The invitation arrived in silence.
Lucas noticed it only because it did not belong.
It rested on the edge of the long oak table in the study, placed with unnatural precision, sealed in deep crimson wax and marked with a crest he recognized but had not seen in years. No servant had announced it. No footsteps had echoed through the halls. No presence had been felt.
Someone had entered his room… and left without a trace.
Lucas stood at the doorway for a moment, his gaze fixed on the letter as the late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows behind him. The golden glow brushed against his platinum hair, illuminating the faint strands that fell over his sharp, unreadable eyes.
"Bold," he murmured quietly.
He stepped forward, each movement measured, controlled. His gloved fingers hovered above the envelope before finally picking it up. The wax seal bore the emblem of the capital—an intricate design of wings curling protectively around a crown.
A banquet.
Of course it was.
The seal broke with a soft snap beneath his thumb.
*To Lord Lucas Ainsworth,*
*You are cordially invited to attend the Royal Autumn Banquet at the capital. Your presence is requested among the distinguished.*
*Attendance is expected.*
Lucas let out a quiet breath, almost a scoff.
"Expected," he repeated under his breath.
Not requested. Not welcomed.
Expected.
"Well, well… someone's being dragged back into the world."
The voice came lightly, laced with amusement.
Lucas did not turn immediately. "Esther."
She sat by the windowsill as if she had always been there, one leg swinging lazily, her eyes gleaming with mischief. The wind slipped through the open window, catching strands of her light blue hair as she grinned.
"You're going," she continued, hopping down with effortless grace. "You absolutely have to. I mean, imagine it—nobles, gossip, whispers, all those lovely judging eyes."
Lucas glanced at her, his expression flat. "You have a strange sense of enjoyment."
"Oh, I know exactly what I enjoy," she replied. "Watching you deal with people? That's entertainment."
He folded the letter neatly, his movements precise. "I'm not going for them."
Esther tilted her head slightly, her grin sharpening. "Then who?"
Lucas's gaze lowered, thoughtful, distant.
"There will be merchants," he said quietly. "Guild representatives."
A pause followed.
"The eastern one," he added.
Recognition flickered across Esther's face before her smile widened. "Ah… so that's the real reason."
Lucas said nothing, but the silence was enough.
"Well then," she clapped her hands softly, "looks like we're going to a party."
"We?" Lucas raised an eyebrow.
Esther's expression turned innocent—far too innocent. "You don't expect to survive that alone, do you?"
Lucas exhaled faintly. "Don't make it worse."
"No promises."
---
The night of the banquet arrived with a stillness that felt heavier than usual.
The carriage waiting outside the estate stood beneath the dim glow of lanterns, its dark polished wood reflecting the flickering light. Silver accents traced its edges, elegant but restrained, befitting someone who did not seek attention… but could not avoid it either.
Lucas paused at the entrance.
For a brief moment, everything felt quiet.
Too quiet.
The wind brushed past him, lifting strands of his platinum hair, cool against his skin. His hand tightened slightly at his side.
Crowds.
Voices.
Eyes.
Judgment.
Memories followed close behind.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "It's just a banquet," he murmured.
But the moment he stepped into the carriage, he knew that was a lie.
---
The capital burned with life.
Lights spilled from tall windows, laughter echoing through the streets as nobles gathered, their voices blending into a constant hum. The palace rose above it all, radiant and distant, its golden accents shimmering beneath the night sky.
Lucas stepped down from the carriage, his expression already composed into something unreadable, something untouchable.
But inside—
The tension coiled tightly.
Each step toward the grand hall felt heavier than the last.
And when the doors opened—
It hit him.
Sound crashed over him like a wave.
Music filled the air, elegant and controlled, yet beneath it lay the murmur of countless conversations. Laughter rang out. Glass clinked softly.
And then—
The eyes.
So many eyes.
Lucas walked forward.
At first, it was subtle. A glance. A pause. Recognition slowly forming.
Then the whispers began.
"Is that—"
"The third child of count Ainsworth"
"Lucas Ainsworth..."
"Isn't he the one who 'conquered' the war?."
"Why is he here?"
His steps did not falter.
His posture remained straight, his gaze forward.
But his senses sharpened.
Every word reached him.
Every look lingered too long.
"Wasn't he the one—"
"Yeah, the illegitimate one..."
"Disgraced, wasn't he?"
"…still has the nerve to show up."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
The past clawed its way forward—voices louder, sharper, cutting deeper than they should have.
*You don't belong here.*
*Know your place.*
His hand curled slightly at his side.
"Careful," Esther's voice slipped beside him, quiet enough that only he could hear. "You're about to start a war without moving."
"I'm fine," Lucas replied flatly.
"Sure," she hummed. "Then stop listening."
He exhaled slowly.
Stop listening.
It was not that simple.
But he forced himself to shift his focus, dragging his attention away from the whispers, from the weight pressing against him.
Instead, he observed.
Nobles in ornate attire. Officials in measured conversation. Merchants, quieter but no less powerful.
And then—
A crest.
Different.
Subtle.
Eastern.
Lucas's gaze sharpened.
At the far end of the hall stood a man unlike the others. His attire flowed rather than clung, marked with patterns unfamiliar yet refined. He stood surrounded, yet untouched, as if the noise of the room simply did not reach him.
The eastern merchant.
Lucas stepped forward—
—and someone blocked his path.
"Well, if it isn't Lucas."
The voice was familiar.
Unpleasantly so.
Lucas turned, his expression unreadable.
A man stood before him, smiling, though there was no warmth behind it.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he continued. "I thought you preferred hiding."
Lucas's voice was calm. "Move."
The man chuckled softly. "Still the same."
"Unfortunately," Esther muttered nearby, "so are you."
Lucas did not linger.
He stepped past him without another word.
The conversation held no value.
None of this did.
Yet the weight remained.
Heavy.
Unrelenting.
By the time Lucas stepped out of the palace, the night air felt like freedom.
---
The carriage ride back was quiet.
Too quiet.
Lucas sat still, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as darkness stretched endlessly before them. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, a subtle, controlled rhythm.
Unfinished.
The thought lingered.
He had seen the man—but not spoken to him.
He did not like unfinished matters.
Then—
A sound.
Soft.
Wrong.
Lucas's eyes narrowed.
"Stop the carriage."
It was already too late.
Figures emerged from the shadows, fast and coordinated. Steel flashed under moonlight as the horses reared, the carriage jolting violently.
Lucas moved instantly.
The door opened before the carriage fully halted, and he stepped out into the chaos as if stepping into something familiar.
"Stay inside," he said calmly.
Hearing this, Esther sat back on the carriage.
Then, the first attacker lunged.
Lucas closed the distance before the strike could land. His movement was precise, efficient—his hand intercepting, redirecting, striking.
It was a mind controling magic. One hit and it'll make your mind go blank.
The man fell.
Another came from behind—
Lucas turned, disarmed him in a single motion, and sent him crashing to the ground.
There was no hesitation.
No wasted movement.
Each action was deliberate.
Controlled.
Cold.
The fight ended quickly.
It always did.
Silence returned, broken only by faint groans.
Lucas exhaled softly.
Then—
"…Impressive."
The voice came from the side.
Lucas turned.
Another carriage stood nearby, its structure damaged, its guards either injured or scattered. The door opened slowly, and a man stepped out.
His presence was calm.
Composed.
Observing.
"You handled that efficiently," the man said. "I suppose I owe you my thanks."
Lucas studied him carefully.
Then his gaze shifted to the crest on the carriage.
Eastern.
Recognition flickered.
"…You were at the banquet."
The man smiled faintly. "And you left rather early."
A brief silence followed.
Then, with a slight inclination of his head, the man said—
"My name is Liang."
Lucas did not respond immediately.
But something in his gaze shifted.
Just slightly.
Because for the first time that night—
Something had finally aligned.
And perhaps—
This encounter had not been an accident at all.