been co-existing under the same roof for less than three minutes, and Lioren had already managed to physically assault his future husband with his own face.
"Are you alright?!" Lioren burst out, stepping right back into Xavion’s personal space and hovering his hands frantically near the prince’s head, not quite daring to touch him. "Are you bleeding? Do you feel faint? How many fingers am I holding up, wait, don’t look at my fingers, sit down! Do you feel nauseous? Therin! Call a physician! Call three physicians!"
Xavion stood entirely still, one hand raised to gently touch his own temple. He looked remarkably unbothered for a man who had just taken a direct battering-ram hit from a Grand Duke.
"I am entirely unharm, Grand Duke," Xavion said. "There is no need for a doctor."
"Are you sure?" Lioren pressed, squinting suspiciously at Xavion’s forehead, searching for a bruise or a crack or a dent. "You don’t have a concussion? You’re not seeing two of me? Because honestly, one of me is probably more than enough to handle right now..."
"I am fine," Xavion repeated, a subtle, almost invisible twitch hitting the corner of his lips. He lowered his hand, eyeing Lioren’s reddening forehead with a quiet, contemplative stare.
"You’re sure? Because I have a pretty hard head, you know." He paused, then added with a completely straight face, "And I mean that both literally and metaphorically."
From the base of the grand staircase, Evelia paused, leaning gracefully against the carved bannister as she looked back at them.
"Hey, brother! If I may offer an alternative suggestion," she chimed in, "perhaps you could allow the servants to carry the heavier things? Stealing their labor is bad enough, but I believe House Roscaire’s standard policy on hospitality generally discourages assaulting our distinguished guests with your forehead."
"Haha. Ignore her. She feeds on negativity," Lioren grunted, hauling the heavy trunk up onto his shoulder with a grunt that he tried, and failed, to make sound effortless. "Follow me, Your Highness. I’ll show you to your quarters personally."
He turned around and marched up the stairs, taking them two at a time while trying to maintain the majestic, commanding posture of a grand duke carrying fifty pounds of luggage.
The residential wing of the capital estate was long, quiet, and lined with high arched windows that let in wide slanting beams of late-afternoon sunlight. As they walked down the carpeted hallway, Lioren made a point to offer a continuous, rambling running commentary, pointing out various rooms with his free hand.
Xavion walked half a pace behind him. He listened quietly, his gaze sweeping over the polished wood paneling, the brass sconces, and the landscape paintings hanging along the walls.
"Here we are," Lioren said, stopping in front of a pair of double doors at the far end of the hallway.
He shifted the trunk to one arm, reached out, and pushed the doors wide open, stepping aside so Xavion could walk in first.
Xavion stepped over the threshold, his eyes scanning the expansive room. He walked slowly toward the center of the space, his fingers lightly brushing the polished wood of the armchair as he passed it.
"It is... very fine," Xavion said softly, turning back toward the doorway. "Far larger than anything I required."
Lioren carried the trunk inside, setting it down near the foot of the bed with a heavy thud that vibrated through the floor. He straightened up, wiping a tiny bead of sweat from his temple, and scratched his neck awkwardly.
"Ah, well... don’t get too impressed," Lioren said, waving a self-deprecating hand in the air. "It’s really nothing compared to what you probably had back."
He paused, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he looked at Xavion, suddenly feeling a strange, uncharacteristic flutter of self-consciousness.
"I just... hope you’ll be comfortable here for now," Lioren added, his voice dropping into a quieter, far more genuine register. "It’s not a palace, but I’ll make sure you have everything you need."
Xavion looked at him, his eye holding Lioren’s gaze for a long, quiet second.
"It is more than comfortable, Grand Duke," Xavion said quietly. "Thank you."
Lioren felt a sudden, ridiculous wave of warmth expand inside his chest. He cleared his throat loudly to cover the fact that he was probably turning slightly pink.
"Right! Well! Excellent!" Lioren declared cheerfully, taking a step back toward the open doorway. "I’ll... let you get settled in then. You’ve had a long day of being paraded around by diplomats, so you should probably rest. We can have dinner together later, but if you want it brought up here instead, just tug that silk cord by the bed and Barnaby, or well, one of the maids, will bring up whatever you want."
He gave a casual, lighthearted little wave, backing up toward the hall. "I’ll see you later, Your Highness!"
Intending to make a smooth, effortless, and thoroughly charming exit, Lioren took two breezy steps backward.
Unfortunately, his sense of where the door actually was had failed him spectacularly.
His heel caught the edge of the wooden frame, and his back slammed directly into the solid paneling with a loud, hollow
BANG
Xavion’s eyes widened. His hand came up almost at once, as though he meant to steady Lioren, and he took a step forward.
Lioren immediately raised a hand.
Xavion’s gaze flicked over him, lingering on the spot where Lioren had just crashed into the door.
"I am okay!" Lioren announced. "Very sturdy! Excellent carpentry!"
Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the brass handle, stepped backwards into the corridor, and gave Xavion one last, brilliantly cheerful smile. "Rest well!"
He pulled the door shut.
The moment the latch engaged, Lioren’s cheerful smile vanished. He spun around, collapsed against the door, and slowly slid down an inch, staring up at the carved plaster ceiling with a look of pure agony.
Okay, that had been a little embarrassing. Fine. Perhaps more than a little. But nothing was broken, nobody was bleeding, and, most importantly, Xavion had not witnessed anything that Lioren couldn’t simply pretend had never happened. His dignity might have taken a small, unnecessary beating, but it was still alive.
He looked at the quiet, empty hallway. He looked at the heavy door standing firmly closed behind him. Inside that room was Xavion.
The future world destroyer. The villain who was supposed to burn the world to ash.
He was right here. Under Lioren’s roof. Headbutting Lioren’s forehead.
A tiny smirk began to tug at the corner of Lioren’s mouth. The humiliation of the doorframe incident melted away, replaced by a sudden, surging wave of absolute, triumphant satisfaction.
He straightened his spine, tossed his hair back out of his eyes, and smoothed down his sleeves with a sharp, decisive flick.
"Right," Lioren whispered to the empty corridor, his eyes gleaming with a terrifyingly bright, unstoppable enthusiasm.
"It’s pampering time."