The carriage passed through the city gates and entered the city, but the onlookers lining the streets were not as enthusiastic as the Prince Highness had imagined. False smiles plastered their faces, and their cheers were listless. There was little respect in their gazes—instead, more skepticism. This dampened his mood somewhat. He knew well that in Milling City or other places, such warm welcomes were rarely genuine, but there should at least be the basic etiquette and face-saving gestures. Yet these commoners couldn’t even muster a smile, which felt excessive.

  The Prince Highness lowered the carriage curtain, shutting out the sight, and his impression of the city soured further. As a representative of the royal family, he symbolized the dignity of the nation’s legitimate rulers, yet Arno, a subject under imperial rule, couldn’t be bothered with even superficial courtesies. This showed that in Arno’s mind, the royal family did not embody the respect it deserved, nor was it sacred and inviolable.

  Yoberg, riding on his horse, couldn’t suppress his joy at the cold reception. This was what one called courting disaster! Publicly brushing off the royal arrival with indifference was an act of extreme folly. As a beneficiary of royal orthodoxy, he relished the prince’s growing irritation, a perfect setup for his schemes.

  Lost in thought, the carriage crossed the streets and stopped at the city lord’s mansion.

  The moment the carriage halted, a servant prostrated himself on the ground, and a luxurious boot stepped onto his back. His body sank slightly, his face flushing red as he tried his best to steady himself and avoid shaking. When the other boot also rested on his back for a moment, he exhaled sharply, his hot breath erupting like a cannonball onto the stone pavement, creating ripples of condensation.

  Arno stood on the steps of the main hall of the mansion, descending three steps before stopping. The cold wind swept past him, lifting his black robe trimmed with gold. The swirling snowflakes obscured people’s vision, but his gaze seemed to pierce through the obstruction, making the Prince Highness feel that Arno was staring straight at him. Arno looked down haughtily at the Prince Highness and his entourage, not descending further. His status and background dictated that three steps were the limit of his welcome; any more would degrade his dignity.

  The Prince Highness frowned, then the corners of his mouth turned up, his lips parting to reveal eight pearly white teeth. His smile was perfectly calibrated—not exaggerated, not too cold, with just the right curvature to appear faintly amiable. The distance between his brows and the arc of his smile made him seem approachable. He did not take offense at Arno’s position on the steps; born into the imperial family, he understood far more than he let on.

  Reaching the same level as Arno on the steps, the Prince Highness removed his thick fur hat, steam rising from his head as heat escaped his hair. He looked directly at Arno, his face smiling, but a flicker of jealousy stirred within. Both young men, one a prince of the empire with little real power, the other a noble of equal standing who had already established governance over a city. The sense of superiority brought by his status shattered the moment their gazes met.

  "Delighted to see you again, Baron Arno," said the Prince Highness, lifting his arm to push aside his fur-lined cloak with red trim. He removed his white kidskin gloves and extended his hand, stopping half a step from Arno.

  Arno looked at the prince’s delicate, fair hand, smooth as a woman’s, before smiling faintly and shaking it briefly. "Long time no see, Konrad."

  Three months prior, when Arno still lived in the capital, he had met this youngest son favored by the emperor. They had no real bond, merely nodding in greeting when they crossed paths. This was their first formal meeting. Fate was ironic: two men who had lived in the same city for seventeen or eighteen years, mere kilometers apart, now met formally only after leaving that place.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Arno stepped aside, gesturing inward, ignoring the entourage behind Prince Konrad. Among them, only Konrad was worth his attention. In the capital, he had heard rumors about Prince Konrad—mostly gossip about the prince’s romantic advances or petty jealousies. Such news rarely extended beyond trivialities. It seemed the entire capital was filled with nobles preoccupied with frivolities, each acting like a celebrity, manufacturing scandals to amuse the masses. Yet in this atmosphere, once-glorious families vanished silently into history, leaving no trace.

  Snapping back to the present, Arno took the first step, Konrad following suit. They entered together like old friends, yet always maintaining a half-step distance.

  Inside the mansion, the heat from the blazing hearth warmed the entire hall, though the facilities were primitive compared to the capital’s static constant-temperature magic arrays. Both removed their cloaks, and at Arno’s invitation, they took seats—Arno at the head of the table, Konrad in the secondary seat.

  Konrad’s expression gave no clue to his inner turmoil, but this was the first time since the winter hunt began that he had not sat in the primary seat outside the capital. The flicker in his eyes revealed complex emotions; his right thumb pressed hard against the second joint of his index finger, his hand resting flat on his thigh—a subtle gesture of tension visible only to close observation. He looked up at Arno, who stood at least a foot taller, and his smile did not waver.

  The entourage filed into the hall, their eyes adjusting to the dim light after the bright snowy outdoors, momentarily blinded by afterimages. When they saw Arno seated at the head and Konrad in the secondary seat, silence fell. As members of the royal hunting retinue, they held a pathological sense of superiority, as if they too were royalty.

  They were accustomed to governors, mayors, and lords behaving obsequiously, willingly placing themselves below Prince Konrad to curry favor. But a city lord like Arno, who dared to seat a prince in the secondary position, was a first.

  Yoberg stepped forward, his smile tight and insincere. "Why does His Highness sit in the secondary seat while you, Baron Arno, sit at the head?"

  His words deepened the silence. Konrad’s smile remained fixed, but his eyes sparkled with interest as he turned to Arno, eager to hear his response. The rest of the entourage stared menacingly, ready to rebuke the young city lord if he could not justify himself.

  Arno glanced at Yoberg, his slender index finger flicking upward. "In this city, I am the sole ruler, recognized and protected by the Imperial Code." He flicked his middle finger next. "Furthermore, by both status and rank, I am superior to Konrad, hence my seat here."

  Yoberg couldn’t help but snort, his voice dripping with scorn. "Status? Rank? His Highness will soon be granted the title of duke, even grand duke, with vast fiefdoms. As the emperor’s direct descendant, his status and rank far surpass yours, Baron Arno!" Yoberg emphasized the word "Baron," sneering at the lowly title.

  The other entourage members nodded in agreement. True, Konrad had no title yet, but that didn’t negate his inherent status as the emperor’s favored son. While other princes and princesses might receive marquis or duke titles, Konrad was likely to be named grand duke, a title held by only one royal since Orlando II. He was all but destined for it.

  By this logic, Konrad should indeed sit at the head.

  All eyes turned to Arno, who laughed softly, indifferent to the crowd’s scrutiny. He looked at Konrad. "What do you think?"

  Konrad’s lips twitched. Arno had thrown the question back to him, placing him in an awkward position. If he insisted on the head seat, it would spread that he used his royal status to oppress a local ruler, turning more nobles against him. If he conceded, he would admit inferiority in status and rank, humiliating both himself and the royal family.

  His smile faded, and he shot a sideways glance at Yoberg, fury rising. Clearly, Yoberg aimed to provoke conflict between them—and had succeeded, trapping him in a dilemma.

  Konrad knew Yoberg’s importance paled compared to Arno’s. Yoberg was just a governor, a tool for balancing local powers, easily replaced. Arno, however, controlled key trade monopolies by blocking vital passes. If Arno granted him a share of the monopolies, it would boost his standing in the struggle for fiefdoms, gaining noble support.

  It might even persuade him to choose a fief in Bell Province itself, despite potentially better options elsewhere—a strategic coup.