"Well, it's just a party. Help me dress, Erin," he said simply.
"Sure, my lord," Erin replied and hurried off to fetch Lucian's dress.
"Well, dining with nobles will be great, and there will be lots of drinks to consume," Lucian said with a smirk, heading toward his inner chambers.
Not long after, Erin returned with Lucian's clothing. He carried a neatly folded outfit in his arms: a dark navy tunic with fine silver threads at the sleeves, boots so polished they could reflect candlelight, and a black cloak lined with soft grey fur.
"Here is your clothing, my lord," Erin said with a proud smile.
As Lucian ran his fingers over the fabric, nodding in approval, he said, "Well, not bad, though, Erin. I can see you have fine taste," he added with a smile.
"I'm only doing my duty, my lord. Besides, you look good in every piece of clothing," Erin replied. Lucian let out a proud laugh.
"You can say that again, Erin. I didn't get all these good features just to end up looking bad in clothes that would be embarrassing," Lucian said with a smile, and Erin nodded.
As Erin was preparing Lucian for the party, Lucian tilted his head thoughtfully.
"Erin... do nobles really fight at these parties? I've read a few things... scandalous duels over spilled wine, rival houses throwing hands over seating arrangements."
Erin was surprised at the question Lucian asked, since he hadn't been to any noble or royal gathering before.
"Well, they don't throw hands, my lord. They throw insults. And sometimes, cutlery."
Lucian laughed, a genuine sound that softened the sharpness in his voice.
"That sounds incredibly entertaining. I hope something dramatic happens. I'd like to see it firsthand."
"It's best if you stay out of trouble. Sometimes the fight might get a little... dirty," Erin calmly replied.
"No promises," Lucian said with a sly grin.
Soon after, Erin was done dressing Lucian.
---
After a short while, Lucian arrived at the venue and was awed by the sheer elegance surrounding him. The hall glittered under the warm glow of crystal chandeliers, casting golden light across marble floors. Velvet drapes lined the tall windows, and a subtle scent of fresh roses lingered in the air. Nobles moved about gracefully, their laughter soft, their attire almost blinding in its richness. Every corner of the hall whispered of wealth, power, and secrets.
Lucian paused at the entrance, momentarily overwhelmed. This was a world built to impress, to intimidate, and to remind anyone who entered exactly where they stood.
He drifted through the room, admiring the nobles — the delicate way they laughed, the graceful way they sipped wine as though they weren't watching everyone else. It was a performance, and he was finally in the audience.
While Lucian was still admiring the beauty of the party, an unfamiliar voice called out to him.
"Lucian!"
He turned to see the stranger approaching, looking impossibly good under the golden lights. His hair was perfectly tousled, his jawline sharp, and his smile charming. Lucian blinked.
"Lucian, there you are. I've been looking all over for you," said the stranger.
Lucian furrowed his brows.
"Why are you looking for me? And if I may ask, who are you?"
"Oh, please do pardon my manners," the stranger said with a smile.
"I'm Reniel Strome, the royal tutor of the Kingdom of Elaric."
"Reniel Strome?" Lucian repeated, the name stirring something in his memory. Then it hit him. Reniel Strome — the man the trio had fought over in the book. The reason their world had nearly been torn apart.
"Yes, I am. You sent your application to work under me some weeks ago, and I was the one who invited you to the party as my soon-to-be junior," Reniel replied with the most charming smile Lucian had ever seen.
"No wonder those three grown-ass men are obsessed with him. This man looks like a freaking Greek god," Lucian muttered under his breath, admiring Reniel's beauty.
"Sorry to interrupt, but are you busy? I'd like to introduce you to some officials since you're going to be working under me soon," Reniel said.
"No, I'm not," Lucian replied.
"Alright, let's go," Reniel said, leading the way.
Lucian followed, curious about whom Reniel was going to introduce him to.
They stopped frequently, shaking hands, offering pleasantries, bowing politely to one official after another. Lucian trailed behind, smiling stiffly and nodding when needed, but deep down, he was already exhausted.
Finally, Reniel leaned in slightly and said with a soft smile,
"We're almost done. Just one last table. You'll be meeting the most important guests of the night — and that's also my table."
Lucian raised a brow, more curious now.
Most important?
He gave a small shrug.
"Alright," he said, though in his head, he was already wondering who these people were that made them worth saving for last.
They approached a long table set apart from the others. Its elegance was almost understated, yet commanding attention. Unlike the lavish sparkle of the hall or the ornate decorations on other tables, this one radiated power — the kind that didn't need to announce itself. It just existed, and everyone knew it. Lucian felt it.
Reniel turned to him with a small, unreadable smile.
"This is the final table," he said. "Here sit the highest authorities of Elaric. Be respectful."
Lucian raised an eyebrow but nodded, adjusting his robe instinctively.
They arrived at Reniel's table, and Lucian was shocked by the beauty of the distinguished nobles.
"Seems like everyone in this novel looks like a Greek god. First Reniel, then these three... Can't this night get any better? Like they say, save the best for last," Lucian said quietly.
Then Reniel introduced him.
"Gentlemen, this is Lucian — my new subordinate and our newly invited guest."
Lucian offered a polite nod.
"It's an honor."
They all turned and looked at him. One gave him a subtle nod, eyes unreadable. Another barely glanced at him, and the last looked him over like one might examine a fly on their wine glass.
There was a moment of silence — not cold, but not warm either.
Lucian grew tense, wondering if he'd said or done something wrong. Reniel noticed and awkwardly smiled.
"This is the Grand General Sebathine Everheart, the protector of Elaric. The noble next to him is the heir to the throne, Crown Prince Alaric Serathine. And lastly, we have His Highness Prince Alistair Serathine, younger brother to the crown prince and Royal Duke of Claremont."
Lucian was dumbfounded. He was at the same table with the main leads of the novel — the distinguished suitors and obsessive lovers of Reniel.
Sebathine. Alaric. Alistair.
"Damn, they're freaking hot," Lucian muttered.
He gave a short smile.
"It's an honor to be in your midst, my Lords," Lucian said, bowing again before looking up and observing them carefully.
The man seated in the center — unmistakably Crown Prince Alaric — didn't respond immediately. He simply observed. His gaze was unreadable, dark eyes steady and sharp beneath the golden inlay of his circlet. He wore white and obsidian robes, shoulders draped in a fur-trimmed cape that marked him as royalty. But it wasn't the outfit that made him imposing. It was his presence: silent, steady, dangerous.
To Alaric's right sat Alistair, the younger brother. Lucian had felt his gaze long before Reniel introduced them. Alistair leaned back slightly, fingers tapping against his goblet in rhythm, studying Lucian with quiet curiosity — like one might examine a blade's edge before deciding if it should be sheathed or used.
And to the left was Sebathine, the Grand General. The only one who had nodded during the introduction. He gave nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgment, his hand resting near the hilt of the short ceremonial blade strapped to his belt. His dark bronze armor had been polished to a dull gleam. No flashy gemstones, no flair. He didn't need it.
Lucian remained standing for a heartbeat too long, unsure if they were done sizing him up.
"Sit," Alaric finally said.
Lucian obeyed.
The seat next to Reniel had been left empty for him, flanked by Alistair and the General. He could feel their eyes still on him as he adjusted his robe and tried not to fidget. The cutlery gleamed. The wine in the glass looked untouched. Everything here was precise, controlled.
"So," Alistair said first, voice low and vaguely amused. "You're the one Reniel escorted into the palace himself. That's not something he does often."
Lucian smiled faintly, forcing himself to meet the prince's gaze.
"I'm grateful for his kindness. I imagine he's usually very... selective of his guests," he said calmly.
Alistair's lips twitched. Whether it was approval or mockery, Lucian couldn't tell.
Sebathine spoke next.
"Where did you say you came from?"
Lucian hesitated.
"I didn't say."
"I know. It's a question I expected you to answer," Sebathine said, sitting up.
There was a brief, weighty silence.
Reniel cleared his throat gently.
"Lucian is... still adjusting. He'll share what he can, in time."
None of the three pressed further. That alone told Lucian everything. They weren't the type to waste breath. If they wanted answers, they'd get them later, one way or another.
"You speak well," Alaric said quietly. It wasn't a compliment — more like a statement of fact. "Too well for someone who arrives unannounced."
Lucian swallowed.
"I was raised to respect those in power."
At that, Alistair chuckled, finally sipping from his glass.
"Indeed. You might just fit right in."
Lucian doubted that very much.
What intrigued him more than the subtle interrogation was something else — the way the atmosphere shifted ever so slightly whenever Reniel moved.
Subtle glances. Small nods. Lowered voices.
They respected Reniel.
But more than that... they cared about his opinion.
It was in the way Sebathine's eyes trailed after Reniel's glass when he picked it up, a soft frown crossing his features when Reniel winced slightly from an old wrist injury. It was in how Alaric leaned in, ever so slightly, when Reniel whispered something near his ear — nothing romantic, nothing dramatic, just familiar. And Lucian didn't miss how Alistair rolled his eyes but still poured Reniel's drink before his own.
Lucian blinked.
This wasn't just politics.
They weren't merely powerful men sitting at the same table as Reniel. They were connected. Deeply. And that unsettled Lucian far more than their sharp gazes or formal tones.
Because if this was that trio — the ones from the book he remembered vaguely — then everything was already in motion.
The war.
The heartbreak.
The betrayal.
And the center of it all... was Reniel.
Lucian lowered his gaze just in time to mask the flicker of recognition in his eyes.
He needed to play this carefully.
Very carefully.