It all started the usual way—a foreign room, unfamiliar faces, and words of concern that made no sense. So, there was no point in claiming it to be otherwise or special. That would go against Zen's perspective and principle as an editor and, more importantly, a reader.
Reincarnation. Rebirth. Transmigration. Regression.
Zen was quite familiar with these terms because of his job as a part-time editor. What usually happens is that the MC faces something unfortunate, dies, or just goes to bed and finds themselves in a different place. The place and position would vary as well. The second chance stories™. He was too familiar with this setup to be shocked.
What he felt was annoyance, thinking how this could happen to him of all people, he had a lot to do back home.
This was in the beginning, before he came to terms with the actual circumstances. And the variable, Sepehr Vale. Someone who wasn't mentioned once in the story 'Debt of Blood' throughout the 196 chapters he had read. The one he was tied to via invisible strings.
But as things slowly unfolded, things became more complicated. Zen, whose role was undefined, could only hover around his host, watching everything silently.
"Your Highness, are you ready?" Sepehr asked with a small knock on the door. From the window by the hall, almost the whole academy was visible. The buildings were illuminated by the soft glow of dusk. Decorations covered every archway and column. The people were no less either.
*Click*
The large wooden door opened, and Ambrose stepped out. Sepehr immediately bowed as if it were second nature. Instinctively, Zen looked at the two.
Going into details about the prince's appearance was unnecessary. The man radiated power and beauty as always. He seemed overdressed despite not going all out like the people outside.
I contrast, Sepehr served as a peace for the eyes amidst all the gold and jewels. He, too, was dressed formally as his position required him to, accepting every accessory the attendants passed to him, but the light shade of his clothes that complemented his eyes created a soothing image regardless. People weren't at all shy, stealing glances at him, as if he were a specimen put on a shop's display
Nor was Ambrose, whose gaze lingered more openly, up until Sepehr spoke up. "Your Highness, your radiance humbles even the stars." Ambrose didn't respond, continuing to stare blankly. "Your Highness?"
"Are we exchanging compliments? Is it part of the protocol?" Curiosity was evident in his voice.
"No, it isn't, Your Highness. I merely said what came to mind," Sepehr spoke with no hesitation in his voice as always.
"Thank goodness. I wouldn't know what to say," Ambrose said, "You leave me wordless."
Sepehr only smiled politely, "We should head to the ballroom, Your Highness."
"Alright." Ambrose strode forward, and Sepehr stepped behind, maintaining the usual few paces' gap between them.
The lively ballroom quieted down tremendously as soon as they stepped in. Everything was arranged so the Crown Prince won't feel like an outsider; after all, he too was once a student here. But some things are too much to ask for. Even if they weren't bowing in respect or uttering praises for him, this place was still not accepting him as an old student; that wasn't possible.
The ballroom was truly a work of art. Zen thought so, even before it was fully decorated. When Sepehr had done a safety inspection, the flowers were still being put up. Adorned with ornate flooring and glamorous lights, it was a sight. Of course, Zen personally didn't find the horde of lighting safe, because most of them were open flame, but this wasn't something he could decide.
It took a whole ten minutes for things to go back as it was, though murmurs still rippled through the crowd. People gradually came forward to greet Ambrose. The contents of each conversation were almost the same. Ambrose was quick to annoyance, but Sepehr handled everything skillfully. When the wave of greetings finally died down, Sepehr looked across the room before finally speaking up. "Your Highness, could I be excused? I was hoping to meet some old acquaintances."
Ambrose's eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you trying to say?"
"It appears that people are too anxious to approach me here, especially those of humble origins," Sepehr replied smoothly, "I wish to be excused for a while to meet them." Ambrose looked at him as if he had spoken nonsense. "Also, it is my responsibility to give you privacy when necessary."
"You—"
"Good Evening, Your Highness. Lord Vale." The beautiful woman bowed gracefully. Zen had been too busy observing Sepehr's attempt to escape to notice her approaching. Her amber eyes flickered towards Sepehr for a brief moment before locking onto Ambrose.
"Good Evening, Lady Emerson." But Sepehr was the first to speak. "I was just about to go get a drink. Excuse me."
Sepehr skillfully slipped away from the two, leaving no room for objection. As he moved towards the refreshment table, Zen remained with the pair for a while longer. "Good evening, Vivienne," Ambrose said, eyes focused on Sepehr's back.
"Your Highness is as handsome as always," Vivienne said with a flirtatious smile.
"And you are as radiant as ever," Ambrose replied, voice carrying a rehearsed formality.
That's as far as Zen could eavesdrop before he was pulled back to Sepehr. Six meters, that's the farthest he could go from Sepehr.
But Zen didn't have to be too disappointed. The whispering crowd brought over information for him. The murmurs provided more details than he could have collected on his own. One of them was about Vivienne Emerson being the top candidate for the Crown Princess, as in the future queen position. But apparently, she had gained no success thus far.
The tyrant didn't have a queen. No one, for that matter. Now that he looked through his memory, in the novel, the king slaughtered the Emerson family in the beginning act; no wonder he didn't have a queen.
That aside, the two, Ambrose and Vivienne, definitely stood out from the crowd. One flaunting her rose-colored gown, the other with his deathly aura. Vivienne was for sure trying to match her outfit with Ambrose's, who was supposed to wear red, but that idea failed.
Meanwhile, in this corner, Sepehr alone was enough to light the room with grace. He naturally drew attention, proving his excuse to be true.
Now that he was standing separately, more people gradually came to talk to him.
"Good Evening, Lord Vale." Sepehr and Zen both looked at the young woman, flaunting her emerald green dress and smiling cheerfully.
"Greetings, Lady Thisbe."
Thus far, Sepehr had managed to address everyone without needing an introduction.
"May I ask you to join me for a dance?"
For a noble lady to ask for a dance was indeed daring. Sepehr inclined his head, "It'll be my honor." It would have been rude to decline such a request.
So, he took the lady's hand and moved to the dance floor, joining other pairs who glided elegantly to the music. Zen could see the envious stares from those who weren't as daring. Their pride won't let them be set up for possible rejection.
Zen didn't realize until now just how perfectly Sepehr fit into the scene. The soft music, slow steps, and small smiles; people were meant to be drawn.
But the harmony wasn't meant to last. Halfway into the song, Thisbe's feet caught onto the hem of her dress, making her trip. She toppled forward, landing into Sepehr's arms.
[There it is. His arms—always ready to be of help.]
[Don't overdo it. Touch his chest lightly, let the hand linger, just long enough for whispers to start.]
[I will make you mine, Lord Sepehr.]
Zen froze. Thisbe wasn't speaking, but he had heard her as if she were screaming. The words didn't stop there. And the more he listened, the more unsettling her thoughts became. He genuinely felt concerned for Sepehr.
"I apologise," Thisbe spoke with her sweet smile.
"Perhaps you aren't feeling well," he spoke in his usual tone, but it dropped as he spoke the next sentence, loud enough for only her to hear. "Did I appear too lenient to you?"
"What—no—I…" Lady Thisbe stammered.
Not waiting for her response, he led her off the dance floor and told the staff to check her health. It happened so naturally that Zen could only assume this wasn't an uncommon occurrence for Sepehr. Whether or not those encounters carried similar intentions was a separate question.
However, the impurity of each intention was as clear as day.