I hold his gaze. He doesn’t blink.
“Do you understand, boy?”
“I heard you.”
A pause, as he considers whether it’s worth the public spectacle of cowing my minor rebellion.
Then he relaxes.
“Good.”
His attention shifts past me almost immediately, dismissing me without needing to say it. I step away before anyone else can fill the space. Let them circle him. Let them pretend they are his peers, his friends, rather than his rivals.
I’m not here for that. I scan the room instead. Habit. Instinct. Every entrance. Every exit. Guard placement. Noble clusters. Who stands where, who avoids whom, who’s watching and who’s pretending not to.
Lord Kholara, a man who has caused me problems in court of late, is not immediately visible. He should be. A gathering like this? Hosted in his greatest rival’s very household? He should be at the center of it. Not absent. Not hidden.
I move along the edge of the hall, not lingering long enough in any one place to invite conversation..
“Strange,” a voice murmurs to my right.
I don’t look as I reply.
“Is it?”
“Mm,” the noble continues. Male. Younger. Trying too hard to sound unconcerned. “You’re…calm.”
That almost earns him a glance.
“Should I not be?”
He hesitates.
“No,” he says finally. “It’s just?—”
“Unexpected?”
“…yes. Long have I heard the tales of fiery Verginyon, whose hand never strays far from his blade. Whose rage rivals that of the most puissant of the Thirteen Hungry Maws. And instead, I see you are just…ordinary. ”
I turn my head then, just enough to meet his eyes. There’s something in their depths that gives me pause. Not just scorn, though there’s plenty of that, not to mention calculation. No, this man has purpose in every breath.
Purpose that bodes ill for me.
“My apologies for disappointing you,” I say with a polite smile. “Perhaps you should adjust your expectations?”
He swallows. Good. Perhaps he will think again about meddling with me. I move on.
The music shifts—something softer, woven through the low murmur of voices, barely noticeable unless you’re listening for it. I am.
Because something about this— Doesn’t sit right. Too smooth. Too controlled. Even for this place.
And then I see him at last. Kholara stands near one of the far columns, half-turned into a conversation that looks casual from a distance. His house is of lower station than our own, yet you would never know by his garb. Elaborate embroidery festoons his gown, far too showy for a simple garden party. He wanted to be sure that everyone would see him.
His smile seems genuine, born of pleasure and amusement. But nothing is how it seems with Kholara.
Nothing about him ever is.
And the people around him—They’re positioned wrong. Not randomly like guests and sycophants attaching themselves one by one. No, this looks…placed. Deliberate. I slow slightly, adjusting my path without making it obvious, angling closer without approaching directly.
