Chapter 71: A Spectacle Worth Watching

The sound of a silver spoon tapping against a crystal flute rang through the grand ballroom. It was the universal signal for nobles to stop discussing everyone else’s business and pretend they had been listening to the host all along.

Beneath the golden light of three massive chandeliers stood Duke Arvandel, wearing the expression of a man who had already begun counting the minutes until his guests went home. He was a pleasant-looking middle-aged gentleman, with warm eyes, a slightly rounded figure, and the unmistakable air of someone who enjoyed his dinners far more than political discussions.

When the room had finally settled, the Duke looked over the assembled guests with a kind smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Arvandel began. "Thank you. Truly. It warms my heart to see you all gathered here once more. I would like to believe you have come to celebrate my birthday, though I would be a fool to underestimate the drawing power of a well-prepared feast and a few bottles of good wine."

A gentle wave of laughter passed through the crowd.

"I shall spare you all a lengthy speech on matters of state," the Duke continued, looking fondly over his guests. "I imagine you have heard quite enough of those already. Tonight, I would rather thank the old friends who have remained steadfast to House Arvandel through the years, as well as those who have only recently joined our company. May you enjoy the evening, may your glasses remain full, and may my mother’s rugs survive the festivities."

A generous round of applause filled the hall. It lacked the stiff formality of the applause often offered to the Crown or the High Chancellor. These were people who truly admired their host, and they made no effort to hide it.

As the orchestra began a lively waltz, signalling the end of the formal welcome, the guests gradually returned to their conversations. Servants made their way through the crowd with silver trays of sparkling plum wine, while groups of ladies gathered near the hearth. Before long, the hall was once again filled with the lively bustle of the celebration.

Almost immediately, the northern delegation found themselves cornered.

"Your Grace!" a booming voice sang out, cutting through the string music.

A heavy-set baron with flushed cheeks and a massive emerald ring practically barreled toward them, towing a nervous-looking nephew in tow. Before Lioren could deploy his patented blank stare, the man was already bowing. "It’s been an age! We were beginning to think the North had swallowed you whole, or that you’d simply forgotten what a ballroom looked like!"

"Baron Bance," Lioren replied. "My apologies. Between managing the border logistics and various estate matters, my calendar has been somewhat... uncooperative. Besides, I believe we saw each other at the palace celebration not long ago."

"Ah, yes, yes," Bance laughed, though his eyes darted quickly past Lioren’s shoulder to land squarely on Xavion. The baron hesitated, his pleasant expression slipping for a moment before he quickly forced another smile. "And, of course, the imperial exchange. A momentous occasion for us."

Before anyone could find a suitable response to that particular pleasantry, the crowd parted to make way for Duke Arvandel as he headed straight toward them.

"Grand Duke Roscaire," the Duke greeted warmly. "You actually made it. I was taking wagers with my steward that you’d find some obscure administrative crisis in the stables just to avoid the carriage ride."

Lioren offered a smirk. "I considered it, Duke Arvandel, but my sister threatened to burn down my library if I stayed home."

Arvandel chuckled, turning his attention to the person beside them dressed in red. "Lady Evelia. You look entirely too dangerous tonight. What laws of God and man are you planning to break before midnight?"

"Only the ones regarding boring company, Duke," Evelia purred, offering him a smile. "How is your younger sister? Rumor has it she’s hiding in the library because she couldn’t bear another round of matchmaking attempts."

"She’s in the library with three romance novels and a plate of sugar biscuits, and she sends her regards," the Duke replied with a fond sigh. He then turned, his expression softened into a carefully maintained smile as he looked at Xavion.

For a brief moment, the atmosphere grew tense. The Werestian nobles had yet to grow accustomed to the presence of an Ostharian general among them. His very presence brought back memories of a war that had ended, but had hardly been forgotten.

"Prince Xavion," Arvandel said, dipping his head in a formal, respectful bow that completely bypassed the awkwardness of court protocol. "Welcome to House Arvandel. I hope you have been settling in comfortably at the Roscaire residence. I imagine Grand Duke Lioren has been keeping you quite occupied."

Xavion returned the bow with a nod. "They are more than comfortable, Your Grace. The hospitality has been... remarkably thorough."

"Good, good," the Duke smiled. "The capital can be a suffocating place for a stranger, especially when the gossip columnists are starved for a fresh target. Have you had a chance to see much of the city?"

"Some," Xavion answered quietly. "His Grace and Lady Evelia have shown me around."

"We’ve only shown him a fraction of what there is to see," Lioren added. "He’ll have plenty more to look forward to once we return north."

Nearby, a younger viscount lean in slightly. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but is there any truth to the rumors? Will the Prince actually be accompanying you back to the Roscaire territory when your business in the capital concludes?"

"He’s not visiting, Viscount. He’s coming home with me. Unless you’ve heard that betrothed couples are expected to live separately now?" Lioren replied, his smile remaining perfectly pleasant. "I’ll be taking him through every frozen pass, hot spring, and fortress in my territory. I’m sure he’ll find plenty to enjoy."

The young viscount’s expression stiffened. He opened his mouth, seemed to reconsider, then offered a hurried bow before retreating into the crowd.

Lioren couldn’t help wondering what sort of answer the man had expected, or what possessed him to ask such a ridiculous question in the first place. He and Xavion were betrothed, for goodness’ sake. Did the viscount honestly think he would return to the north and leave his own future husband behind in the capital?

The conversation soon took a more pleasant turn. Arvandel proved himself an excellent host, steering everyone away from old battle scars and toward safer topics, such as trade routes, the latest happenings in the capital, and the questionable talents of the string quartet playing by the fountains.

Other nobles gradually joined and left their little gathering. Some were genuinely curious about Xavion and how he had been faring, while others seemed more interested in being seen exchanging a few words with the Grand Duke. Throughout it all, Lioren remained firmly by Xavion’s side, keeping a watchful eye on the older nobles who regarded the prince with barely concealed hostility. Whenever someone seemed inclined to bring up Ostharia, Lioren was quick to steer the conversation elsewhere.

For once, the evening was proceeding without a hitch. It was almost enough to make Lioren suspicious.

And as it turned out, he had every reason to be.

"I’m telling you, it’s an absolute outrage!"

A shrill, outraged voice suddenly pierced the pleasant hum of conversation. Several guests turned at once, while three unfortunate souls near the dessert table nearly dropped their forks.

"Every single time I step out of my residence, every single time, there is this man in a gray wool cloak standing by the horse-troughs! I went to the tailor this morning, and the same fellow was loitering by the fabric bolts! I went to the magistrate’s office, and he was leaning against a damn lamppost eating a roasted chestnut!"

Marquess Gardner was standing near the edge of the central fountain, his face flushed the color of a bruised beet, waving a jeweled walking cane around with enough wild enthusiasm to endanger several expensive gowns. A small, fascinated crowd had already formed around him like vultures over a fresh carcass.

"Someone keeping an eye on you?" an elderly noblewoman gasped, clutching her pearls. "Good heavens, Marquess, have you reported this to the city watch?"

"The watch?" Gardner sputtered, his mustache twitching with rage. "The watch captains are imbeciles! They told me it was merely a coincidence that the same man kept appearing wherever I went. A coincidence? My dear lady, the fellow followed me into a private apothecary and spent twenty minutes pretending to examine leeches, all the while glaring at the back of my neck! I tell you, someone is deliberately tormenting House Gardner!"

Lioren stopped mid-sentence. He slowly turned toward the source of the commotion, his expression shifting from mild aristocratic boredom to the unmistakable interest of a man who had just witnessed an unexpected spectacle.

Beside him, Therin didn’t even blink. He merely adjusted his spectacles, his expression as composed as ever.

"Oh, dear," Evelia murmured, pressing a hand to her mouth to hide a violent, shaking fit of laughter. "It sounds like your man seem terribly devoted to their task, brother."

Lioren didn’t answer immediately. A rather wicked smile crept across his face, one that suggested the evening had just become considerably more entertaining. He didn’t interrupt or make his presence known. He simply leaned against a pillar, arms folded over his chest, and allowed the Marquess to continue telling anyone within earshot about his troubles.

Xavion caught the look on Lioren’s face, a faint, dry twitch of amusement touching his own mouth.

Marquess Gardner threw his hands up in despair, loudly demanding to know if anyone in the capital still possessed a shred of common sense.

Lioren merely stood by, watching the spectacle unfold with a faint smile. It was only a matter of time before the Marquess discovered just how close the source of his troubles had been all along.