~Where a Prince Meets the Cursed Heir in the Quiet~
The banquet continued without him.
Music flowed. Laughter rose. Wine poured.
But Kel von Rosenfeld had withdrawn from its current, moving toward the edge where the light of the Grand Lunar Hall began to thin.
He walked alone along the outer edge of the marble floor, as if simply seeking a moment of air. No one stopped him. No one called his name. The nobles pretended not to notice his departure, though several pairs of eyes tracked him to the door.
He passed beneath the towering arch of carved darkwood, stepping out of the hall and into the corridor beyond.
The difference hit instantly.
Inside: warmth, noise, brightness.
Outside: cool stillness. Dim torchlight. The muffled echo of music through heavy doors.
It was a liminal space.
Not quite public.
Not quite private.
A place where words could be said… and later denied.
Kel paused there, beside a stone pillar veined faintly with silver, letting the chill of the corridor soothe his overheated body. His lungs burned faintly, the curse coiled deep within him like a sleeping serpent still irritated from being disturbed.
He adjusted his collar with a steady hand, hiding the slight stiffness in his fingers.
Just a little longer.
Once I reach my room, then I can fall apart.
He took a step.
"Leaving your own banquet so early, Lord Kel?"
The voice came from the shadows near the far edge of the corridor—smooth, young, threaded with mild amusement and something sharper beneath.
Kel stopped.
Turned his head.
And saw him.
The Fourth Prince
Prince Adrian Aurelius leaned lightly against one of the supporting pillars, half his form bathed in torchlight, the other half shaded. His attire blended formality and function: a fitted imperial black coat trimmed with dark red, high collar, light gold embroidery forming faint solar patterns along the cuffs and shoulders.
No gaudy jewelry.
Only a simple crest at his chest—the emblem of the Aurelius bloodline.
His hair was a darker gold, neatly styled, not too long. His eyes—a muted, deep amber—held the kind of calm more often found in men much older than fifteen.
He held a goblet in one hand.
But, Kel noticed, he had not drunk from it.
Adrian smiled faintly.
"I thought the eldest son of House Rosenfeld would stand in the hall until the last guest left," he said. "Yet here you are, seeking the quiet."
Kel straightened.
His mind moved quickly.
Why here? Why now? Why alone?
He waited, watched, then chose to intercept—not in full view, but in the threshold.
Kel bowed his head—not too deep, not too shallow.
"Your Highness," he said smoothly. "I apologize if my exit seemed discourteous. I did not intend to seem ungrateful for your presence."
Adrian pushed off the pillar and approached at an unhurried pace.
"No apology necessary," the prince replied. "Even a grand hall can feel suffocating when eyes watch you as if you were some unfamiliar beast."
The words were spoken casually.
The meaning was not.
Adrian stopped a comfortable distance away—not invading, not distant. Close enough that they could speak without being overheard by anyone beyond the corridor.
Kel lifted his gaze, meeting the prince's eyes.
There was no hostility there.
No dismissal.
Just… interest.
Dangerous.
A Conversation Begins
"May I speak with you for a moment, Lord Kel?" Adrian asked politely. "Not as a prince to a subject, but as a man to another… navigating difficult air."
Kel's lips curved just a fraction.
"I would be honored, Your Highness," he replied. "Though I'm not sure my perspective is worth imperial time."
Adrian gave a quiet, amused exhale.
"On the contrary," he said. "You've stolen quite a lot of it tonight already."
Kel tilted his head slightly.
"Have I?"
The prince's eyes narrowed in faint amusement.
"You arrived late to the stage," Adrian said softly. "But everyone is speaking of you. That tends to... capture attention."
Probe One — Public Image
"Tell me," Adrian continued, taking a step closer, his tone still friendly but layered, "was it your intention from the start to rearrange the banquet's focus tonight?"
Kel's expression remained calm.
"Hardly," he replied. "I lack both the health and the arrogance to design an evening around myself."
He glanced back toward the hall.
"The duel was not my choice. Nor was the attention afterward. I merely responded where I was forced to."
Adrian watched him intently.
"So all this," he said, "was simply reaction?"
Kel's lips thinned, but his eyes did not waver.
"Your Highness," he said gently, "sometimes survival itself is the most strategic reaction one can offer."
The prince's gaze sharpened.
A boy forced into a corner—and yet he calls that corner strategy.
He is either clever… or lying about how much he's prepared.
Adrian took a slow sip from his goblet at last—still watching Kel over the rim.
Probe Two — Pain & Composure
"You fought while cursed," Adrian remarked. "Dancing afterward was... perhaps unwise."
"Undeniably," Kel replied lightly.
"Yet you stood," Adrian added, "without once asking for aid."
The corridor fell quiet for a brief moment.
Then Kel said, "If I show how much it hurts, Your Highness… those who wish me gone will no longer need to work as hard."
He lifted one shoulder in a small shrug.
"I should hate to make things too easy for them."
Adrian blinked once.
Then he laughed.
Soft, controlled, genuinely amused.
"That is quite an answer," he said.
Kel inclined his head.
"And yet true," he said.
Probe Three — Future Paths
The prince grew serious.
"Lord Kel," Adrian said more quietly, "you are the eldest heir of the strongest northern house. For years, rumors claimed you were useless. Tonight, those rumors… lost confidence."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Tell me. Do you intend to contest what has always been promised to others?"
There it was.
The subtle blade.
Do you seek the head of House Rosenfeld?
Kel did not immediately answer.
His back rested lightly against the cold stone, but his posture remained upright. The cold seeped into his bones, soothing aching muscles. He used the sensation to anchor his thoughts.
Answer too boldly: I become threat, not ally.
Answer too weakly: I become irrelevant again.
He spoke quietly.
"I intend to live, Your Highness."
Adrian's brows ticked up.
Kel continued.
"For someone expected to die young, that is already a declaration big enough."
"But if living," Adrian said, "requires you to claim what others reach for…?"
Kel's gaze darkened faintly.
"Then I will take only what I must," he replied. "And nothing less than what I deserve."
There was no pride in the words.
Just… acceptance.
Adrian studied him.
This boy did not speak like a sheltered noble.
He spoke like a man who had stood at his own grave and decided he wasn't finished.
Hint of Alliance
"You know," Adrian said slowly, "the Empire has many houses. Many heirs. Many who fight loudly for attention."
He glanced toward the hall entrance.
"Few know how to move quietly yet refuse to stay weak."
His gaze settled back on Kel.
"In the years to come, the empire will not remain still. Nor will the succession."
A pause.
"A man who can stand under the weight of hostility without collapsing is valuable."
Kel did not blink.
"Is that," he asked gently, "a prince's compliment?"
Adrian smiled faintly.
"Consider it," he said, "a prince's notice."
He stepped just half a pace closer, shadow overlapping slightly with Kel's.
"You may find, Lord Kel," Adrian added softly, "that in this empire, standing alone is impressive…"
His eyes flashed.
"But standing alone for too long is fatal."
Kel's gaze deepened.
"A warning, Your Highness?"
"A possibility," Adrian answered. "One that can be… mitigated."
By what?
Kel knew the answer.
By alliances.
By choosing where to stand when the empire trembles.
Kel's steps, his training, his breath in the cold air—all led toward one path:
I will not be led into anyone's game…
Unless I'm allowed to place a piece of my own.
Kel's Masked Reply
"I appreciate your… concern," Kel said politely. "But I am currently still trying to avoid collapsing in hallways, Your Highness. Grand ambitions seem a bit distant."
Adrian chuckled.
"Fair," he said.
He turned slightly, as if preparing to leave.
Then looked back over his shoulder.
"When the time comes," Adrian said, tone casual but words heavy, "and you find the ground under your house shifting… I would prefer to be informed whether you intend to stand… or move."
His eyes held Kel's.
"Men like you," he finished, "shouldn't be left unaccounted for."
Kel's heart thudded once.
The prince smiled—a small, almost weary expression.
"I look forward," Adrian said, "to seeing which direction you choose."
Final Exchange
Kel bowed slightly.
"Then I apologize in advance, Your Highness," he said.
"Oh?" Adrian asked, amused. "For what?"
"For the trouble my existence may cause," Kel replied.
There was a flicker in his eyes—dry humor underlined with truth.
"I've been giving Fate problems lately. I don't expect politics to fare better."
Adrian laughed again—quietly, genuinely.
"I will be disappointed," he said, "if you do not cause trouble."
He began to walk away, his footsteps echoing softly down the corridor.
Then, without turning, he lifted his hand in a small, casual wave.
"Rest, Lord Kel," he called. "It would be inconvenient if you died before things become interesting."
Kel watched him go.
The torches cast long shadows that stretched between them like paths yet unwalked.
He stood there for a while, letting the pain swell and settle, the prince's words echoing in his mind.
Standing alone is impressive.
Standing alone too long is fatal.
He exhaled slowly.
"…Then I will stand," he murmured to himself, turning further into the corridor's darkness.
"But I'll decide for myself when—and with whom—I walk."
The music in the hall grew distant.
The cold of the stone seeped deeper into his bones.
Kel headed toward his chambers.
Each step measured.
Each breath controlled.
And somewhere, for the first time… the empire's future had placed his name on its list of variables.