The palace corridors shimmered with candlelight as Francis unfolded the invitation in his hand. The royal dinner — the final feast before the engagement ceremony — was set to begin in two hours.
He stood before the mirror in his quarters, adjusting the collar of his deep navy coat. The fabric was rich but understated, the cut precise. He left the topmost button undone, just enough to soften the formality.
Outside his room, the maids bustled about, dressing nobles in layers of silk and gold. One of them glanced toward Francis's door and scoffed.
"A butler dressing himself?" she whispered. "He'll look like a folded napkin."
Another giggled. "They always do."
But when Francis stepped out, the hallway fell silent.
His coat hugged his frame perfectly, the undone button revealing just a hint of collarbone. His boots gleamed, his gloves were tucked neatly under his arm, and his posture was effortless — not stiff, not arrogant, just… composed.
The maids blinked.
One of them blushed.
"He looks better than Lord Halveth," someone muttered.
Francis gave a polite nod and walked on.
The dining hall was a cathedral of excess — chandeliers dripping crystal, tables lined with silver, and nobles seated like statues carved from ego.
The Viremont family sat at the head, their expressions carved in disdain. Mostly adults, dressed in deep reds and blacks, they radiated the kind of arrogance that made lesser nobles shrink in their seats.
Francis entered with a small group of foreign dignitaries. The moment they saw the Viremonts, their steps faltered.
No one wanted to sit near them.
Francis did.
He walked calmly to the empty seat beside Lady Viremont and sat down, folding his napkin with quiet precision.
Viremont glanced at him, her lips curling. "Bold."
Francis smiled. "Comfortable."
The dinner began.
As platters were passed and goblets filled, the royals from other nations whispered among themselves. Who was this man? A new king? A foreign noble?
He carried himself like royalty.
Francis stood briefly and addressed the room. "On behalf of the Crown of our land, I extend apologies. Prince Colden regrets his absence from tonight's dinner and the engagement ceremony."
The room hushed.
His voice was calm, his tone respectful, but his presence filled the hall.
The foreign royals nodded, impressed.
Even the Viremonts paused.
Dinner continued.
The nobles — loud, greedy, and dripping in entitlement — devoured the feast like wolves. But the rest of the guests, including Francis, took small portions, savoring the flavors, speaking softly.
Francis sipped his wine and watched.
He had made his entrance.
And the game had begun.
TO BE CONTINUED...