“Where’s Grand Duke Ostos?” Their brocade flashed like fish scales in sun, as a handful of nobles stopped before his palace gate, a bronze cliff against the sky.
“The lord and lady are on the rooftop, watching the stars,” the butler said, his voice rustling like dry leaves. “My lord has stepped back from the crown. If it’s politics, he declines.”
He was bent like an old pine in wind, face a folded map of years, beard white as frost. His slit eyes still held weathered stone calm that invited respect.
“My lord, we’re here to catch up with the grand duke,” they said, smiling like masks. “See? We’ll shed these cursed robes.” Cloaks whipped aside like molted skins, revealing easy everyday wear.
The old man nodded, a pebble tapping still water. “Then let Duke Morse, Duke Virginia, and Duke Gus go up. And please, remember to knock.”
“Rest assured, my lord. Heh, heh…” The three traded a glance and a laugh, light as wind-bells.
Knock, knock, knock— The heavy rooftop door boomed, and an engineered echo sang across the terrace like a slow bell. Black-and-white armored guards peered through a small slot, chess pieces on watch.
“Reporting, my lord—Duke Morse and the others.”
“Oh, let them in.” Ostos released Lady Penero’s fragrant shoulder, incense unwinding in the night, and walked to the only door.
Creak—
“Grand Duke Ostos, you still love stargazing with Lady Penero, just like always…”
“Hahaha… not that much…”
January 16, morning.
Paris’s home was unusually lively, a hive stirred at dawn. Several middle-aged men arrived, wealth hanging on them like perfume and silk.
Paris beamed, spring light in his eyes, and kept sending maids with tea, steam curling like mist over a pond.
“Duke Hudson, Duke Ted, Duke Harrison, Grand Duke William—thank you for honoring me by coming to my house.” Paris raised his cup and drank first, wine a ruby ribbon.
The others clinked and drank, crystal ringing like thin ice, then traded smiles that rippled like water.
“Your Highness, what are you saying? With your rank, who on the continent would dare not give you face?” Duke Hudson oiled the air, a young man in his early twenties.
He was handsome as a painted saint, curls like green waves, golden eyes bright as coins, skin pale as milk.
A black robe with a silver wolf draped his shoulders, silk beneath gleaming like river light—every inch a noble son.
“Duke Hudson’s right. Your Highness has great merits, and we all see your ability. Who would dare slight you?” Duke Ted smiled, blade-scar by his neck like a near-fatal crescent.
He had a hawk’s nose and chopped brown hair, a weathered face like sun-baked earth.
Duke Harrison only said, cool as shade, “Your Highness is too kind,” a not-quite-smile on his lips, his meaning fog behind glass.
Grand Duke William was slightly stout, bald shining like a moon, yet his aura strode the room like a bull. Scars cut his rugged face like old riverbeds.
He wore a loose cloth tunic and a cloak with a red tiger roaring across it, and he drank steady as a stone mill turns.
“Your Highness, you look more mature, and more unreadable,” William said, and when he smiled, two dimples opened like deep wells.
The other three froze a breath, like birds sensing a falcon. Strictly speaking, those words brushed disrespect.
Paris felt no sting; he brightened, spring rain over fields. “Grand Duke William jests. I’m still too young, with many shortcomings. Otherwise, Father wouldn’t have yielded the throne to my virtuous brother.”
“Ah—” Hudson fumbled his cup. Wine splashed his chest like a red flower, and his hand trembled, a leaf in wind.
Paris had a maid wipe him down, then chuckled, a reed flute in dusk. “Why so jumpy, Duke Hudson? You don’t think you heard something you shouldn’t, do you?”
“I… Your Highness, I spoke out of turn, out of turn…” Hudson’s panic fluttered like a trapped sparrow, drawing hearty laughter like rolling thunder.
“Hudson, you’re still too green,” someone teased, warmth hiding a barb.
“It’s not your fault,” Harrison added, voice smooth as lacquer. “Your late father went too suddenly. Anyone would need time to adjust.”
Ted’s eyes turned like quick fish. He patted Hudson’s shoulder, a solid tap. “It’s fine, Duke Hudson. We all learn by doing. I wasn’t better when I took over.”
Hudson managed a stiff smile, a paper lantern in wind.
“All right, all right,” Paris said, smoothing the air like a hand over silk. “Duke Hudson’s new to power. The tangle of things takes time.”
“This time, I invited you to share a little story.” His tone drifted like incense toward a hidden shrine.
Hudson looked blank as new snow. The other three grew thoughtful, faces darkening like clouds gathering.
“Don’t rush,” Paris said. “Let’s loosen up. We’ve got time.” He clapped twice, sharp as flint. Instantly, a dozen beautiful, bewitching dancers entered like swans in a blue lake.
They wore sheer gowns, long white legs bare as polished jade, only pale-blue underthings glimmering beneath translucent skirts like a secret sky.
Their lips were cherry-bright, their figures tall and curved like bows, blue eyes sending threads of lightning.
Several androgynous, tightly wrapped female bards followed, their mystery adding a different heat, like spice in cool wine.
The banquet became a dance. The music rose, lilting as a river in spring, and the dancers wheeled, petals on a breeze.
Their steps struck together, neat as soldiers, and their motions flowed, silk over stone.
Brown high-heeled sandals clicked sharp and clear, arrows tapping a drum, each beat plucking a heartstring.
Long, rosy legs swayed like reeds, and willow waists bent, drawing devilish curves with every breath.
The sight hit like a wave on rock, and even worldly Grand Duke William paused mid-cup, the wine trembling like a held tide.
When the dancers left, the room felt hollow as a shell. It was as if half their souls had been hooked away by moonlight.
Even as the door latched, eyes followed the smooth, pale backs, light sliding like water over porcelain.
“My lords, I poached this troupe from the Southern Kingdom at great cost,” Paris said, confidence rising like a warm wind. “How’s their craft?”
“Superb!”
“Exquisite!”
As aftertaste lingered like smoke, Paris judged the timing right. He filled their cups again, red arcs like sunset across glass, and said, “Then please be patient and hear me through this little story…”
