Hope sighed as the maid unfastened the last piece of his armour, the polished plates clinking softly before being carried away. Then came the silks — layered, embroidered, and entirely too pompous for anyone with self-respect.

  If only it wasn’t considered disrespectful to say, I can do it myself.

  Once the ordeal was done, he gave the maid his best counterfeit smile — the kind that looked polite enough to pass — and followed an attendant out toward the courtyard for the afternoon interlude between the Games.

  The promenade was all marble and sunlight, lined with banners and parasols, nobles drifting between tables of wine and sugared fruit. Conversation dimmed as he entered, the kind of hush that wasn’t truly silence — just curiosity held in place.

  Every gaze turned his way.

  Some nodded with measured grace, some smiled too wide, and others merely pretended not to stare at all. The respectful ones dipped their heads; the dishonest ones kept their masks on, painted smiles fixed as their eyes flickered with envy or fear.

  Hope returned each gesture in kind — the same way he’d learned to handle a blade. Smooth. Efficient. Without showing how little he cared.

  Because if there was one thing he’d learned about nobles, it was that their faces wore more layers than the women’s makeup.

  The attendant beside him cleared his throat softly, bowing just enough to be proper.

  “Your Lord Father has asked that you present yourself to him later, my lord,” the man said, voice carefully neutral. “For now, he bids you enjoy the interlude — and see to our guests.”

  Hope gave a faint nod. “Of course he does,” he murmured under his breath, just low enough that only the marble floor might have heard it.

  He barely had time to feign interest in the nearest group of nobles before a smooth, confident voice reached him.

  “Quite the performance, Hope Barion.”

  Hope turned.

  Tolan Kael approached with an easy, unhurried stride, sunlight catching in his blond hair and bright blue eyes. His smile came quick and natural.

  He was taller than Hope by nearly a head, and the lines of his face already carried a trace of adulthood.

  Behind him walked a younger girl with the same eyes and quiet elegance. Her pale-green gown shimmered faintly as she moved, and the soft sound of her steps drew a few curious glances from nearby nobles who quickly pretended to look elsewhere.

  Tolan stopped a few paces away and inclined his head. “I thought it only proper to offer congratulations,” he said. “Your final shot was… something I’ll not forget anytime soon.”

  Hope returned the gesture with a polite nod. “Appreciate it,” he said, keeping his tone light. “I was just hoping to hit the thing, not cause a scene.”

  Tolan’s grin came easy. “Then it seems you’ve a talent for both.”

  He chuckled, letting the moment breathe before glancing to his side. “Speaking of attention, there’s someone you’ve truly impressed.” He turned slightly, gesturing with an easy motion. “May I present my younger sister, Lady Elayne Kael.”

  She curtsied, eyes lowering for a moment before glancing up at Hope. A faint blush coloured her cheeks, and her lips parted as if to speak — then closed again just as quickly.

  Hope offered a small bow in return. “A pleasure.”

  “The pleasure’s hers, I think,” Tolan said with a teasing glint. “You’ve managed to astonish the whole court this morning — and she couldn’t take her eyes off that last arrow, or perhaps the one who sent it.”

  “Tolan!” she hissed softly, mortified.

  He only laughed, easy and good-natured. “What? I’m just being honest.”

  Hope’s mouth twitched in the hint of a smile. “Can’t say I noticed the crowd much.”

  “Understandable,” Tolan said. “Most wouldn’t, with that kind of focus. Still — you gave them something to talk about. Even my lord father was truly impressed, and that’s rarer than snow in the Verdant Marshes.”

  Hope nodded, uncertain how to respond to genuine praise from someone who seemed to mean it.

  “Thanks,” he said quietly. “Guess I’ll try not to disappoint next time.”

  “I doubt you could,” Tolan replied, his tone warm. “And if you ever tire of the formal nonsense, my sister and I often slip away from the court crowd. You’d be welcome to join us.”

  Elayne dared a quick glance at Hope, her blush deepening before she smiled shyly.

  Why’s she looking at me like that?

  …and why’s my chest doing that stupid thing again?

  He hesitated… well…

  For some reason, he did find this girl rather… nice to look at. And the offer — to escape the endless bowing and smiling — sounded better than most things he’d heard all day.

  He steadied himself, annoyed at how his pulse refused to listen. Why’s my blood pumping like this? It’s not even a fight. Come on.

  Forcing his shoulders to relax, he returned the smile — small, almost awkward. “Might take you up on that.”

  Tolan’s grin lingered. “Then it’s settled,” he said easily. “After the Games, perhaps you could show us around a little? We’ve only just arrived, and I hear the Barion grounds are worth seeing.”

  Hope blinked. “You want me to be the guide?”

  “Who better?” Tolan replied, still smiling. “No one knows a place like its future lord, right?”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The ‘future lord’ that’s a Crawler who arrived two weeks ago from a space pirate ship… sure. Why not?

  He barely held back a laugh.

  Beside Tolan, Elayne nodded quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. “If it isn’t too much trouble…”

  Hope shrugged. “Alright, we can do that.”

  Before Tolan could continue, the sound of light footsteps approached from behind.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” came a familiar voice.

  Hope didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

  Tolan straightened at once and offered a graceful bow. “Lady Elira Barion. An honour to finally make your acquaintance.”

  Hope turned slightly, catching his sister’s faint smile — the kind that looked pleasant enough but didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Tolan the Swift,” she said, her tone airy but composed. “You’ve been rather swift to make yourself comfortable, I see.”

  Tolan chuckled softly, accepting the jab with an easy grin. “Merely trying not to seem too much the outsider, my lady. Your brother’s been most welcoming.”

  Her gaze flicked to Hope, lingering a second too long. “Has he now? How uncharacteristic.”

  Hope exhaled through his nose. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

  Elira’s lips curved faintly. “So it seems. And you have certainly drawn quite the company.” Her eyes shifted to Elayne — polite, assessing, sharp behind the courtesy. “Lady Elayne, was it? Welcome to Barion. I trust our weather hasn’t treated you too harshly?”

  Elayne, caught between awe and nerves, managed a small curtsy. “Not at all, my lady. It’s… quite beautiful here.”

  “Indeed,” Elira replied, voice light as glass. “Though I imagine the view must seem far more pleasant when one has company.”

  Tolan laughed quietly, sensing the undercurrent but choosing diplomacy. “We’ve found ourselves most fortunate then — your brother’s offered to show us around after the Games.”

  “Has he?” Elira tilted her head slightly, her smile sharpened by amusement. “How very generous of him. He rarely finds time to even enjoy himself, though perhaps some guests do bring out the best in him.”

  Hope gave her a weird look. Why was Elira acting so… bossy now? He felt there was more to her words than he grasped, but he was too lazy to keep up with the noble schemes, so he just nodded and smiled his way through.

  Elira’s gaze drifted to Elayne, her tone light as silk. “Do enjoy your tour, Lady Elayne. And do take care not to tire my brother too much — he’ll need his energy for the opening dance this evening.”

  She turned to Hope, her smile poised and perfectly sweet. “Our esteemed father has made it quite clear that we will be opening the floor together.”

  Hope blinked. “We’ll what?”

  Elira’s smile didn’t waver. “Dance, brother. Try to keep up.”

  You have to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.

  A ball? Tonight?

  And I’m opening it? With her?

  He forced a nod, face calm — the perfect noble mask — while inside, every part of him screamed for Syra to just warp him out of here already.

  “Esteemed lords and ladies — welcome back to the Great Barion Games!”

  The herald’s voice carried with theatrical weight, rising over the murmuring crowd until the arena quieted once more.

  “Now, we begin the third trial!” He paused, letting anticipation ripple through the stands. “The Trial of Wits!”

  He swept an arm toward the marble stage, his tone resounding with pride. “Here, wisdom stands in place of strength — where mind and measure, reason and restraint, shall be tested before the learned eyes of the realm’s most esteemed scholars. Each champion shall face the crucible of question and answer, proving not only intellect, but grace beneath scrutiny. Let the minds of the worthy be laid bare before all!”

  His words rang across the marble arena, echoing off the towering arches and banners that shimmered in the afternoon light.

  A breathless hush followed, thick with tension and curiosity, before the nobles broke into refined applause.

  One by one, the champions stepped forward — reflections gleaming on the polished white floor — to face their interrogators beneath the watchful gaze of the gathered houses.

  The first scholar — an elderly man swathed in layers of blue silk heavier than his frail frame — lifted his staff, voice calm but sharp.

  “Cedric of House Draven,” he intoned, “tell us: if virtue is the seed of order… what grows when it is watered by deceit?”

  Cedric blinked once. “Corruption, my lord.”

  The scholar’s expression didn’t move. “And if deceit is done for peace?”

  Cedric hesitated. “Then… it is still deceit, yet perhaps… justifiable?”

  “Then deceit can be virtue?”

  Cedric opened his mouth, then shut it again, panic flickering in his eyes. “No — I mean, yes, when—”

  A wave of muffled laughter rolled through the nobles’ seats. Cedric’s jaw locked, his ears turning red. He rallied, words tumbling out too quickly. “Deceit may serve virtue, but cannot be it. It— it is a lesser evil, tolerated for a greater cause.”

  The scholar tilted his head, unimpressed. “And if the cause fails?”

  The pause stretched a heartbeat too long.

  “Then… it was still worth trying,” Cedric finished, his voice steady — though his eyes said otherwise.

  The applause that followed was polite at best, a thin veil over the smirks and muffled laughter behind fans and silk gloves. The poor chap couldn’t have asked for a worse day.

  Next came Tolan — calm, composed, and effortlessly charming, drawing smiles from more than a few ladies in the crowd.

  His scholar, a tall man with silver spectacles and the look of someone who corrected others for pleasure, stepped forward.

  “Tolan of House Kael,” he began, voice soft yet smug, “when the wind blows in every direction, where does the wise man build his home?”

  Tolan smiled faintly. “Where the ground holds firm.”

  The scholar tilted his head. “And if there is no firm ground?”

  “Then he builds none,” Tolan replied smoothly.

  “So he drifts?”

  Tolan’s lips curved. “He waits.”

  “For what?”

  “The right wind.”

  The scholar’s brow lifted. “And if it never comes?”

  Tolan paused — just long enough to look thoughtful — then said, “…Then he becomes the storm.”

  A few nobles raised an eyebrow. The rest clapped, clearly delighted by the flair of it all. Hope could tell some hadn’t understood a word, but they loved the drama anyway.

  Then Tolan turned slightly toward the scholar, a spark of humour in his eyes. “Though between us, esteemed master, if the wind’s blowing everywhere, that’s a building code problem, not a moral one.”

  Laughter rippled through the stands. Even the scholars traded glances that weren’t entirely disapproving.

  Hope exhaled slowly.

  For the void’s sake… nobles really did love the sound of clever nonsense.

  “Lord Hope Barion!”

  Shit — his cue.

  He stepped forward, smiled as he caught the light, and waved the practiced, graceful wave of a young noble. Then he met his interrogator’s gaze and nearly swore out loud.

  Of course. It had to be him.

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