As Neon entered, the place was beyond familiar to him.
The interior was alive with people…
maids carrying linens, attendants balancing trays, scribes hurrying with scrolls tucked under their arms.
A maid rounding a corner froze when she saw him, her eyes widening, her cheeks blooming pink as she nearly dropped the folded cloths in her hands.
Her breath caught, her posture straightened, and she smoothed her apron with trembling fingers.
‘Ah shit…
here we go again.’ Neon thought as he sighed, but outwardly he let a slow, charming smile curve across his lips, tilting his head just slightly as he approached her.
“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice warm and refined.
The maid, flustered by his graceful tone, swallowed nervously, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red.
“S‑Son of Heart… I wasn’t expecting you today.
Are you meeting with His Majesty again?” Neon nodded, tucking a loose strand of white hair back into place as he kept walking, the maid following close behind like an anxious teenage girl.
“Indeed…
Something like that.
As you can see, I’m heading to the throne room.” At his words, her eyes sparkled with admiration, her steps quickening as she stayed close.
Neon glanced at her from the corner of his eye, calculating how much longer he’d have to endure this before she inevitably asked something he honestly didn’t have time for.
At that moment, rather than letting her speak, he completely redirected the conversation.
“By the way,” he said casually, “where’s Princess Lea?” The maid’s smile wavered, her brows drawing together as she puffed her cheeks in mild irritation.
“Young master…
could you please focus on me for just a moment?” ‘And… there it is,’ Neon thought, unsurprised as the familiar scene unfolded.
For the past five years, ever since he’d turned thirteen, women his age…
and even those older, they had seemed to gravitate toward him without effort.
Contrary to what many, especially men, assumed, he had no real interest in the attention.
He didn’t despise it, but to him, it was nothing more than a kind of currency, a social token with no deeper meaning.
Mid‑stride, he paused, turning his head toward her in a slow, deliberate motion.
His features softened into a polite smile, though a faint glimmer of mischief lingered in his eyes.
“Hey…
could you prep some tea for the King and me?” he asked, his tone gentle, almost coaxing.
She pouted, shoulders drooping as she hugged her linens closer.
The maid could easily see he was trying to send her away…
which only made the rumors among women about Neon seem true.
‘He’s… really hard to get,’ she thought before speaking aloud.
“I… I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Even knowing he wanted her gone, she—like many others—took his casual “orders” as a challenge to win his favor.
She rushed off, her footsteps echoing through the corridor.
Neon exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Women are truly… bird brains.” —- Not long after, he pushed open the throne room door.
Sunlight poured through towering stained‑glass windows, scattering colors across the marble floor.
At the center sat the King of Arden—a slim man of fifty‑five, though his youthful posture and sharp eyes made him seem decades younger.
His blonde hair caught the light like polished gold as he spoke quietly with an advisor, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of his throne.
The moment he noticed Neon, his face broke into a wide grin.
He rose from his seat with surprising energy, his voice ringing through the hall.
“Son‑in‑law!” The words struck Neon as if a pebble was flicked straight at his forehead.
His lip gave the slightest twitch, shoulders tightening for just a fraction of a second, before a slow, soundless breath eased out through his nose.
He lifted his gaze toward the man who, for the past two years, had stubbornly insisted on calling him that.
With the same easy stride he carried everywhere, he closed the distance, hands still in his pockets.
“King Arden…
when,” Neon asked, voice smooth but edged with weary familiarity, “will you drop that nonsense?” King Arden laughed, and he stepped down from the throne with a fluidity that made his advisor blink in mild surprise.
Before Neon could react, the King drew him into a firm hug, the soft fabric of his royal coat brushing against Neon’s blazer.
His hand tapped Neon’s back in a steady, rhythmic pattern, each pat underscoring his words.
“I’ve told you countless times,” the King said, smiling against Neon’s shoulder, “since you used Princess Lea to make this wonderful connection, you must stand on your word.” It wasn’t difficult for the King to realize that Neon, much like many of the other women who admired him, was merely using them for his own benefit.
In the case of the Princess specifically, it was clear he only sought her out to forge a closer connection with the King himself.
Still, despite knowing this, the King genuinely enjoyed Neon’s company, and more than that…
the Princess truly liked him.
Neon rolled his eyes so hard the advisor nearly laughed.
‘She’s just another airhead…’ he thought, resisting the urge to sigh.
—- They walked together toward the twin thrones…one grand and ornate, the other slightly smaller but still carved with royal motifs.
Neon didn’t hesitate; he dropped into the second throne with the ease of someone settling into a familiar couch, one leg crossing over the other as he leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest.
The advisor, an older man with white hair tied neatly back, continued to watch Neon with a fond smile.
His hands moved with practiced grace as he reached for the teapot already steaming on a nearby tray.
“Tea, young master?” the advisor asked, though he was already offering the cup.
Neon accepted it with a small smile, fingers curling around the warm ceramic.
“Thanks,” he said, taking a slow sip that let the faint aroma of jasmine drift upward.
The King chuckled as he leaned back, the sound low and warm, his fingers brushing lightly against the porcelain cup the advisor handed him.
“You know,” he said, swirling the tea gently, “half of my problems would disappear if you simply went forth with marrying Lea.” At the words, Neon didn’t even flinch.
He raised his cup, letting the heat sink into his hands, and took a slow sip, his red eyes half-lidded with casual indifference.
“And where,” Neon asked, voice smooth and dripping with sarcasm, “will the other half of your problems go?” The King laughed again, louder this time, the sound bouncing off marble pillars.
He tapped his fingers against the cup—as though amused by Neon’s refusal to take anything seriously.
“What’s wrong with my little Lea?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, eyes bright with paternal pride.
“She’s smart, beautiful, and unlike most women.
After all, she’s the Princess of Arden.” Neon shook his head, running his thumb along the cup’s rim as he lounged back in the throne, one leg casually crossed over the other.
“King Arden…
Love and relationships are the least of my concerns,” he said, voice calm, almost bored.
“It doesn’t align with what I see for myself.” The advisor, who had been quietly observing with a faint smile, arched a brow.
His fingers paused mid‑pour as he studied Neon’s expression.
“And what do you see for yourself, young master?” Neon shrugged, the motion lazy, almost dismissive.
“That…
I don’t know.” The King stared at him for a moment, lips parting slightly as he tried to decipher the boy’s tone.
Neon’s face remained unreadable—calm, polite, distant.
The King exhaled, shaking his head with a soft tsk.
“Well, how do you view the House of Hearts?” he asked, leaning back again.
“You know you’ll soon have to inherit what your parents built.” Neon shrugged once more, eyes drifting toward the stained‑glass windows as though the topic bored him.
“And…
that’s none of my business either.
I’m just living as a product of their hard work.” The King studied him, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest—his thoughts circling the same conclusion he always reached.
‘Despite that insightful eye of his… he’s truly hard to read.’ He reached over to the side table and picked up a sealed letter.
“Here,” he said, passing it to Neon.
“Read this.” Neon accepted it, breaking the seal easily, unfolding the paper and scanning the contents with a slow, deliberate movement of his eyes.
This was not the first time the King had given him such a document…
and he already knew his answer.
It was simply for Neon to share his perspective on judgment.
The handwriting was refined, yet the tone was pleading.
A Duke’s House requesting additional work, more contracts, greater involvement—almost imploring for the throne’s notice.
When he finished, he lowered the letter onto his knee.
“Hmm…
They must have done something.” The King laughed, shaking his head.
“Young Neon…
Hasn’t everyone in the world done something?” Neon arched a brow, tapping the letter once with his finger.
“Well, obviously….
But can’t you tell, the Duke House has done something worth covering up.” While Neon never really cared much for the bigger picture of politics, he had a natural knack for understanding people.
And even if he might be wrong sometimes, it was simply his intuition at work.
—- Hours passed in the throne room—tea refilled, discussions drifting from politics to gossip to the King’s endless attempts to convince Neon to marry Lea.
The advisor moved quietly around them, the King laughed often, and Neon responded with his usual blend of sarcasm, indifference, and sharp insight.
By late afternoon, Neon finally rose from the second throne, stretching his arms slightly as the King waved him off with a cheerful grin.
The palace doors opened, sunlight spilling across the marble floor as Neon stepped out.
He walked home with his hands in his pockets, the breeze tugging lightly at his white hair, the Kingdom of Arden unfolding before him in all its glory.