The banquet continued in full grandeur — music swelling, dancers twirling, nobles laughing far too loudly to mask their nerves. Oliver slipped away from the group for a moment, weaving through the crowd to refill his wine. He preferred the quiet edge of the hall, where there were fewer eyes and fewer suffocating politics.
He had just taken a sip when a mellow, confident voice spoke from beside him.
"Beautiful night, isn't it?"
Oliver turned slightly.
A man dressed in deep crimson and black stood there, posture immaculate. Tall, refined, sharp eyes like polished obsidian — and a smile that looked gentle on the surface but cold beneath. Gold embroidery traced his coat, forming the crest of a blazing phoenix.
The Eldest Prince. Crown Prince Arkan Hestia.
A man who could change the fate of the kingdom with a single command.
Oliver bowed slightly. "Your Highness."
