Before Asher’s carriage could even roll away, a figure instantly appeared in front of it, making the coachman halt the carriage abruptly.
Before the figure could even utter a word, he was instantly surrounded by the five guards and Lyra, all of whom had already drawn their weapons and stood in a battle-ready stance, prepared for combat without hesitation.
The figure they surrounded was wearing a butler’s uniform. They assumed he might be a servant of the palace, perhaps a real butler. But at the end of the day, that was still a huge might. There was a chance he could be an enemy in disguise, and none of them were willing to take such a risk lightly.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" Lyra’s voice rang out. The soft, gentle voice she reserved for Asher was nowhere to be found. Her tone was ice-cold, matching her sharp and unreadable expression.
She recognized the butler. After all, her eyes had been fixed on the entrance of the banquet hall from the moment Asher stepped into it. She knew the figure before them was one of the two butlers who had been announcing nobles and people of importance as they arrived at the banquet hall.
But Lyra couldn’t care less about that fact at the moment. Recognition meant nothing in a place where betrayal could lurk behind familiar faces.
The butler simply bowed, his right hand pressed to his chest and his left hand placed respectfully behind his waist. He spoke with formal grace and calm respect.
"Pardon my intrusion, Knights of Wargrave, but the Emperor demands the Tenth Sun’s presence."
At the mention of the Emperor, Lyra and the Knights instantly frowned. After all, the man presided over the entire Empire. To disobey his orders would be nothing short of treason.
Still, Lyra didn’t budge. She remained unmoved as she replied coldly, "Without a Royal Order, we aren’t obligated to do anything. At the count of three, if you are still blocking our path, you will be seen as an assassin."
At Lyra’s words, the knights readied themselves again. Although they were still within the Royal Palace, and the Royal Knights were supposed to be responsible for this ground, they didn’t trust anyone beyond their circle.
"One," Lyra started counting.
"Two."
"No need to cause a scene at the Royal Party, Lyra," Asher’s voice came calmly from the carriage as he stepped out with composed strides.
"Tenth Sun, we can’t be sure he was actually sent by the Emperor himself," one of the Knights immediately spoke, his figure materializing beside Asher just in case an arrow were to shoot out of nowhere. The knight’s instincts had been sharpened by years of service.
"Lead the way," Asher simply said to the butler, paying no attention to the surrounding tension.
Turning to Lyra and the Knights, he spoke once more. "You’ve done well for the day. I will be back." With those words, he walked back toward the banquet hall with steady steps.
A few minutes earlier.
Above the grand banquet hall where the Royal Party was being held, various beings stood silently, gazing down at those who drank, conversed, and laughed below them.
Asher’s instincts had been right all along. The main Royal Party was indeed being held above the crowd. In this elevated place, nobles of all ranks gathered in silent splendor, discussing matters of power and legacy. From Barons to Dukes, even the Emperor himself was present, his aura commanding.
Outside of the noble class, no one else had access to this floor. This particular gathering was exclusively reserved for the nobility, under the direct orders of the Emperor himself.
"Your son has good senses." Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor remarked as his eyes locked with Asher’s through the enchanted glass that separated the upper floor from the lower.
From below, no one could see anything above. But from above, they could see everything below, every motion, every word, every shift in expression.
Duke Azeron Wargrave didn’t reply. He simply stood there, gazing down silently at Asher with an expressionless face that betrayed no emotion.
At that moment, although all nobles of the Empire were gathered on the upper floor, they did not stand as one group. After the formal greetings had been exchanged and pleasantries shared, the nobles naturally separated into smaller factions.
Barons and Baronesses stood together with a few Viscounts and Viscountesses in one corner.
Counts and Countesses gathered with Marquises and Marchionesses at another side of the hall, discussing matters of trade, territory, and politics.
Dukes and Duchesses stood near the Emperor in another direction, engaging in deeper conversation, likely regarding the Empire’s grander interests.
Although they were all nobles and were technically gathered in one place, there was an unmistakable and rigid division in power, status, and influence.
"Who knows... he could just be admiring the glass ceiling from below." Duke Rhydion Silvershade said with a faint smile.
Still, Duke Azeron said nothing. He did not defend Asher, nor did he offer any explanation. He simply took another slow sip from the wine glass in his hand, as though Asher wasn’t even his son.
If it hadn’t been the Emperor’s personal invitation, none of them would have come, not the Dukes, not the Marquises, not even most of the Counts. Perhaps a few Viscounts or Barons would have come in hopes of forming connections and strengthening their households, but the higher nobility rarely mingled without purpose.
As the nobles continued observing their descendants below, the scene began to shift. Ryan had just approached Vaelra, who seemed eager to dance. Smiles appeared on the faces of some of the nobles, some amused, others eager to see how the situation would unfold.
They wanted to see if Asher would react like a typical Wargrave, impulsive, proud, quick to face confrontation without asking questions. But when they saw him refrain from even drawing his weapon, their anticipation quickly turned to disappointment.
They had been expecting a spectacle.
"It seems your son, Asher, knows he isn’t on par with Ryan Silvershade and decided to back down," Duchess Syvrein Stormveil commented from the side, her tone almost approving. "It seems your family isn’t made up of only brutes after all."
"That was disappointing. I expected the usual arrogance and reckless display of youth." Duke Mauvrek Ravencroft replied as he casually fed and patted a crow that rested eagerly on his lap.
The creature wasn’t a summon or a tamed beast. The Ravencrofts simply had a natural affinity with animals; they gravitated toward them instinctively.
They watched as Asher danced with Vaelra. Then, quite suddenly, Duke Rhydion Silvershade spoke. "How about a bet, Azeron?"
Duke Rhydion’s gaze turned to Azeron, who still seemed unbothered. Curious gazes turned to him from all corners of the hall, wondering what he was about to propose.
Seeing that Azeron didn’t reply, Duke Rhydion continued speaking, a wide grin forming on his lips. "A spar between our sons. As for the stakes, let’s say ten percent of our family’s yearly earnings."
His words struck like a bomb in the hall. Even nobles who weren’t part of the conversation had been listening, and now they turned in surprise.
Ten percent of a Ducal household’s annual income amounted to thousands of platinum coins. And Duke Rhydion Silvershade had just placed that down for a simple bet. However, he had the advantage.
Ryan had awakened at fifteen and had received training even before that. The Silvershade family always knew what their children would awaken as, bone manipulators. Unlike the Wargraves, who could not train beforehand because their weapon and elemental affinities awakened randomly with each descendant.
Adding to the fact that Asher had only just awakened, and at seventeen, no less, Duke Azeron stood no real chance of winning this bet. Everyone in the room knew it.
Now, all eyes turned to Duke Azeron.
Would he accept out of pride and lose a fortune?
Or would he cower and refuse, to save a few platinum coins at the cost of his family’s name?