"Well, well. Look what crawled in from the outer-houses."
The voice came from behind me, thick with casual malice.
I didn't need to turn to know who it was. But I turned anyway, because not turning would be worse.
Garron Bourne stood with his arms crossed, his hulking fourteen-year-old frame somehow already threatening to burst the seams of his formal coat.
The Second Branch heir had the kind of face that suggested violence as a first resort—heavy brow, small eyes, a jaw that looked like it had been designed for taking punches and giving them back harder.
Beside him, Quintus of the Third Branch wore a smile that didn't reach his calculating eyes.
Thirteen years old and already possessing the look of someone who kept ledgers of slights and debts, waiting for the perfect moment to collect.
And trailing behind them both, giggling before anything funny had even been said, was Ruben. Garron's cousin.
Twelve, like me. Obnoxious in the way that only children who'd never faced consequences could be.
"Aurelian, isn't it?" Quintus tilted his head, feigning uncertainty.
"I always forget. There are so many of you outer-branch types. Hard to keep track."
"Like rats," Ruben added helpfully. "My mother says they breed like rats out there."
"Smells like it too. What is that, Aurelian? Mildew? Or just the general stink of failure?" Garron snorted.
I let the words wash over me like water off stone.
Fifty-five years of living had taught me exactly how much energy petty cruelty deserved. Which was none.
"It's good to see you as well, Garron," I said, keeping my voice pleasant.
"You're looking well. The formal coat suits you."
Garron's brow furrowed. That wasn't the reaction he'd been fishing for.
"Did you hear what I said?" He took a step closer, using his height advantage like a bludgeon.
"I said you smell like failure."
"I apologize if my presence offends." I inclined my head slightly.
"The journey from the outer-houses can be dusty."
Quintus exchanged a glance with Garron.
He looked frustrated, maybe. Or that maybe he realized that their usual tactics weren't gonna work on me.
"He's mocking us," Quintus said quietly.
"Can't you tell? That's what outer-branch worms do. They smile and bow while laughing at their betters."
"I assure you, I'm not laughing."
Even though I should be… But you know, fifty-five years of living, and children still thought they could rattle me with schoolyard taunts.
"I have nothing but respect for the main branches."
Ruben tugged at Garron's sleeve.
"Hit him. He's being weird. Just hit him and let's go find the dessert table."
Garron's hands clenched at his sides. I could see him working through it—the desire to swing, the knowledge that striking another Bourne at a formal gathering would bring consequences even he couldn't avoid.
"You think you're clever," he growled. "You think that dead-fish act makes you better than us?"
"Not at all." I offered a small bow.
"I simply wish to enjoy the Day of Golden Truth in peace. As I'm sure you do as well."
Peace. As if anything about standing here, being prodded by children who'd never known a moment of real hardship, could be called peaceful.
But I'd learned long ago that anger was a luxury. Anger made you stupid. Anger got you killed.
Or worse, it got the people around you killed.
"This is boring," Quintus announced, his tone suggesting he'd already calculated the diminishing returns of this encounter.
"He's not going to do anything interesting. Let's find better entertainment."
Garron held my gaze for a moment longer, jaw working like he was chewing on words he couldn't quite spit out.
Then he snorted, a dismissive sound that was supposed to communicate contempt but mostly communicated defeat.
"Pathetic," he said. "Absolutely pathetic."
They turned as one, Ruben still giggling about something only he found amusing, and melted back into the crowd of silks and self-importance.
I let out a slow breath.
Children, I thought. Five hundred years, and children are still the same.
But my hands were shaking slightly, I noticed. Not from fear… never from fear but from the effort of holding back.
Of being less than I was.
Because watching petty cruelty parade around in fine clothes and knowing that any response beyond bland compliance would bring consequences crashing down on my parents' heads.
The fountain burbled behind me, oblivious.
Then the fanfare shattered the courtyard's ambient noise.
Trumpets, sharp and bright, cutting through conversation like a blade through silk. Every head turned. Every voice fell silent.
A raised platform had been erected before the mansion's grand entrance, draped in cloth of gold and the deep crimson of House Bourne.
Upon it, framed by banners that caught the morning breeze like captured flames, stood Duke Paul Bourne IV.
I'd never seen him in person before. The outer-branches didn't exactly receive invitations to intimate family dinners.
But I recognized the type immediately.
Late fifties, maybe early sixties, though he carried himself like a man who'd negotiated with time and won favorable terms.
His hair was dark, almost black, but shot through with silver at the temples and scattered throughout like frost on iron.
Precisely styled, every strand in its designated place. His eyes were gray, like the color of storm clouds penetrating across the assembled crowd with the authority of someone who'd never once doubted his right to command attention.
He didn't need to gesture for silence. His presence demanded it.
"My family," Duke Paul began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the courtyard.
"My honored kin. Welcome to the Day of Golden Truth."
Applause rippled through the gathering. The kind of applause that had been rehearsed in a hundred drawing rooms.
"On this sacred day, we gather not merely as Bournes, but as servants of something greater than ourselves." The Duke's hands spread wide, encompassing the crowd, the mansion, the city beyond.
"We gather as loyal subjects of His Majesty, King Laurence Eterna XI, long may he reign."
More applause, louder now. Enthusiastic in the way that political applause always was—performed rather than felt.
"For five centuries, House Bourne has stood as a pillar of the throne. Through prosperity and hardship, through peace and war, we have never wavered in our devotion to the crown that shields our great nation." Duke Paul's voice swelled with practiced pride.
"It is this loyalty, this commitment to duty above self, that defines what it means to bear the Bourne name."
"But today… today we do not merely celebrate our present. We remember our past. We honor the sacrifice that made our world possible."
A hush fell over the courtyard. Even the children stopped their fidgeting.