"Alright," Lianel crossed her arms and adopted her most official demeanor. "Rumors about you have already started crawling around the castle, even if they are vague. Everyone knows we have some 'distant relative' hanging around."

  She began pacing the room, her steps sharp and measured. "Understand this, Greg. All these events are merely an excuse. An excuse for political deals, meetings, and most importantly, a projection of power."

  She snapped her fingers. The door instantly swung open, and servants glided silently into the room carrying hangers and boxes.

  "Hey!" I literally jumped in place. "Where did they come from? Were they just hiding in the textures behind the door this whole time?" "Yep," Lianel tossed back without even turning around. "So, here are your clothes. And don't forget: you are a relative of the King. You must not disgrace us."

  She turned to face me, and her gaze turned to ice. "Today, we will most likely not even approach you. To us, you are a shadow. Do not look at us, do not try to start a conversation. We are maintaining our status. Understood?" "Yeah, yeah," I muttered, inspecting what the servants had brought. "So many rules... It would be easier to just pretend to be a potted plant in the corner."

  I had to get dressed. That white suit again. The ultimate aristocratic nightmare: clothing that forbids you from breathing, moving, and gods forbid, dripping sauce on yourself. White is the color of captivity. You spend all your energy not on living, but on staying clean. Pure horror.

  "There will be many guests today," Lianel continued, while someone tightened an unbelievably restrictive collar around my neck. "There will be many of your peers. We must show them exactly what the royal family is worth."

  I was about to point out that the royal family is already power by definition, so why prove anything? But Lianel was fully in "perfect politician" mode.

  "Reputation is armor, Greg. If even a single crack appears in it, our enemies will immediately thrust a blade right through it." She headed for the exit and, with a short, imperious gesture—as if calling a well-trained dog—ordered me to follow. I sighed, trying not to wrinkle my pants, and trudged after her.

  We reached the main hall. The doors swung wide open. For a moment, the sheer sight of it made my eyes blur.

  So many tables. So much light. So many people... A massive crowd of perfumed individuals decked out in silk and velvet. The hum of their voices sounded like a swarm of angry bees.

  I froze on the threshold. Too many people. Too many potential problems. And, it seemed, too little chance of reaching the buffet unnoticed. Lianel evaporated instantly. Apparently, the "disappear exactly when you're needed" skill was developed to an automatic reflex among princesses.

  I was left alone. The tables were groaning under the weight of the food, but no one was eating. Everyone stood in little clusters, exchanging words that meant absolutely nothing. What is the point of displaying food if you can't touch it? It's torture for the stomach and a pointless waste of resources.

  I started wandering between the tables, conducting an inspection. I noticed a strange pattern: some tables featured absolute culinary masterpieces, while others had something... simpler. "Just let me get lucky with my seat," I thought. And when is the birthday boy going to wave his little hand so we can finally get down to business? Meaning the food.

  The smell was irritating. A mixture of fifty different types of expensive perfumes had merged into one dense, suffocating cloud. My nose started to itch. I retreated into the darkest corner, taking cover behind a pillar.

  POP. A micro-teleport—and an elegant pastry from one of the "better" tables materialized in my hand. I started chewing, feeling slightly less miserable.

  A familiar head of hair flashed in the crowd. Alphus. I took a step toward him, but he immediately caught my eye. His eyes went wide, he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, and quickly looked away. His entire posture screamed: "Don't come near me, I don't know you, I'm here for my reputation!"

  "Fine, whatever," I muttered, turning the other way. "Breathe in your own arrogance, Alphus."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  My path was blocked by a group of guys. Heavily perfumed, wearing doublets practically glowing with gold embroidery. One of them, with his hair slicked back, reached out a hand with obvious distaste. "My name is Sirven."

  I looked at his palm. I'd have to shake it; Alphus would be upset if I didn't. "Greg."

  "So you're the famous 'distant relative'?" Sirven smirked, looking at me like I was a talking footstool. "A curious little thing. Makes sense why the King keeps you around. Like an amusing little lapdog."

  I didn't answer. What was the point? At least lapdogs bite; I was just too lazy. The second guy in their group stepped right up to me and stared me dead in the eye. I involuntarily took a step back—not out of fear, but because he reeked of cologne so badly my eyes actually watered.

  They laughed in unison. "What a piece of trash. Let's go, there's nothing else to see here."

  I watched them walk away. Well, at least I got rid of them quickly. That's a plus.

  I barely took two steps before another kid approached me. He was smiling—quite genuinely, it seemed. "Don't listen to them, Greg." He offered his hand for a handshake. "I'm Rogalt. Listen, it's amazing... One eye is black as the abyss, and the other is gray. Very stylish."

  Rogalt fell into step beside me without waiting for an invitation. "Don't mind the words of those children. Arrogance clouds their brains." He paused, then dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper: "Listen, Greg... You're in the same class as Lianel, right? And you live in the same house? You seem like an understanding guy. I was wondering... how should I confess my love to her? Open my heart. Maybe give her a gift of some kind?"

  I stopped and looked at him. "Umm... do you two even know each other?" "No," Rogalt rolled his eyes dreamily. "But you see, it's love at first sight. Destiny. I can feel it: we were made for each other."

  I felt physically ill. This was some transcendent level of romantic drivel. "Well, you know, Rogalt..." I sighed. "You're clearly not a very smart guy if you're coming to me with questions like this. But Lianel... she's a swordswoman. She's obsessed with weapons and training. Maybe you two have at least something in common in that department?"

  Rogalt's eyes lit up. "You're a genius, Greg! Exactly! Steel!" And he sprinted off just as quickly as he had appeared.

  Literally two minutes later, the hum in the hall died down. Everyone started... sitting down. I looked around. WHAT? Is there some invisible coordinator in here? Everyone moved in perfect sync, as if they knew exactly which square on the chessboard belonged to them.

  I stood in the middle of the hall like a lost puppy until I caught the eye of one of the servants. With a barely noticeable flick of his eyes, he directed me to a table in the very far corner. Well, at least they're letting me sit. I just hope there's more than bread.

  I sat down. The food at my table was... acceptable. But my eyes kept betraying me, glancing at the tables an aisle over—everything there looked exponentially juicier and more expensive. Unfair.

  The noblemen sitting with me weren't exactly hospitable. Every time I looked up, I hit a solid wall of pure malice. One boar of a man in an embroidered doublet couldn't even contain himself: "Don't look at me, demon," he hissed, sliding his chair further away.

  "Fine," I thought, "at least I don't reek of roses from a mile away." The perfumes. It was a nightmare. The scent was so thick you could cut it with a knife. My olfactory receptors were literally begging for mercy.

  But amidst this perfumed hellscape, I noticed something strange. At the next table over sat a man. He wasn't eating. He barely moved. And he... didn't smell. At all. In a hall where everyone smelled like a walking flower shop, this man was a complete "blank spot" to my nose. Highly suspicious. The way this guy was looking made me tense. He wasn't looking at the food or the guests. He was looking at the royal family in a very... specific way.

  The theater began. The King entered with his family. Everyone stood up and applauded. For twenty minutes, the King gave a speech about honor, the future, and other such nonsense. Then everyone sat down and finally, finally started eating.

  An hour passed. Then another. I had run out of ways to entertain myself—I started counting the buttons on my neighbor's vest.

  Finally, the King stood up again. "And now," he swept a grand look over the hall, "my boy will show us his progress."

  YAY. Finally, some action.

  I could feel short, prickly glances directed at me and heard whispers behind my back, but I couldn't care less. Ryan stepped into the center of the hall.

  The kid got into position. The floor around him rapidly began to cover with a crust of ice. Thick snow started falling from the chandeliers, where buckets had evidently been pre-placed (likely following my advice about the water).

  Ryan waved his arms, creating gusts of wind. The snow swirled through the hall in a beautiful vortex. Guests started jumping up from their seats. "Oh, come on!" I grumbled. "Where are you all going? You're blocking the whole view!"

  The squirt started rubbing his palms together, mana sparking between them. A sharp clap—and small, living flames burst from his hands. He drew his sword, and the steel immediately ignited with orange fire.

  An adult swordsman stepped into the center. His blade also glowed faintly. And the performance began. You could tell they had rehearsed this for a long time. Every movement, every lunge was calculated. With every clash of their swords, flares of fire shot in all directions, illuminating the snowflakes dancing in the air.

  For the finale, they worked together to create a massive block of ice. Ryan tossed his flaming sword straight up. The blade executed several perfect rotations in the air and, with a satisfying crunch, embedded itself vertically right into the center of the ice.

  The hall erupted in applause. It was beautiful, I'll give him that.