I sipped red wine from a thin crystal glass, standing near a marble column in the far corner of the hall—just refined enough to blend in, just distant enough to be ignored.
Exactly where I wanted to be.
The wine was dry. Bitter. Probably expensive enough to buy a minor village.
I hated it.
But I held the glass like I belonged here, swirling it once every thirty seconds like some bored heir contemplating land tax reform.
In truth?
I was watching Elric.
From the corner of my eye, through the rim of the glass, across a hall full of velvet-robed heirs and silver-tongued nobles—he was right there.
Talking.
Awkwardly, sometimes. His posture was stiff in the shoulders. His gestures a little unsure.
But he wasn't flinching.
He wasn't hiding in the corner like the half-acknowledged noble son he was supposed to be.
He was smiling—and people were responding.
A few heirs chuckled politely. A minor noble lady nodded at something he said. One young knight gave him a look halfway between curiosity and mild admiration.
Elric didn't walk like a trained heir, but he stood like he meant it.
This guy was supposed to be a rejected extra, not someone casually navigating a noble hall with "accidental" charm.
I took another sip to mask the unease pooling in my stomach.
Where the hell were Garry and Luke?
I sent them to gather intel, not get distracted by the buffet table or start a two-man espionage comedy act.
They'd been gone too long.
I adjusted my grip on the wineglass and pretended to admire the architecture.
I wasn't watching Elric.
Just... the arch behind him.
Totally believable.
"You seem interested in the Ashborne heir."
The voice came from my left. Polished. Amused. Just loud enough to be polite—but with the kind of volume nobles use when they want to be overheard.
I turned slowly.
Leoric Caltherin.
Silver-blonde hair. Violet eyes. Crest of House Caltherin on his collar. Reputation for gossip disguised as diplomacy.
Not a friend. Not an enemy.
Definitely a complication.
"Curious, aren't you?" he said, lifting his glass lazily toward Elric without looking. "Last year he didn't even exist. Now he walks in beside Lord Theran like it's his birthright."
I said nothing, letting the silence do the heavy lifting.
"And you," Leoric continued, "seem to be paying particular attention. Is it rivalry? Or recognition?"
"I observe what moves," I replied flatly. "And the room seems to be shifting around him."
That earned a faint smirk.
"Spoken like a true Valemont. Eyes on the battlefield even in a ballroom."
He tapped his glass to mine lightly, mockingly, and drifted away.
But the damage was done.
A few nearby nobles had heard. Pretending not to watch. But they were.
Now?
Eyes were turning toward me, too.
And like the universe wanted to twist the knife—
"Is everything alright, Lord Brandy?"
The voice was calm. A little too calm.
I turned, slowly.
It was him.
Elric.
Up close, the awkwardness was more noticeable. His shirt collar was just slightly misaligned. He was standing with one shoulder stiffer than the other, like he wasn't sure how much space he was allowed to take up.
But his eyes were steady.
And his smile—not fake, not arrogant—was open. Relaxed.
"You seemed… distracted."
"Just tired," I replied with a tight smile. "But you look oddly comfortable."
He gave a small shrug, like he didn't quite know what to do with his hands.
"First time wearing clothes like these," he admitted. "Feels like I borrowed someone else's skin."
That should've made him sound pathetic.
But instead, it made people nearby smile. It made him real.
There was something annoyingly disarming about it.
"But you're handling it well," I said, swirling my wine. "People seem interested."
"Probably because I'm not sure who I'm supposed to impress," he said simply. "So I'm just… not trying too hard."
Another chuckle from someone behind me.
Great. He wasn't trying, and he was still winning.
"A risky strategy in this room," I said dryly.
"Isn't everything in this room a risk?" Elric said, tilting his head. "Even standing still?"
His voice didn't have polish—but it had clarity. And sincerity. That was worse.
"You're not what I expected," I said.
"No one ever is," he replied, smiling like it was the easiest truth in the world.
And then—
"Boss! He beat the crap out of his brother!"
Garry.
That lovable idiot.
He came barreling through the crowd, too fast, too loud, pointing over his shoulder like he was announcing war.
A ripple passed through the hall.
Elric blinked.
I closed my eyes for a second.
And there it is. The comedic timing I never asked for.