The moment I entered the banquet hall, I understood why nobles spent so much money on clothes.
It wasn’t because the clothes were particularly comfortable. Mine certainly weren’t. The collar pressed against my neck, the coat fit so perfectly that I was afraid of wrinkling it, and I had already spent an embarrassing amount of time getting dressed that evening. Apparently, looking respectable required considerably more effort than I had anticipated.
The real reason became obvious when I noticed the people around me.
Everyone was looking at everyone else.
The banquet hall was enormous, its vaulted ceiling supported by rows of golden pillars that caught the warm glow of the chandeliers overhead. Light spilled across the polished floor, reflecting off crystal glasses and silver platters arranged along the long tables lining the walls. Flowers decorated the spaces between dishes, their fragrance mixing with the smell of roasted meat, fresh bread, and unfamiliar spices. At the far end of the hall, musicians played beneath an elaborate archway, their melodies weaving through the steady hum of conversation.
It was an impressive sight. More impressive was the fact that hundreds of people had gathered beneath that magnificent ceiling and apparently decided that the most important thing to do was watch one another.
Nobles moved between carefully arranged groups, exchanging greetings and wearing expressions that suggested every conversation carried some hidden significance. Expensive fabrics displayed family colors and embroidered crests, while rings glittered beneath the chandeliers whenever someone lifted a hand to emphasize a point. Even the laughter sounded calculated in places.
I suspected that if someone dropped a spoon, half the room would somehow turn it into a political incident.
My father had disappeared almost immediately after entering, swallowed by a gathering of older nobles who seemed to know him well. Aldren was speaking with several military officers, their conversation already drifting toward the eastern territories. Lucien, meanwhile, had found himself surrounded by young people from several different families. From a distance, he looked perfectly comfortable.
Naturally.
Apparently, the ability to navigate a room full of aristocrats came included with being a Valerian. Mine must have been delayed in the mail.
I adjusted my cuff and surveyed the room, trying to work out whether there was anything I was expected to do besides stand there looking vaguely respectable. No one had given me any particular instructions beyond attending the banquet, and I hadn’t thought to ask what happened afterward.
That was beginning to look like an oversight.
I moved along the edge of the hall, acknowledging the occasional greeting as I passed. The arrangement worked well enough until I noticed a young woman beside one of the pillars glance in my direction. She murmured something to her companion, who promptly turned to look at me as well.
I glanced behind myself.
Nothing particularly interesting stood there, unless a decorative vase had suddenly become the subject of widespread fascination.
I continued walking. A little farther ahead, two more women looked up as I passed, their conversation faltering briefly before resuming in quieter tones.
Only then did I remember the face I had seen in the mirror before leaving.
Right. That.
Kain Valerian had the sort of appearance that attracted attention without requiring much effort. His features were unusually well balanced, his pale complexion lending him an almost portrait-like appearance when combined with the formal clothing. I still hadn’t grown accustomed to seeing that face reflected back at me, much less to the reactions it produced in other people.
In my previous life, nobody had ever mistaken me for the handsome stranger at the center of a gathering. My appearance had been considerably more ordinary, with tired eyes that made me look as though I had spent the previous three nights arguing with my pillow. Children, who had never developed the useful social skill of pretending not to notice things, had occasionally asked why I looked so exhausted.
I had never found a satisfactory answer.
Now I had inherited a face that apparently encouraged people to look twice. I wasn’t entirely convinced I had received the better end of the bargain, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.
Fortunately, the hall offered a much more appealing distraction.
Food.
The banquet tables were covered with roasted vegetables, golden loaves of bread, glazed meat, fish, pastries, and silver bowls filled with fruits arranged with the sort of care usually reserved for expensive jewelry. Servants moved between the dishes, replacing empty platters while guests helped themselves to whatever caught their attention.
Then I spotted the steak.
It was freshly prepared, thickly cut, and resting in a dark sauce that smelled of butter, herbs, and spices. I helped myself to several slices and found a relatively quiet space near the edge of the hall.
The first bite justified every uncomfortable moment spent getting dressed. The meat was tender, the sauce rich without being overwhelming, and the herbs gave it a pleasant fragrance that made the entire affair seem marginally more worthwhile.
Whoever managed the royal kitchens seemed to believe that ordinary food was a personal insult.
I was beginning to think the evening might be tolerable after all when something struck my right arm.
My fork jerked sideways. I turned just as a young woman stumbled against me, moving quickly enough that she nearly lost her balance. I caught her arm before she could fall, steadying her until she regained her footing.
My first thought was that she had been in a terrible hurry.
My second was that the dress she wore probably cost more than everything I had ever owned in my previous life.
My third came when I finally looked at her face.
Oh, no.
The princess.
Of all the people in the royal palace, she had somehow managed to collide with me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. She glanced at my hand around her arm, then raised her eyes to my face. There was a faint crease between her brows, as though she were deciding whether to apologize for the collision or question why I appeared so startled by it.
Unfortunately, I had made the mistake of trying to speak before swallowing my food.
"Are you kk—"
I stopped, horrified by the noise that had come out of my mouth.
The princess blinked.
I swallowed as discreetly as possible, cleared my throat, and tried again. "Are you okay?"
"Perfectly." Her answer came promptly, although she took another moment to check her footing. "Though I suppose that depends on whether I’ve damaged anything." Her gaze drifted toward my plate. "You seem to have suffered a more serious casualty."
I looked down. One of the pieces had slid dangerously close to the edge.
"It survived," I assured her.
"Good. I would hate to be responsible for a tragedy at the royal banquet."
There was no exaggerated sweetness in her voice, nor did she seem interested in making the incident into something more important than it was. Her expression had already begun to settle, the brief surprise giving way to a composed curiosity.
I released her arm and stepped aside. "I’m glad we avoided a tragedy, Your Highness."
"That makes two of us."
I suspected she was making fun of me, but before I could decide whether to answer, hurried footsteps approached from behind her.
"Your Highness!"
Several young nobles appeared almost simultaneously, their expressions shifting to alarm as they gathered around the princess. One asked whether she had been hurt, another wanted to know what had happened, and a third immediately offered to summon the royal physician.
The princess looked from one face to another.
"I’m standing right here," she pointed out.
The young man nearest her hesitated. "Of course, Your Highness. We were merely concerned."
"Then your concern may rest. I’ve managed to remain in one piece."
Her tone wasn’t particularly harsh, but it was firm enough to interrupt the flood of questions. A few of the nobles exchanged uncertain glances before stepping back. One offered her an arm, which she ignored in favor of smoothing a slight crease in her sleeve.
"I wanted some fresh air," she explained. "I took a wrong turn—or rather, several people tried to direct me toward three different places at once, and I chose the only path that didn’t involve another conversation."
Her eyes briefly moved toward the balcony doors.
"I suggest nobody makes a second attempt to direct me anywhere."
The nobles fell quiet.
I took that as my opportunity to retreat.
The princess was unharmed, the crowd had settled, and nobody seemed interested in blaming me for anything. My contribution to the evening had been completed with remarkably little damage.
I was prepared to consider that a success.
"Thank you."
The words reached me before I had taken more than a couple of steps.
I turned back. The princess was looking at me, apparently uninterested in the young noble who had just begun explaining why the eastern terrace was the most suitable place for her to enjoy the evening.
"You’re welcome," I replied.
"May I know your name?"
"Kain Valerian, Your Highness."
Recognition flickered across her face. "The duke’s youngest son?"
"That’s right."
"I see." She considered me for a moment, and her expression suggested that she was comparing what she had heard with what she was seeing. "I’ve heard a little about your family. Less about you personally, which is unusual for a ducal household."
"Perhaps my family has been doing an excellent job of keeping me out of trouble."
"Has it?" she asked. "Or have you been doing an excellent job of staying out of everyone’s way?"
I wasn’t sure whether that was a genuine question or an observation disguised as one.
"Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive."
The corner of her mouth lifted. "No, I suppose not."
Her gaze briefly dropped to my plate before returning to my face. "Still, thank you, Lord Valerian. You helped me avoid an embarrassing fall, and you haven’t yet asked me to reward you for it. That’s a refreshing change."
"I wouldn’t know what to ask for."
"That may be the most sensible answer I’ve heard all evening."
I couldn’t tell whether to take that as a compliment, but she seemed to mean it.
Around us, the nearby nobles had begun listening discreetly. Some appeared curious about the conversation, while others looked increasingly displeased that the princess was paying attention to a young man who had spent much of the evening keeping to himself.
I wondered whether I had missed some important rule of royal etiquette.
Was there a particular procedure for helping a princess avoid falling over? Was I supposed to bow three times, offer a formal apology, or pretend the entire incident had never happened?
If such a procedure existed, nobody had provided me with a manual.
The princess seemed to notice my discomfort. Instead of prolonging the exchange, she glanced toward the balcony doors again.
"I was heading outside before our little collision. Would you accompany me?"
I stared at her.
Several young nobles stood nearby, including one who had apparently been preparing to escort her himself. He looked as though someone had personally ruined the finest opportunity of his life.
There were probably a dozen people in the hall who would have welcomed the invitation.
And she was asking me.
"Me?"
"Unless there’s another Kain Valerian hiding behind you."
I glanced over my shoulder anyway.
Her smile widened. "I’m beginning to understand why people find you difficult to read."
"I assure you, Your Highness, most of my thoughts are fairly ordinary."
"That’s what worries me. You look as though you’re considering an escape route while everyone else is trying to impress me."
I had several responses to that, none of which seemed particularly wise.
Instead, I glanced toward the balcony. "I suppose some fresh air wouldn’t hurt."
"Excellent. Then we agree on something already."
She extended her hand, and I took it after a brief hesitation. Her grip was light but assured, and she turned toward the doors as though the matter had been settled.
I followed, aware of the attention behind us.
"By the way," I murmured as we crossed the hall, "I’m not entirely convinced this will help me remain unnoticed."
"You were already being noticed before I arrived."
"That isn’t particularly reassuring."
"It’s not intended to be." She glanced sideways at me. "Besides, people in this room will eventually find something else to discuss. They always do. If we’re fortunate, it’ll be someone else’s mistake."
I almost smiled.
There was an edge to her humor that I hadn’t expected. She spoke with the composure of someone accustomed to being listened to, but she didn’t seem interested in making every sentence sound grand or important. She could tease someone without waiting for the room to approve.
That was refreshing.
It was also potentially dangerous, considering how easily I seemed to be answering her.
We reached the balcony doors, where a palace servant opened them before we arrived. Cool night air slipped into the banquet hall, carrying the faint fragrance of flowers from the gardens below.
I stepped outside.
And stopped.
The royal gardens stretched beneath the balcony in carefully arranged layers of light and shadow. Pale stone paths wound between flowerbeds, and fountains shimmered beneath the moon, their water catching the glow of lanterns placed along the walkways. Tall trees bordered the gardens, their leaves stirring softly in the night breeze.
Beyond them lay the capital.
Thousands of lights extended toward the horizon, illuminating streets that twisted between countless buildings. Towers rose above the rooftops, their silhouettes outlined against the dark sky. Farther away, bridges crossed narrow canals, while magical lights floated above several of the larger thoroughfares like distant stars that had somehow found their way down to earth.
The royal district itself occupied an immense portion of the city. From this height, its surrounding walls and sprawling buildings were clearly visible, yet they seemed almost insignificant beside the vastness beyond them.
I had seen cities before. I had lived in one of the largest cities in my previous world, surrounded by towering buildings, crowded roads, and enough traffic to make a person question whether civilization had been a good idea.
But this was different.
The capital seemed to stretch beyond the limits of what I could see.
I had read about this place in The Dragon Kingdom Slayer. I knew the names of its districts, the locations of important buildings, and the significance of several landmarks that would eventually appear in the story. The novel had described its grandeur often enough that I thought I understood what to expect.
Standing there, I realized how little those descriptions had conveyed.
Words could tell me how tall a tower was or how many districts occupied the capital. They could explain the city’s history, its importance, and the events that had shaped it. But they couldn’t quite capture the feeling of standing above a city that seemed to go on forever, watching thousands of distant lights flicker beneath the night sky.
For a moment, I forgot that this world had once existed only between the pages of a book.
I simply admired it.
"You’re quieter than I expected."
The princess’s voice brought me back to the present. She had moved toward the railing, where she rested one hand against the cool stone and watched me with a faintly curious expression.
"I wasn’t aware you’d formed an opinion of me already."
"I haven’t. I’m working on one." Her gaze returned to the city. "You looked considerably more comfortable when you were eating."
"I was occupied with an important task."
"Clearly. I imagine the kingdom’s affairs would improve considerably if more people approached them with the same dedication."
I laughed under my breath and joined her at the railing. "I suppose that depends on which affairs you’re referring to."
"The ones that involve people talking for an hour without saying anything useful."
"I see. So the banquet isn’t unusual."
"Oh, it’s unusual." She rested both hands against the stone. "It’s just that the people who organize these things seem to believe that making everyone uncomfortable is part of the tradition."
"That would explain the clothes."
She gave a short laugh. "You really don’t like these gatherings, do you?"
"I don’t dislike everyone here. I simply don’t know most of them well enough to decide."
"That’s a rather careful answer."
"I’ve been told they’re useful."
"By people who wanted you to answer carefully, I imagine."
She had a point, which was unfortunate. I studied her for a moment, wondering how someone who had spent her life surrounded by nobles had become so comfortable pointing out the absurdities of their behavior.
Perhaps familiarity made the absurdity harder to ignore.
The princess seemed to notice my curiosity. "You look as though you’re trying to decide whether I’m permitted to say these things."
"I was wondering whether anyone ever tells you not to."
"Constantly." She said it with such immediate certainty that I nearly laughed again. "Usually after I’ve said them."
That sounded exhausting.
We stood for a moment, watching the city. The music drifting through the open doors was faint enough to be pleasant, and the cool air carried away the last traces of the banquet’s warmth.
Unlike the nobles inside, the princess didn’t appear to feel any need to fill every silence. She seemed content to let the view speak for itself.
Eventually, her attention settled on a cluster of lights in the distance.
"The eastern market district," she said, following my gaze. "It stays busy later than it used to. The streetlamps were improved last year, and the merchants petitioned to keep them lit longer. The council complained about the expense, naturally."
"Did they lose the argument?"
"Eventually." She sounded faintly satisfied. "It took three petitions and a truly ridiculous amount of paperwork, but the lamps stayed on."
I glanced at her. "You sound as though you were personally involved."
"I read the petitions." She said it as though that explained everything. When I continued looking at her, she added, "Most of the reports sent to the palace are about things people consider too small to matter. Streetlamps, market fees, broken roads. Ordinary things, until you’re the one trying to walk home after dark."
There was no grand declaration in her voice. She spoke with the matter-of-fact irritation of someone who had spent time trying to persuade people to pay attention to problems they would never encounter themselves.
"I suppose it’s easy to forget about those things from up here," I said.
"Exactly." She tapped a finger against the railing. "It’s why I come outside when I can. The city makes more sense when you can actually see it."
I looked down at the streets again, imagining the markets still open beneath those lights, the merchants packing away their goods, and people making their way home while the palace continued its celebrations.
It was a different way of looking at the capital than I had expected from a princess.
"Do you come out here often?" I asked.
"When I can get past the people who insist I need an escort to cross the gardens." She gave me a sideways glance. "Tonight, apparently, I found one who’d rather be eating."
"I’m not sure that makes me a suitable escort."
"It makes you less likely to deliver a lecture about the history of the eastern terrace."
"I wouldn’t know enough about it to do that."
"Then you’re already ahead of several people I could name."
I smiled despite myself.
Her humor was drier than I had first assumed, and she had a habit of making observations without dressing them up to sound polite. She wasn’t trying to appear rebellious. She simply seemed to have little patience for things that wasted her time.
I could respect that.
Perhaps that was why I answered her next question more honestly than I intended.
"Have you ever visited the eastern districts yourself?"
"Several times. Not as often as I’d like." Her expression became more thoughtful. "It’s difficult to learn anything useful from a brief visit surrounded by guards and people who have been warned to behave themselves. Everyone shows you the clean streets, introduces you to the merchants who have prepared a speech, and assures you that everything is wonderful."
"That sounds very familiar."
She looked at me. "Does it?"
I nearly regretted speaking.
The princess waited, not impatiently, but with enough attention to make it clear that she had noticed my response. I could have dismissed it with a joke. Instead, I settled for a partial truth.
"I’ve recently been spending more time looking into one of my family’s properties. It’s made me realize how little you can understand about a place simply by hearing other people describe it."
Her expression changed slightly.
"Your estate?"
I looked at her. "You’ve heard about that?"
"A little. I heard you’d started asking questions about one of the properties your family owns." She paused. "I was surprised. Most young nobles seem perfectly content to let their stewards handle such things until they need money or a place to hold a hunting party."
"I can’t speak for most young nobles."
"No, I suppose you can’t." She studied me, her curiosity becoming more direct. "But I am curious. Why take an interest now? From what I’d heard, the property had been neglected for quite some time."
There it was.
A perfectly ordinary question, asked in a perfectly ordinary tone, that nevertheless touched a subject I hadn’t expected to discuss with the princess.
I considered how much to say.
"I’d rather understand what I own before deciding what to do with it," I answered. "It seemed like a reasonable place to start."
She didn’t immediately respond. Instead, she looked back toward the distant lights, apparently considering the answer.
"That’s reasonable," she said at last. "Although I doubt everyone will agree with you. People tend to become uncomfortable when someone starts asking why things have been left as they are."
"I’ve noticed."
Her mouth curved faintly. "Then you’ve already learned something useful."
I leaned against the railing, studying her from the corner of my eye. "Do you make a habit of asking people questions about their estates at royal banquets?"
"Only when they give me interesting answers."
"That seems like a dangerous habit for someone in your position."
"It can be." She looked at me directly. "But if I only asked questions that everyone was comfortable answering, I wouldn’t learn very much."
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.
It was the first thing she’d said that evening that made me reconsider my impression of her completely. Until then, I had seen a composed princess with a sharp tongue and a preference for escaping crowded rooms. Now I suspected there was more to her interest in the world beyond the palace than simple frustration with court etiquette.
She paid attention to things.
Not merely to the people who surrounded her or the formalities that accompanied her position, but to the places and problems that everyone else seemed content to ignore.
That didn’t necessarily make her dangerous.
But it did mean I should probably be a little more careful about what I told her.
"I’ll try to remember that," I said.
"You don’t sound convinced."
"I’m still deciding whether it’s advice or a warning."
"Perhaps it can be both."
She said it lightly, but she didn’t elaborate. I let the matter rest, and she seemed content to return her attention to the capital.
For a while, we watched the distant lights in silence.
I found myself thinking about the estate again, and about how much work remained before I could properly understand what I had inherited. There were questions I still hadn’t answered, problems I had barely begun to uncover, and things I suspected I would have preferred not to find at all.
Yet I felt no particular urge to discuss any of that tonight.
The princess had asked a reasonable question, and I had given her a reasonable answer. For the moment, that was enough.
Eventually, I glanced back toward the banquet hall. The chandeliers shone through the open doors, and the silhouettes of passing guests moved between the tables. Somewhere inside, my father was probably speaking with another noble about matters I didn’t understand. Aldren and Lucien were likely occupied with their own conversations.
I wondered where Asura had disappeared to. The black dog had vanished into the palace shortly after our arrival, and with him, an absence of barking was never a reliable indication that everything was proceeding normally.
I’d have to find him before leaving.
Preferably before he found something—or someone—interesting.
"Are you ready to go back?" the princess asked.
I considered the question, then looked once more at the capital spread beneath us.
"Not particularly."
"Good." She folded her hands before her and watched the distant streets. "Neither am I."
That was the first answer she’d given me all evening that required no interpretation.
I smiled.
For the moment, we remained where we were, enjoying the night air and the view while the banquet continued behind us. I still didn’t know why the royal family had specifically requested my presence, and the princess hadn’t offered anything that explained it.
But I had learned something about her, and she’d learned a little about me.
For a gathering I had expected to endure in silence, that seemed like a reasonable return on the evening.
I just hoped the rest of the banquet would be equally uneventful.