Arthur adjusted the cuffs of his tailored coat as he stood before the mirror with a gold frame. He didn't appear as he always did because today he had styled his hair differently and had worn the most expensive suit. He had pushed back his hair to appear mature and give an enigmatic aura.
After a brief moment, he turned to the butler and asked:
"Butler, do we not own an automobile?"
The term still felt foreign on his tongue. After all, in this century, cars were called automobiles — a mark of progress, a symbol of wealth and status.
The butler, standing with his usual poise, inclined his head slightly.
"We own a few of them, young master."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
'How many are a few..?'
"We have? Then, why haven't I seen one?"
"That is because Lord Frederick did not like to ride in them."
"Then, what about Grandfather?"
"He, too, didn't appear to have much of an interest in them."
Arthur nodded as he replied:
"I see."
The Ashbourne family, ever the creatures of rigid habit, had likely viewed automobiles as an unnecessary indulgence, a deviation from tradition. It was not surprising to Arthur at all.
"Have it readied, Butler."
Robert bowed slightly as he replied:
"Yes, young master. I shall see to it at once."
The butler then left the room, his measured footsteps fading into the grand corridors of Ashbourne Manor.
Evening descended upon the estate, cloaking the world in a veil of deep indigo, broken only by the warm glow of gas lamps that lined the gravel driveway. As Arthur stepped outside, a sight he had not anticipated greeted him.
There were multiple automobiles in front of him. Their polished bodies gleamed under the lantern light, reflecting the night like darkened mirrors.
Arthur halted for a brief moment, taking in the sheer number of them. In this era, these machines were more than just vehicles; they were declarations of power, emblems of aristocratic privilege.
Most noble families, even those of considerable wealth, possessed one, perhaps two at most. Yet here stood no fewer than four.
'What does this make us?'
Now Arthur understood why the Ashbourne is one of the most powerful families in the history of the kingdom.'
The realization settled in his chest like a weight.
'We are not merely wealthy. We are above and beyond others.'
A smooth, commanding voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"What are you waiting for? Aren't you going to get in?"
It was Demetrius. His presence was an unshakable force, as immovable as the very foundations of the Ashbourne name.
"Yes, Grandfather."
Arthur let his gaze sweep across the selection before him before settling on one, a deep mahogany brown, refined and understated. Without a word, he stepped inside, sinking into the plush leather of the back seat. The scent of polished wood and fine upholstery lingered in the air, a quiet testament to its craftsmanship.
A moment later, Demetrius followed as he settled inside the automobile.
With a low purr, the automobile roared to life, and then, with a smooth jolt forward, they were on their way.
***
The banquet hall blazed with the golden light of the crystal chandeliers hung above the arched ceiling, their many facets scattering radiance across the polished marble floor.
The velvet curtains pooled against the walls, softening the harsh acoustics of laughter and clinking glasses. The air itself was thick with the scent of aged wine, roasted game, and traces of expensive perfumes.
The laughter rose in refined waves, like a dance rehearsed until even the deception felt natural.
Just then, the door to the banquet hall opened, and the Ashbournes crossed the threshold as the announcer's voice resonated throughout the hall.
"His Lordship, Demetrius Ashbourne, and the acting head of House Ashbourne, Arthur Ashbourne, are making their entrance."
The people went silent in an instant, as if the royal family had appeared before them.
'Huh? Why's it so silent? It's a banquet, so shouldn't they be gossiping about now?'
Arthur moved his gaze as he looked at the people occupying the space, but to his surprise, they all avoided his gaze.
'Ah... I see. They were gossiping about me until a moment ago, weren't they? Well, not that it affects me that much.'
Arthur's gaze then fell upon the back of Demetrius, who walked before him as if shielding him from the predatory gazes of the nobles.
After a moment, the gossip began as a young woman whispered,
"Oh my~! Isn't he quite different from the rumors? I thought he would be quite thin but… he's rather appealing, isn't he?"
Another woman replied, hiding her expression behind the fan she held.
"Yes. He hasn't been seen in high society since that incident when he was young, so everyone assumed that he must be severely ill."
Another woman spoke up after taking a sip of wine from the crystal glass.
"No, it's not true. I heard, apparently, he had been kidnapped right after that incident, and some said it was the Montague family behind that kidnapping. However, it was somehow covered up, and both families refrained from speaking about the matter."
"Oh my, really?!"
A woman gasped, while another one nodded in agreement.
"Yes. I also heard the rumors of it."
Demetrius approached a group of old men standing at the side of the banquet hall. They were the people who had seats in parliament.
One of them, who seemed to be quite envious of House Ashbourne, spoke up in an amused tone.
"Oh, look! If it isn't the infamous heir of the Ashbournes, who was hidden all this time."
Demetrius stepped towards the men and spoke up, not even glancing at the man.
"You say it as if not revealing him until now had cost us a great amount of wealth. Not that it matters, for we don't make some measly amount like some people."
Another minister spoke up in defense of the first one.
"How would we know the whereabouts of your grandson? We thought, perhaps he was too scared to return after what happened. And, well... there were some rumors that he's grown thin as a reed and… frightfully ugly."
"Yes. We assumed that the boy was on his deathbed or something, isn't that right?"
The noblemen then burst into laughter.
"Hahaha!"
Demetrius glanced towards Arthur in order to encourage him to answer them.
"It seems I wasn't aware that the people cared so much about my health. I'm honestly quite flattered. However, I would advise that you see to the reliability of your sources. As you can already see, I am in excellent health and will be assuming my official duties within the year."
"What?!"
Arthur didn't give them a chance to speak as he looked at the Viscount.
"Oh! How's your business going these days, Viscount?"
The Viscount went silent because he was well aware that it wouldn't take much time for the Ashbournes to shut it down.
"Ah. It's going well, thanks to the investments of the Ashbourne family. I will be sure to send the aged liquor that was newly discovered."
Arthur grinned slightly as he replied,
"I will be delighted, Viscount."
After a brief moment of silence, the door to the banquet hall opened again, and the voice of the announcer rang out.
"His Majesty, the King of Crowndale Kingdom, together with Her Majesty the Queen and their youngest son, Prince Elliot Crowndale, are making their entrance."
Every single person bowed, some out of respect, some out of fear, while some simply stood up as a mere formality.
"Greetings, Your Majesties."
They walked towards the front, and then the King spoke up.
"Hmm. Is everyone present?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The King was then handed a crystal glass filled with wine by their aide for a toast.
"Alright, everyone, lift your glasses."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
After a moment of silence, the King raised his crystal glass, his voice carrying through the grand hall as he spoke.
"Tonight, we raise our glasses to my son, Prince Elliot Crowndale, on this day marking his fifteenth year. May his path be steadfast, his heart unwavering, and his future as bright as the crown he serves to protect. To the Fourth Prince!"
The hall echoed with the reply as the gathered nobles raised their glasses high.
"To the Fourth Prince!"
They then drank the wine together, and soon everyone was back to their gossips.
The ladies were engrossed in their scandalous whispers, while the gentlemen engaged in their business talks.
Despite the protocol, the crowd's focus drifted away from the supposed guest of honor, the Fourth Prince, and instead settled on Arthur Ashbourne. They whispered among themselves, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he could hear them, or perhaps they intended for him to.
A man kept glancing at Arthur again and again as he whispered.
"I heard that midnight-blue suit with gold cuffs was actually crafted by tailor Gilbert."
Another young man replied.
"Well... at least it suits him well."
Demetrius then headed towards the Fourth Prince, and Arthur followed him. Of course, not out of will, but of obligation.
And then, he stopped before the prince.
Elliot Crowndale.
The Fourth Prince of the Crowndale Kingdom, stood draped in the quiet arrogance of royalty. A prince not just by blood, but by every line of his posture, every flicker of disdain that crossed his gaze.
His posture was rigid, hands clenched at his sides, his mouth drawn into a controlled line, his gaze simmering with fury.
'What? Why's he looking at me as if he'd kill me right this moment? Is he feeling humiliated because I took all the attention?'
Demetrius didn't greet him but just looked at him with his inscrutable gaze, sharpened with age and judgment.
"I hope you won't take after your father in the years to come. Then again, your mother's side isn't much better."
A flicker of displeasure crossed the King's face, but he did not respond.
Elliot's smile barely reached his eyes.
"Thank you for your well-wishes, Lord Demetrius."
The King, robed in imperial splendor, finally spoke from the elevated throne, his voice commanding.
"Let us retire to the drawing room to discuss matters reserved for men. Let the young ones enjoy their festivities."
Without delay, Demetrius inclined his head and followed, vanishing through the side doors without so much as a backward glance.
And so, Arthur was left behind, standing amid the muted grandeur of the banquet hall, face to face with the Fourth Prince.
He stepped forward with practiced ease, inclined his head in respectful acknowledgment, and allowed the expected words to escape his lips.
"Congratulations on reaching your fifteenth year, Your Highness, Prince Elliot."
"Thank you… Lord Arthur Ashbourne."
Arthur gave a faint nod and turned on his heel as he said:
"Then, if you'll excuse me."
But fate, ever fond of cruel timing, had other plans.
The moment he turned, his shoulder collided with someone behind, someone whose face he knew all too well.
The second son of House Montague. The very one behind that incident, who had been punched by Arthur more than a decade ago.
"Tsk. Watch where you're going. Or are your eyes just for decoration?"