The royal reception continued like a carefully choreographed dance where every step could hide a blade.
Lucien stayed near Elara as they moved through the hall, the weight of his formal coat a constant reminder that he was playing a role far beyond his old life as a delivery rider.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over everything, making the jewels on the nobles’ necks and fingers sparkle like stars.
Soft laughter rippled through clusters of guests, but beneath it all lingered the sharp awareness of rank and old grudges.
Elara accepted another glass from a passing servant, her movements elegant and unhurried.
“The Marquess of Silverthorn is watching us again,” she said quietly, her tone conversational.
“He still holds that grudge from last year’s border dispute.”
Lucien glanced in the direction she indicated.
An older man with a pinched face and heavy medals on his chest was indeed staring their way with open displeasure.
“Seems like a lot of people hold grudges here.”
Elara’s smile was thin.
“That’s the way of things.
Forget them, and you’ll find a knife in your back before the season ends.”
They continued walking.
Lucien kept his replies measured, letting her lead the conversation while he observed.
The power structure of this world pressed in on him during lulls—the way titles determined who spoke first, how magic affinity influenced alliances, and how the royal family balanced the church’s growing influence with noble houses like the Nightshades.
It was a delicate web, one the original Lucien had torn through with childish cruelty.
Now Lucien had to weave carefully or risk unraveling everything.
These nobles are straight-up built different.
Back home it was just traffic and bad tips.
Here everyone’s one wrong fork away from starting a blood feud.
Brainrot levels off the charts—imagine if they had TimTak, they’d be making thirst traps with poison rings.
A short while later, Prince Adrian rejoined them near a long table laden with delicate pastries and crystal bowls of punch.
His presence shifted the air around them.
“I hope the evening finds you both well,” he said, addressing them both but with his attention lingering more on Elara.
“The academy term approaches quickly.
Have you given thought to your studies there, Lady Elara?”
Elara tilted her head gracefully.
“Of course, Your Highness.
Knowledge is power, after all.
And connections formed there often last a lifetime.”
The prince nodded, then turned to Lucien.
I understand you’ve shown surprising improvement in your lessons lately.
Tales of your… temper have reached even these halls.”
Lucien offered a small, careful smile.
“I’ve been trying to focus more, Your Highness.
Tantrums are tiring.”
Dude seriously fishing for weakness.
This princely pretty boy probably has a whole spy network.
If I slip and call someone a susbaka in my head one more time I’m gonna lose it.
Elara’s fingers brushed Lucien’s arm lightly—a warning or support, he couldn’t quite tell.
“My brother has always had potential.
It simply needed the right… guidance.”
The conversation meandered from there.
They spoke of the upcoming hunts, the harvest festival, and the subtle shifts in court favor.
Nothing overt.
Everything layered.
Prince Adrian’s questions carried double meanings—testing loyalty, probing for ambition, perhaps even gauging whether the Nightshades were still the volatile threat they had been.
At one point, the Duchess glided over to join them briefly, her presence like a cool shadow.
“Your Highness honors us with your time,” she said smoothly.
“The children have been looking forward to this evening.”
“Indeed,” the prince replied.
“It is always enlightening to see the next generation of great houses.”
The words hung with subtext.
Great houses.
Next generation.
The implication that some houses might not remain great for long if they misstepped.
After the prince excused himself again, Elara let out a soft breath.
“He’s more watchful than usual tonight.”
Lucien kept his voice low.
“Maybe he has reasons.”
She glanced at him sideways, something unreadable in her expression.
“Perhaps.
Or maybe certain rumors have reached him about our family’s youngest.”
They moved toward the gardens for a change of air. Follow the newest chapters on novelping.com.
Lanterns hung along the paths, casting soft glows on blooming night flowers that seemed to lean toward the shadows.
The air was cooler here, carrying the scent of jasmine and damp earth.
A few other guests strolled in pairs, their conversations hushed.
Elara stopped near a fountain where water cascaded over carved stone.
“You’re different,” she said after a long pause.
Not an accusation this time—just a statement.
“Not just acting.
Something deeper.”
Lucien looked at the rippling water.
“Maybe I got tired of being the family’s problem child.”
Elara laughed quietly, but there was no real humor in it.
“Careful, little brother.
In our house, change can be more dangerous than staying the same.”
She’s not wrong.
This entire family runs on shadow politics and generational trauma.
One reform arc and suddenly I’m the glitch in the matrix.
Send help—or at least better stats.
They stood in silence for a while, the fountain’s gentle splash filling the space between them.
Lucien felt the weight of the evening settling on his small shoulders.
Surviving this reception without triggering any major flags felt like dodging an entire convoy of Truck-kuns.
The original story’s events loomed in the back of his mind—the academy rivalries, the heroine’s arrival, the slow tightening of political nooses around houses like theirs.
But for now, he simply breathed in the night air and tried to appear as nothing more than a quiet, reformed child.
Later, as the reception began to wind down, the Duke found them near the main entrance.
His expression was satisfied but guarded.
“You both conducted yourselves well,” he said.
The praise was sparse, but coming from him it carried weight.
“There will be more such evenings.
Prepare yourselves.”
Elara curtsied.
Lucien bowed.
As their carriage rolled away from the palace under starlit skies, Lucien leaned his head against the cushioned seat.
The evening had passed without disaster, but the undercurrents remained.
Elara watched him across the carriage again, her thoughts clearly turning behind those sharp eyes.