Chapter 43: A Good Investment

Xavion stood dead center on the thick woven rug, his boots planted as if he were holding a defensive position against an encroaching army of wooden trunks and paper-wrapped bundles.

He slowly turned on his heel, his eye taking in the sheer, bewildering volume of it all.

"Is all of this..." Xavion began, his deep voice trailing off as he gestured vaguely toward a velvet-lined box sitting atop his writing desk. He turned toward the doorway, "...your doing?"

Lioren immediately clapped his hands together with a sharp, delighted snap.

"Of course it is!" Lioren declared proudly, throwing his chin up as he sauntered two steps into the room. "If anyone else had dared sneak into your chambers and pile it high with these goods, I’d already be having very serious, very sharp words with them!"

Xavion let out a quiet breath, running a hand over his face. "Grand Duke..."

"Now, now, hear me out before you start looking at me like I’ve lost my mind," Lioren interrupted. "I watched you today. Every time we stopped at a stall, you kept picking things up. You’d hold them, turn them over in your hands, look at them for three whole seconds, and then set them right back down with that noble sigh of yours."

Lioren gestured broadly to the room. "You clearly liked them! But since you were far too polite to buy them for yourself, I simply took the initiative and bought them on your behalf."

Xavion looked around the room once more, taking in the absurd abundance of it all.

"Your Grace," Xavion said gently. "You really didn’t need to do this. We had already purchased more than enough necessities earlier today. Buying all of these additional trinkets... it seems rather wasteful."

Lioren’s expression instantly shifted. His bright blue eyes narrowed with the absolute seriousness of a northern merchant defending a high-stakes trade agreement before the Ducal Council.

"Wasteful?" Lioren echoed, placing a hand dramatically over his chest as if he’d been struck by a blunt arrow. "Prince Xavion. Some might see a room full of boxes and call it wasteful, yes. But have you considered the local economy? The merchants. The poor, hardworking artisans of the capital. This isn’t waste, this is civic duty!"

He took a step closer, waving a dismissive hand through the air. "Besides, nobody is asking you to use every single item today. Anything you don’t need right this second can sit right here. You can use it next month, you can resell it, or you can give them away as presents to people you mildly tolerate."

To illustrate his point, Lioren darted toward one of the smaller open crates near the hearth. He reached inside, his long fingers rummaging through a bed of dry straw before pulling out a small, hand-carved wooden figurine of a sleeping mountain bear.

He held it up at eye level, presenting it to Xavion with flourish.

"Look at this!" Lioren insisted, turning the little bear side to side so the candlelight caught the smooth grain of the wood. "It’s magnificent! It serves absolutely no practical military purpose whatsoever, which makes it a lovely decoration. You put it right here on your mantelpiece, and whenever your eyes are tired from staring at dry maps, you look at the little bear and feel a brief moment of quiet joy. Even I like looking at pretty, useless things! Surely a great general can appreciate a nice wooden bear?"

Xavion stared at the tiny bear, then at Lioren’s beaming face, completely at a loss for words.

Before Xavion could assemble a coherent argument, Lioren dropped the bear back and bounded over to a desk, snatching up a thick, paper-wrapped bundle. He tore the string with his teeth and proudly fanned out a stack of at least fifteen embroidered linen handkerchiefs across his forearm like a merchant displaying fine lace.

"And these!" Lioren crowed, holding the linen up. "Another brilliant investment! Do you know the statistical reality at, Prince Xavion? At any given gathering, at least one person out of ten is bound to forget their handkerchief. It’s a universal law of nature. If you carry four or five of these in your coat pockets at all times, you could easily sell them at a fifty-percent markup to desperate nobles with seasonal sniffles! With this many handkerchiefs, you could establish a small commercial empire right from our guest wing!"

Xavion blinked, staring at the fanned-out linen with mild, utterly stunned bewilderment. "A... handkerchief empire?"

Lioren paused, looking at Xavion’s flat, stoic expression. He let out a small, thoughtful hum, leaning in just a fraction. "Though... knowing how absurdly kind you are, you’d probably just end up handing them out for free to anyone who looked chilly, wouldn’t you? Just give away your whole inventory without charging a single copper." He let out a light, fond laugh. "Which, to be fair, is probably exactly what I would do too."

Xavion stood entirely frozen, looking down at his betrothed. He couldn’t tell if Lioren was genuinely trying to rationalize a catastrophic shopping spree using fake economic logic, or if the Grand Duke had simply gotten entirely swept up in the momentum of his own bizarre reasoning.

Yet, as he looked at Lioren’s bright eyes, devoid of any real arrogance, glowing only with an eager, almost desperate desire to make him feel welcomed, it proved entirely impossible to remain displeased.

Xavion let out a soft, defeated exhale through his nose.

"I suppose..." Xavion agreed softly, his voice gentler than before, "...when you put it in such a light, perhaps it isn’t entirely wasteful."

Lioren’s head snapped up. "HA!"

He pointed a finger straight at Xavion’s chest, his face lighting up like a midsummer bonfire. "You admitted it! You said the words! Does that mean we no longer have a problem?"

"We no longer have a problem," Xavion repeated, a faint, genuine softening breaking the hard line of his jaw. He looked at Lioren with quiet sincerity. "Thank you, Your Grace. Really. Thank you for your... thoughtfulness."

Lioren let out a long, hugely dramatic sigh of relief, sagging his shoulders as if he’d just survived a brutal ten-minute duel in the arena. He wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Gods above, what a relief!" Lioren gasped playfully. "I am so glad Prince Xavion has finally come to appreciate my logic. I was worried I’d have to go buy you a second room just to store your gratitude!"

Lioren gave himself another moment to bask in his victory before clapping his hands together once more, apparently deciding that the matter had been settled to everyone’s satisfaction. Well, almost everyone’s. Xavion still looked as though he needed another hour to process the fact that he’d somehow gone from a peaceful stroll through the capital to becoming the owner of enough miscellaneous goods to supply a moderately sized noble household.

"Right!" Lioren announced, straightening up with the air of a man who had just completed a highly successful business negotiation. "Now that we’ve established that I’m a civic-minded individual with an excellent eye for worthwhile investments, I suppose I should stop bothering you and let you get acquainted with your new possessions."

Xavion’s gaze drifted toward the mountain of packages beside the wardrobe. "Acquainted," he repeated faintly.

"Yes, acquainted!" Lioren said, nodding enthusiastically. "You know, figure out what’s in each box, decide where everything goes, discover that one item you never knew you needed but suddenly can’t imagine living without. The usual things people do when they’re presented with a perfectly reasonable quantity of gifts."

Xavion looked at him. Lioren looked back.

"All right, fine," the Grand Duke conceded, raising both hands. "Perhaps not a perfectly reasonable quantity. But we’ve already discussed this, and I refuse to reopen negotiations now that I’ve finally secured your approval. I have a reputation to maintain."

"I wouldn’t dream of challenging it, Your Grace."

"Good!" Lioren gave him a cheerful little nod, evidently satisfied that the prince was keeping up with the conversation. "Anyway, I’ll leave you to unpack everything. Take your time, sort through the goods, and don’t feel obligated to keep something just because I bought it. If there’s anything you don’t like, we can always find someone else who’ll appreciate it."

He paused, then raised an index finger as another thought apparently struck him.

"Actually, on second thought, don’t give away the wooden bear without telling me first. I like that one. If you decide you don’t want it, I’ll take it off your hands and put it in my own room. I have a perfectly respectable collection of decorative objects, and that little fellow would fit right in." He nodded firmly, as though this were an entirely ordinary condition to attach to a gift. "The handkerchiefs, on the other hand, are all yours. I refuse to be held responsible for the collapse of a potentially magnificent commercial empire because you decided to be generous to a nobleman with a runny nose."

With that, Lioren finally turned toward the door, though he seemed incapable of leaving without one last inspection of his handiwork. He glanced over his shoulder at the room, his gaze catching on the embroidered handkerchiefs still spread across the desk and the little wooden bear peeking out of its straw-filled crate. His expression softened into a pleased smile before he looked back at Xavion.

"All right, I’ll see you at dinner," he said. "Don’t disappear into all those boxes and forget to come downstairs. The kitchens are preparing something rather good tonight, and I’d hate for you to miss it because you’ve become too busy organizing your new collection of entirely unnecessary treasures."

The moment the door closed, the grand hallway was quiet once more, save for the faint patter of rain against the high arched windows at the far end of the passage.

Lioren stood alone in the corridor for three full seconds.

He patted his chest once, as though checking that everything was in place, before lowering his hand.

Well, Lioren thought to himself, a slow, ridiculously pleased grin spreading across his face until his cheeks practically ached.

Xavion hadn’t refused a single one of the boxes.

He hadn’t looked angry, or disgusted, or overwhelmed with cold political suspicion. In fact, he’d looked... comfortable. Touched, even.

Lioren let out a quiet, giddy breath, resting his back against the wall for a brief moment as he stared up at the stone ceiling.

He didn’t reject it, Lioren realized, his heart giving a firm, solid thud against his ribs. He accepted it. All of it.

Choosing to take that as an absolute, undeniable, historically significant small victory, the Grand Duke of Roscaire straightened his velvet vest, smoothed down his hair, and practically floated down the carpeted hallway. He even began humming a cheerful little tune under his breath, his steps so light that he looked dangerously close to skipping.

Truly, what more could a man ask for in a single day, so long as the future world destroyer was happy?