Chapter 74: The Dessert Break

Lioren walked away from the remains of Marquess Gardner’s dignity with the calm confidence of a man who had done absolutely nothing wrong. He passed the pillars without so much as a glance, looking perfectly at ease for someone who had threatened to tie a fellow nobleman to a tree stump just moments ago.

The dessert table, meanwhile, was a sight to behold. There were spun-sugar swans, towering stacks of glazed fruit tarts, and tiny cream-filled pastries arranged so delicately that one had to wonder whether they were meant to be eaten or simply admired. Honestly, one careless sneeze could probably bring the entire display crashing down.

Lioren reached for a small raspberry tartlet on a silver tray, taking one for himself before grabbing another for good measure. He turned toward Xavion and held out the second pastry.

Xavion looked down at the cream-topped pastry. Thankfully, there would be no repeat of the incident like the one in the dining room. He had somehow managed to misunderstand Lioren’s perfectly innocent offer of a honey drops and taken it straight from his fingers with his mouth. It was not a mistake he was particularly eager to make twice. This time, he reached out and took the tartlet properly.

A tiny reminder of that afternoon crossed Lioren’s mind. He remembered Xavion’s thumb brushing against his knuckles, the brief silence that had followed, and the rather embarrassing fact that his heart had seemed to stop working for a few seconds. He wisely decided not to dwell on it. Instead, he swallowed, popped his own tartlet into his mouth, and hummed appreciatively. The pastry was delicious. Very delicious. An excellent thing to focus on.

"Good lord," Lioren mumbled around a mouthful of flaky crust and raspberry glaze. "If Arvandel’s chef ever gets tired of working for an enlightened liberal duke, I’m kidnapping him and hiding him in the northern kitchens."

Xavion took a slow bite of his own pastry. The sweet, tart cream dissolved against his tongue, and a very faint, appreciative softening crept into the rigid lines of his jaw. "It is... remarkably light," Xavion admitted. "Not overly sweet."

"House Arvandel certainly knows how to spoil its guests," Evelia chimed in, materializing beside them with a crystal flute of plum wine and a plate piled dangerously high with chocolate-dipped strawberries. She plucked a berry by its green stem, biting off half of it before continuing. "Though I must confess, watching you verbally dismantle Marquess Gardner just now was far more satisfying than anything on this dessert table. My compliments, brother. Truly a masterpiece of petty cruelty."

Lioren brushed a stray crumb from his black velvet lapel with exaggerated dignity. "I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was merely giving the Marquess a little something to think about. A clear picture of what might happen if he makes another foolish decision. Really, I was doing everyone a favor."

"Right. And I’m the Queen of Ostharia," she muttered, rolling her eyes with affectionate disdain before turning her attention to Xavion. "Tell me honestly, Prince Xavion, how are you surviving this suffocating circus? You’ve spent the better part of the evening being stared at as though you were some rare creature brought here for their amusement by people who haven’t held a real sword in three generations. Are you regretting every life choice that brought you into this room?"

Xavion paused, his half-eaten pastry still in hand as his single violet eye wandered across the crowded ballroom. A few nobles quickly looked away when they noticed his attention.

"Not particularly," Xavion replied, his voice quiet but sincere. "The room is rather noisy, and the abundance of perfume is a little overwhelming, but everyone has been reasonably polite. Aside from the occasional overly dramatic Marquess, most people seem content to stare from a safe distance."

"Give it time," Evelia warned with a wicked little grin. "Once the ladies finish digesting their dinner, they’ll start sending over marriage proposals for their third cousins or asking things about Ostharian. That’s when the real fun begins."

Lioren chuckled. "She’s not wrong, you know. People in the capital are so starved for entertainment that you’ve become the most interesting topic of conversation from here to the northern border. You’re taking it surprisingly well, though."

"I have endured years of war, paranoid generals, and lords who questioned my very existence and standing," Xavion said calmly. "Compared to that, a room full of nobles drinking wine and exchanging gossip is rather peaceful. No one has attempted to poison me yet, either. So far, I consider the evening a success."

"Give them another hour," Lioren quipped. "With the way you’re dressed tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the ballroom forgets how to behave."

Xavion didn’t exactly blush, but a faint warmth crept up his neck, just visible above the black velvet collar of his tunic. He lowered his gaze to his plate, a small, private smile appearing on his lips.

Evelia watched the two of them in silence, taking another sip of wine. Her expression suggested she was finding the exchange rather amusing, though perhaps not quite as amusing as she found her brother’s increasingly obvious affection.

"So," Evelia drawled, leaning against the pillar beside them. "Once we finally escape this gathering and make our way back north, what’s the grand plan, Lioren? Are you going to hide him away in some remote hunting lodge until he develops a fondness for frozen pine trees, or parade him through every provinces until every last noble has had a chance to admire him?"

"I am going to do neither of those things, thank you very much," Lioren protested, though he couldn’t entirely hide the gleam in his eyes. "I intend to show him the real North. Not the grim, stone-fortress stereotype these fools whisper about in their parlors. The valleys near White Ridge are stunning this time of year. The grasslands turn gold, the mountain air is lovely, and the hot springs are practically heaven after a long journey."

"Hot springs," Evelia repeated flatly. "Of course. Because nothing says ’strategic northern defense’ quite like a leisurely soak in a steaming mountain puddle."

"It builds morale," Lioren retorted smoothly. "You should try it sometime. Your disposition could use a bit of thawing."

"My disposition is a national treasure," she shot back, popping the rest of her strawberry into her mouth.

Lioren turned back to Xavion, his voice softening as he spoke. Despite the noise around them, he seemed perfectly content to focus on the man standing before him. "Once we return, there’s no rush, you know. You can take your time settling in. There’s no shortage of quiet places in the manors. You can read, explore, or spend the entire day doing absolutely nothing. No one will complain."

"I imagine," Xavion murmured, keeping his gaze on Lioren, "that the quiet of the North will be a welcome change after all this noise."

"Oh, it’s quiet, all right," Lioren agreed softly. "Sometimes the only thing you can hear out past the outer ward is the wind rattling the pine branches and the horses stamping in the stables. But it’s... peaceful."

"Don’t overwhelm him with an entire relocation manual before we’ve even managed to finish our dessert, brother," Evelia interrupted, though her tone was light. "He hasn’t even agreed to your half-baked hot spring excursion yet."

"I haven’t said no, either," Xavion noted quietly, a faint amusement in his eye.

Lioren beamed, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. "See? He’s already adapting to our superior northern logic. Give him another month and I’ll have him wearing fur-lined cloaks and complaining about the capital humidity."

"Gods help us all," Evelia sighed, though she was smiling.

For a few minutes, the three of them settled into a pleasant little conversation, trading teasing remarks as the string quartet began playing a slower waltz. Lioren, meanwhile, helped himself to a third pastry and pretended this was perfectly reasonable. In fact, he was beginning to consider whether House Roscaire could afford to steal Arvandel’s pastry chef. Surely an outrageously generous salary would make the offer difficult to refuse.

Then came the footsteps.

Lioren’s shoulders stiffened. His expression settled into something appropriately dignified, because apparently being a Grand Duke meant he couldn’t spend an entire evening looking like a man whose greatest concern was whether he’d eaten too many pastries.

Two familiar figures were approaching.

Evelia stopped mid-sentence, her wineglass frozen halfway to her lips as her attention shifted to something behind Lioren.

Xavion noticed it too. The relaxed expression he’d worn moments earlier disappeared, replaced by the composed, unreadable face of an Ostharian prince preparing to greet the Werestian Crown. Just like that, the pleasant little dessert gathering was over. Duty had arrived, apparently, and it had brought an audience.

Lioren, meanwhile, took his time finishing the last bite of his tartlet. He swallowed, dabbed his mouth, and drew a quiet breath before turning around. If he was about to be interrupted, he might as well finish his pastry first.

Crown Prince Riven and Princess Riella stood just a few paces away. Riven wore his usual pleasant, carefully composed smile, looking every bit the charming Crown Prince the court expected him to be. Beside him, Riella stood slightly behind, her gaze briefly meeting Lioren’s. Something wistful lingered in her eyes, but she soon schooled her features into the familiar grace of a princess.

"Grand Duke Roscaire," Riven said. "Lady Evelia. And... Prince Xavion. Surely you won’t mind if we join you for a while?"