The Great Hall of House Neve blazed with warmth despite the snow falling outside its frost-etched windows. Leon sat three seats down from his father at the high table, uncomfortable in his ceremonial blues—the stiff collar seemed determined to strangle him. Around him, nobles laughed and drank, celebrating the Winter Solstice with the enthusiasm of people who knew spring would eventually come.
Leon wasn't so sure. Not anymore.
He'd earned his Swordsman class two months ago, and the congratulations had finally started to taper off. At thirteen, he was young for it. The System had recognized his skill with a blade. The notification had appeared in his vision like frost crystallizing on glass:
**[Achievement Unlocked: Blade Mastery]**
**[Class Earned: Swordsman]**
**[STR: E → D]**
**[DEX: E → D]**
His hand had been shaking when he dismissed the notification. The stats had increased from all his training. The class was just confirmation.
Now, watching a server approach with a silver pitcher of spiced apple cider, Leon felt that same tremor in his fingers.
The server poured the steaming cider into Leon's cup with practiced efficiency. His hands were steady. His face was calm. But there, just at his collar, a bead of sweat rolled down his neck.
The cider was cloudier than the others being served. The steam carried cinnamon and cloves, but under that something bitter. Something wrong. The server's hand had trembled for a fraction of a second as he poured.
Leon kept his Status screen at the edge of his vision. His father always said staring at your stats during conversation was disrespectful.
Right now, Leon wished he had poison resistance.
He didn't. He was thirteen with stats that barely qualified him for his Swordsman class. The class was just a title, recognition of what he'd already achieved. If that cider was poisoned, his body wouldn't handle it.
Around them, the celebration continued. His older brother Aren was deep in conversation with Lady Frost from House Crystalline. His father laughed at something Lord Bergman said. His mother, elegant and terrible in her ice-blue gown, surveyed the hall with sharp eyes.
She'd missed this.
The server moved to continue down the table, but Leon caught his sleeve. Gently. Just enough to stop him without drawing attention.
"A moment," Leon said quietly. To anyone watching, it would look like a young noble making small talk. "What's your name?"
The server's eyes widened slightly. "Jeren, my lord."
"Jeren." Leon kept his grip light, his smile easy. "I'm quite thirsty, but I prefer my cider cooler. Would you mind?"
He lifted his cup and held it out to the server. A simple request. Nothing unusual.
Jeren's face went pale. "My lord, I—"
"It's no trouble, is it?" Leon's voice stayed soft, but he let his eyes harden. "Unless there's a reason you'd prefer I drink it hot?"
Jeren's hand shook as he took the cup. For a moment, Leon thought he might actually run. But then the man's shoulders sagged.
"They have my daughter, my lord," Jeren whispered. "Please. They said they'd kill her if I didn't..."
"The kitchen," Leon interrupted softly. "Go there now. Wait for me. Don't speak to anyone, don't leave the keep. If your daughter is in danger, running will only make it worse."
Jeren's eyes glistened. "My lord, I'm sorry, I..."
"The kitchen. Now."
The server fled, still carrying the poisoned cider. Leon watched him go, then calmly reached for the pitcher of clean cider that another server was carrying past. He poured himself a fresh cup, took a sip, and set it down.
He was steady.
No one had noticed. The celebration continued around him. His father was still laughing. His mother was still surveying the room. Aren was still charming Lady Frost.
Leon had just survived an assassination attempt, and the only person who knew was the man who'd tried to kill him.
He waited exactly ten minutes. Long enough for Jeren to reach the kitchen, long enough that leaving wouldn't seem connected. Then he stood, smoothed his ceremonial jacket, and caught his mother's eye.
She raised an eyebrow.
Leon touched two fingers to his collar. Their family's private signal.
His mother's expression didn't change, but the temperature around her dropped by a degree. She'd seen it.
She gave the smallest nod and turned to whisper something to his father. Leon was already moving, weaving through the tables toward the side entrance that led to the kitchen corridors. To anyone watching, he was just a young noble escaping a boring feast.
The kitchen corridors were quieter, lit by mage-lights that cast everything in cool blue. Leon found Jeren sitting on a supply crate, head in his hands.
The man looked up when Leon entered. "My lord, please, you have to understand..."
"Who has your daughter?"
"I don't know. They wore masks. They came three days ago, took her from the market. Left me a note." Jeren's voice cracked. "She's only eight, my lord."
"What did the note say?"
"Poison the third prince during the Solstice feast. They'd send proof she was alive after. If I refused, if I warned anyone..." Jeren couldn't finish.
Third prince. Specifically him.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor. His mother appeared. Behind her, the Captain of the Guard.
His mother's eyes took in the scene instantly. "Explain."
Leon did. The poisoned cider, Jeren's confession, the kidnapped daughter.
His mother listened without interrupting. When he finished, she turned to Jeren.
"Where is the cider now?"
"I poured it down the kitchen drain, my lady," Jeren said, trembling. "I panicked..."
"And the note?"
"Burned it. They told me to."
His mother's expression didn't change, but frost started forming on the walls around her. "Captain. Find Jeren's daughter. Quietly. If she's in the city, I want her found before dawn."
"Yes, my lady."
"And Jeren stays in protective custody. Guest quarters, under guard."
The Captain escorted a bewildered Jeren away. Leon's mother waited until they were alone.
"You handled that well," she said. "No scene, no panic. Your instincts are good."
"Someone wants me dead," Leon said quietly. "And I don't know why."
"Neither do I." His mother's voice was ice. "But we're going to find out."
She pulled out a small vial from within her sleeve and a single shard of ice materialized in her palm. "When the Captain finds the daughter, we'll find who took her. And when we find who took her, we'll find who wants you dead."
"Why me?" The question had been building since Jeren's confession. "I'm not the heir. I'm not the spare. I'm third in line with barely enough stats to qualify as a Swordsman."
His mother was quiet for a long moment, studying him.
"I don't know," she admitted. "And that concerns me more than the attempt itself." She touched his shoulder, her hand cold through his jacket. "Return to the feast. Act normal. Smile, make conversation, pretend nothing happened."
"You want me to be bait."
"I want you to be careful." Her grip tightened. "And I want you to start thinking about why someone might see you as a threat."
"Or someone sees something in my death that benefits them."
His mother's expression shifted. Almost approving. "Good. Keep thinking like that. Now go. I'll handle the investigation."
Leon nodded and started back toward the feast.
He wasn't the heir. That was Aren, twenty-two and already a Frost Knight. He wasn't the spare. That was Elise, eighteen and pursuing her Ice Mage class. He was third in line, barely into his teens.
His Status screen pulsed at the edge of his vision. Leon pulled it up:
---
**[STATUS]**
**Name:** Leon Neve
**Age:** 13
**Class:** Swordsman
**Stats:**
- STR: D
- DEX: D
- END: E
- INT: D
- WIS: E
- CHA: D
**Skills:**
- [Swordsmanship, Lv 4]
- [Tactical Analysis, Lv 2]
- [Ice Affinity, Lv 1] (Bloodline)
- [Neve Family Technique: Frost Edge, Lv 1]
**Titles:**
- [Third Prince of House Neve]
- [Swordsman Initiate]
---
Nothing there explained it. His stats were low. His skills were unremarkable. His titles were inherited.
But someone had tried to poison him.
And that someone had leverage over the household staff.
Leon dismissed the screen and slipped back into the Great Hall. The celebration continued exactly as he'd left it. Nobles laughing, servants circulating with food and drink, his father holding court at the high table.
No one knew what had just happened.
He took his seat at the high table, picked up his cup of fresh cider, and took a sip.
His brother Aren glanced over. "Enjoying yourself?"
"Tremendously," Leon said.
Aren studied him for a moment, then shrugged and returned to his conversation. His father caught Leon's eye and gave a subtle nod. His mother must have signaled him.
Leon nodded back and focused on appearing relaxed.
Someone wanted him dead. They had resources. They had knowledge. They had reason to risk House Neve's wrath.
The question was: what had Leon done to earn such attention?
Or what was he going to do?
Outside the frost-etched windows, snow continued to fall. Winter had come early this year.
His Status screen flickered. A notification:
---
**[New Achievement Tracked: Survive First Assassination Attempt]**
**[Progress: 1/1]**
**[Achievement Unlocked: Cold Calculation]**
**[WIS: E → D]**
**[New Skill Acquired: Poison Awareness, Lv 1]**
---
Leon dismissed it quickly. His wisdom stat had increased. The System had recognized what he'd done.
And now he had a skill that might keep him alive next time.
There would be a next time. He needed to figure out why before it did.