The silence in the carriage was deafening.
Xion didn't dare move. Didn't even dare to breathe too loudly.
He had, in a moment of unforgivable stupidity, confessed to the Archduke that he was fawning over the voice of his alchemist.
He's going to think I'm some kind of degenerate.
Xion wanted to cry. It wasn't like he had feelings for Allen.
He was just… weak to those deep, silky voices, especially the ones that belonged to overpowered villains with tragic backstories and excellent bodies.
It was really just a harmless little weakness.
Unfortunately, there was nothing harmless when he admitted it out loud.
Especially when His Grace was staring at him like a man who'd just been personally betrayed by God himself.
"…Brother Allen has a hot voice?" His Grace repeated slowly, tasting each syllable like it was a spoiled delicacy.
His expression remained infuriatingly blank, and yet— somehow— he looked as if Xion had just shoved a rotten fig into his mouth.
