I used to think I was good in public.

  Communication is supposed to be a fundamental skill - unless your goal in life is to die in a cave as a hermit. Talk to people, make friends, build networks, form a family, live your life then die. Even the nobility, as smug and aloof as they are, throw parties for politics’ sake. Smile, shake hands, secure alliances.

  But watching the gilded scene in front of me, I forgot how much I hated the farce. Somewhere along the way, maybe in these last couple years, I’d started to forget how to be a proper human.

  After a silent escort by a servant, we reached a pair of pearly doors adorned with ornate religious sigils - half imperial, half ecclesiastical. The door creaked open with solemn grace, revealing a burst of warmth and grandeur. Black-clad servants bowed on either side, eyes downcast, postures perfect.

  The main hall was a stunning blend of Victorian architecture and classical design philosophy - white pillars rising in neat symmetry, their bases crowned with vines of gold leaf. Paintings, murals, and relics hung from every stretch of wall space, each soaked in divinity or warfare.

  And plenty of people were present as well.

  So many people.

  I had to keep a straight face.

  I’m already hating this.

  Dressed in fine-cut uniforms and ceremonial dresses, nobles mingled like well-oiled machines. Military men dominated the room - border city culture turned the armed forces into tradition. Their medals clinked with every loud laugh. Their wives clutched long glasses of sparkling wine, gossiping through painted smiles.

  I’d say the ratio of military to non-military noble was probably two to one. A sign of Morren City’s long history as a war prize.

  We were led to a circular table near the back of the room - close to the podium, far from the cluster of whispers.

  Guess me and Arthur both seem somewhat anti-social.

  All the better.

  “Thank you for your help,” I told the young woman who’d guided us with a practised smile. “We’ll take drinks, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Of course, sir. It’ll be here in three minutes.”

  She bowed with an equally practiced smile and vanished like smoke.

  I sat down, running a hand over the table’s inlaid gold. I hated small talk. So did Arthur. That made us equally antisocial by noble standards. Not to mention both of us weren’t born in the city, so they made all the more reason for the other Nobles to avoid us. Though Arthur was quite respected by the Military aligned Nobles and he was officially a part of their political faction, Arthur still preferred minimal company.

  Arthur was a powerful Noble, who had risen through the ranks very quickly through quite a bit of military merit. Not to mention his house was one of two in Morren that actually had a Divine Bloodline. Most Noble houses were either extensions of much more powerful ones - or people who had gained enough merit to create one.

  But it didn’t change the fact that he was a foreigner.

  Even if they won’t confront him to his face, they can still avoid him.

  Not to mention Arthur's favorable impression with the lower class. He certainly is an outlier.

  My eyes wandered, scanning the art. Religious, of course. There was always something divine on the walls in buildings like this - just to remind you who ruled your soul.

  One canvas showed a general on horseback, white cape billowing behind him. His sword glowed like a sunbeam, and thousands of soldiers marched in the background. Crest on his chest: a black crow and a white dove intertwined. The symbol of the Empire.

  Another painting took up nearly half the wall. A man kneeling before a sword buried in stone, shrouded in fog. He wore no crown, yet the weight of something poured off him. Below the mountain, people wept and clawed upward, desperate to reach the light surrounding him.

  He wore a white mask. Only his eyes were shown, clouded in the painting. The marble statue behind the podium of the room bore the same visage.

  The Lost Emperor.

  “You’ve got a good eye, young man.”

  A large hand clapped my shoulder. The weight nearly rattled my teeth.

  I looked up - and up again.

  Burly. Older. A dozen medals jingling on his chest. His grin was as wide as his presence.

  My grin on the other hand, was slightly strained.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Well, speaking of Divine bloodlines.

  Arthur inclined his head politely. “Lord Regent. An honor as always.”

  I followed suit, straightening in my chair. “It’s been some time, my lord. I hope the journey from the capital was a pleasant one.”

  The lord Regent gave a barking laugh, pulling out a chair beside us. “Yes, it’s always a pleasure to fly on the airships of the capital. And enough of that stiff politeness, you two. You’ll make me feel like one of those parasites in the capital. Call me Cassian like usual. I only feel bad that my brother, his highness, has to deal with those snakes everyday.”

  Arthur smirked. “Then I suppose that gives us license to speak plainly.”

  Cassian leaned back, clearly pleased. His gaze turned on me. “You’ve grown, Damian. The city’s gossip hasn’t shut up about you. Don’t look so tense, boy. We’ll have you decorated in no time. You’re one of three surprises I’ve got planned tonight.”

  His grin widened, pointing with his thumb to a corner of the room.

  “Just… steer clear of Mary.”

  Mary?

  The name rang a faint bell. And then I saw her.

  Golden hair, silk gown, a princess among courtiers. Extremely beautiful and graceful, to the point where even I had to do a double take. She was among some noble girls, drinking tea and conversing with a smile that could only be described as graceful.

  Ah, I remember Arthur talking about her.

  The seventh princess of the Emperor - twelfth child of the throne. Someone who was supposed to be nobody when it came to the brutal hierarchy of succession. Yet rumor had it she’d already secured the Regent - her uncle - as backing. Not a small feat for someone so low in the line.

  Suddenly, seeing her here, everything clicked.

  Are you kidding me… my ceremony got delayed so this royal brat and the Regent could pull a political stunt?

  I was a little annoyed, but felt it served me better overall. Less attention on me meant less trouble, while I could still get my name out.

  I remembered that she was a steadfast member of the Church, dedicated enough that whispers said she might try her luck at awakening the Emperor’s own bloodline. Only three of her siblings had ever managed it.

  Just didn’t think she’d do it here.

  I leaned back slightly, expression flat. She was just another person I had to avoid, simple as that. I didn’t really pay her much heed, other than her association with the Regent.

  I doubt she could ascend to the throne, even with the Regents help.

  Still staring in her direction, she turned around as if sensing my gaze. Our gazes met for a split second, before she smiled and turned away to continue talking to the noble girls.

  The Regent caught me staring. He smiled in that knowing way older men do, but after seeing my lack of expression, gave me a look that made my stomach turn.

  “You might be the first young man ever not to fall over himself at her beauty.” he mused, raising his eyebrows at me.

  I kept my face as polite as possible despite his insinuation, but the thought was immediate.

  I do not swing that way.

  The Regent grinned, as if he was teasing me. He pulled out the chair beside us and sat, his bulk fitting awkwardly against the table. “Arthurs told me you’ve already manifested your pathway - on your own, no priest prodding the spark out of you?”

  I nodded once. “Partially, yes.”

  His brows rose. “Remarkable. Few in a century manage to stir their divinity without the Church’s hand guiding them. And from a commoner no less.”

  Before I could respond, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me, boy - what pathway did you inherit?”

  I smiled awkwardly. I didn’t know. The only thing I did know it wasn’t heretical - Arthur had made sure of that four years ago.

  Arthur cut in smoothly. “That remains a secret, Regent. Even from us. Best not to pry before a holy priest confirms it.”

  The Regent chuckled, leaning back with a slap to his thigh. “Hah! A secret, is it? All the better. And rare as it comes. You’ve got something buried in your blood, lad. Something lost to time. You’ll be the first commoner in a century to awaken a divine lineage. I’m sure even his highness will be shocked to hear the news!”

  His gaze slid to Arthur. “That strengthens you as well, old friend. Silences some of your opposition, I’d wager.”

  Arthur smiled faintly. “A welcome side effect.”

  The Regent roared with laughter again and slapped my back hard enough to nearly rattle the tableware. “Emperor’s throne! Who’d have thought Morren would host such a night?”

  I smiled politely through the sting. Inside, though, a knot loosened. If Arthur hadn’t cut him off, I doubt I could have kept a straight face.

  He was like an annoying older brother. And as much as I hated to admit it, I needed him.

  The Regent eventually lumbered off, leaving behind the faint smell of wine and smoke. I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  Arthur’s eyes lingered on me, sharp but amused. “You know, Damian, you could stand to look a little less like you’re walking to the gallows.”

  I shot him a sideways glance. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s going to get torn apart by noble whispers the second they see the color of my divinity.”

  Arthur chuckled. “True. But you’ve always been a quick improviser.”

  I nodded approvingly. “True. When has improvising ever gone wrong for me?”

  He raised a brow. “Want a list?”

  “No.”

  He smirked, and for a brief moment, the weight in my chest eased.

  The clink of silver silenced the room. The Regent had taken the podium beneath the towering statue of the masked Emperor, arms spread wide.

  “Brothers and sisters of Morren,” he boomed, voice carrying like thunder, carrying a much more serious demeanor. “Tonight, beneath the Emperor’s and the Almighty's ever-watchful gaze, three truths will be revealed. May our convictions hold fast, and may our Divinity shine pure under his watchful gaze.”

  A heavy silence fell over the hall. Heads bowed. Prayers whispered.

  I glanced toward the far corner.

  Mary.

  Golden eyes, calm and unreadable, almost listless. A far cry from her previous polite attitude, as if she was feeling the weight and seriousness of the moment.

  Well at least I’m not the only one.

  My throat felt dry as ash.

  And then, a single thought slipped through.

  Wait.

  Where the hell are our drinks?

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