They walked side by side down the grand stone corridor, the distant echo of the ballroom orchestra growing louder as they drew closer to the central palace wing.
Lioren kept his pace leisurely, subtly observing the man beside him out of the corner of his eye. Up close, the physical toll of Xavion’s past few years was painfully obvious. The former undefeated war hero didn’t walk with the heavy, aggressive stride of a soldier.
His steps were careful, almost hesitant, his posture leaning slightly toward his right side to compensate for the blind spot left by his black leather eyepatch. Every few paces, Xavion would pause ever so slightly, his single violet eye scanning the ground ahead to adjust his depth perception.
He was weak. His magic channels were clearly dormant or damaged, and his body was carrying the heavy, invisible burden of poison lingering in his system.
Lioren deliberately looked straight ahead whenever Xavion turned his head, careful not to make the prince feel like he was being scrutinized or pitied. He kept the conversation light and harmless.
"So, how are you finding Werestia?" Lioren asked conversationally. "Warmer than Ostharia, I imagine?"
"It is... milder," Xavion replied, keeping his hands neatly folded in front of his plain tunic. "The air near the coast carries less dust. It is pleasant."
"Just wait until you visit the northern border," Lioren chuckled. "It’s cold enough to freeze your nose off. My aide, Caldrin, spends half the winter complaining that his mustache is solid ice. Strange, considering the man doesn’t even have a mustache."
Something that almost looked like a smile appeared on Xavion’s face. "That sounds... harsh."
"Oh, it’s miserable," Lioren agreed brightly. "But I love that place anyway."
As they turned another grand corner near the central gallery, the soft wall lanterns flickered over Xavion’s long, flowing hair. Lioren glanced sideways and accidentally found himself staring. The moonlight-blue strands caught the warm light, shimmering like spun silk as they fell over Xavion’s pale shoulder in a way that was honestly just plain unfair.
Lioren stared a second too long.
Xavion suddenly paused, turning his head slightly, his single violet eye fixing on Lioren with mild confusion. "Is something wrong, Your Grace? Is there something on my face?"
Lioren’s brain threw every sensible thought out the window.
"No!" Lioren blurted out instantly, waving his hands defensively before his mouth could check in with his brain. "No, not at all! I was just... Well, honestly, I was just looking because you have ridiculously beautiful hair. It’s a great color."
The corridor fell dead silent.
Lioren’s eyes widened slightly. Did I really just say that out loud? I’ve known this guy for less than ten minutes and I’m already hitting him with hair compliments? Great job, Lioren. Flawless diplomacy.
Xavion stood frozen, his mouth slightly parted in sheer shock. For a second, Lioren panicked, thinking he’d crossed a line or made the guarded prince suspicious. But then, a soft, genuine flush crept up Xavion’s neck, reaching the tips of his pale ears. He lowered his head, a small, genuine chuckle escaping his lips, a quiet, musical sound.
"I... see," Xavion murmured softly, his tone laced with a faint, surprised amusement. "Thank you, Lord Roscaire. That is... very unexpected, but kind of you to say."
Before Lioren could dig his social grave any deeper, a pair of sharp, hurried footsteps echoed down the adjacent hallway.
Two Werestian palace attendants, the ones who were supposed to be guiding Xavion, came rushing around the corner, looking flushed and annoyed.
"There you are!" one of the attendants barked, completely ignoring Lioren at first as he snapped at Xavion. "We’ve been looking all over the lower wing for you! You shouldn’t be wandering around alone, Prince Xavion, it creates an unnecessary security hassle for..."
The attendant stopped mid-sentence, his face turning paper-white as his eyes finally landed on Lioren standing right beside the prince.
Lioren’s friendly expression disappeared instantly. He said nothing. He simply turned his golden eyes on the two attendants, and the mood in the corridor changed on the spot. The warmth seemed to vanish, replaced by the crushing pressure of his northern presence.
The two attendants practically dropped to their knees, bowing so hard their foreheads nearly hit the stone floor.
"G-Grand Duke Roscaire!" the head attendant stammered, sweating profusely. "We... we did not realize His Grace was..."
"You were assigned to escort him, and you lost him.," Lioren said, his voice quiet, flat, and colder than a northern blizzard. "In the middle of a royal banquet. Do you have any idea how careless that is?"
"We apologize, Your Grace! It was an oversight..."
"Ensure it doesn’t happen again," Lioren interrupted smoothly, his tone returning to a breezy, cheerful pitch that was somehow ten times more terrifying. "Otherwise, I might have to ask His Majesty to assign you to northern border snow-shoveling duty. And believe me, the shovels are heavy."
"Y-Yes, Your Grace! Immediately, Your Grace!" the attendants squeaked, scrambling backward to stand behind Xavion like terrified mice.
Xavion looked between the trembling attendants and Lioren, clearly surprised by how effortlessly the Grand Duke had reshaped the dynamic. He stepped forward slightly, offering Lioren another quiet, formal bow.
"Thank you again for your assistance, Duke Roscaire," Xavion said, his tone warm and genuinely grateful. "And for your... unexpected kindness. I will not trouble you further."
"You weren’t a trouble at all," Lioren replied, giving him a broad, shameless wink that made Xavion’s eye widen slightly in surprise. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, Prince Xavion. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other soon."
Xavion gave him one last, lingering look before turning to follow his subdued attendants down the hall.
Lioren stood alone in the quiet corridor, hands tucked casually into his pockets, watching the long, blue hair disappear around the corner.
He recalled the brief encounter in his head: the quiet voice, the flawless manners, the slight hesitation, the way the prince got defeated by basic palace geometry, and that tiny, breathless flush when Lioren complimented his hair.
Lioren let out a long, quiet laugh, a brilliant, unhinged spark lighting up his blue eyes.
Polite, soft-spoken, ridiculously handsome, and terrible at navigation, Lioren thought, a sharp, determined grin spreading across his face.
Like hell I’m letting anyone ruin him.