---
The winter air in Vient was bone-chilling, making Arthur's every breath seem to turn into a fine mist.
The city streets were filled with vendors hurriedly closing up their stalls—the sound of wooden doors slamming shut and hurried laughter mingled with the chill wind that brought the promise of snow.
The horse carriage stopped in the main courtyard of the Stico mansion. The gray stone building stood proudly with a towering tower, its flag—dark blue with a silver lion crest—fluttering stiffly against the wind.
Arthur dismounted. The galloping of horses, the creaking iron chains of the gate, and the whistling of the cold wind seemed to merge into a strange symphony.
The servants lined up on either side, bowing in unison. From the large doors carved with ancient battle scenes, a tall man in his fifties emerged, his silver hair neatly tied back. His gaze was sharp, but his smile was warm.
"Welcome to our home, son of the Archduke of Andalus," Duke Naba de Stico's voice was heavy, deep, but not piercing.
Arthur returned the gesture with a polite nod, as his father had taught him. But his eyes were busy assessing the curious glances of the servants, the spear-wielding soldiers in every corner of the courtyard, and even the way the wind buffeted the flags, as if testing the steadfastness of this house.
A large living room greeted them with thick red carpet and a roaring fireplace. There, the Duke introduced a boy about his age.
"This is Nivel de Stico—my only son. He, too, will be leaving for Piece Academy soon."
The boy took a step forward. His face was clean-shaven, his black hair shoulder-length, and his eyes lit up with natural confidence.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Arthur de Andalus," he said, bowing his head politely.
Arthur smiled faintly and nodded. At first glance, it was friendly, but his heart told him: this boy was not simple. There was something behind that calm gaze—was it ambition, or simply arrogance?
The Duke glanced at the two of them in turn.
"You will both represent your families at the Academy. Remember, every step there carries not only your name… but also the honor of our realm."
Those words echoed in Arthur's ears, as if emphasizing that the Academy was no ordinary school—it was a battlefield.
As evening approached, the mansion began to change its appearance. The banquet hall was filled with giant candlelight, sparkling crystal, and silk cloths spread across long tables.
Nobles arrived—some bearing gifts, some with diplomatic smiles, and some bearing messages that seemed more weighty than mere friendly conversation.
Arthur stood straight, remembering the words of the invitation letter: Not everyone who smiles at you is a friend.
And sure enough, as he stepped into the hall, he felt something. Not just friendly gazes, not just whispers of admiration.
From the corner of the room, a pair of unfamiliar eyes were watching him. Cold, unfriendly eyes, and not at all concealing their intentions.
Arthur took a deep breath. Tonight, the winter ball no longer felt like a mere banquet. He knew he was on the stage of royal intrigue—and the first dance had only just begun.