The grand hall of the Londonium Governor's Palace was a glittering sea of wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft, golden glow over the room, making the polished marble floors gleam. Ornate tables were filled with exotic delicacies and vintage wines from the most expensive cellars in Eden. The air hummed with the murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. The city's grand opening celebration was in full swing, and it was everything Levan had hoped for—a dream wrapped in silk, opulence, and influence.
He moved through the crowd, wearing a sleek, form-fitting suit that had cost more than the average worker's annual wage, with a carefully calculated look of modesty that was far more provocative than outright extravagance. At his side was Davan, the newly-appointed governor of Londonium, looking every inch the dignified statesman. Davan was holding court, nodding at ambassadors and corporate heads with cool detachment, though Levan knew that beneath his polished exterior, his boyfriend was calculating every move.
Tonight, the stakes were high—not just for the city, but for Davan personally. The Sacred 69, the founding families of Eden, were here in force, their presence wrapping the room in an unspoken hierarchy that separated the truly powerful from the merely wealthy. Davan's family, the Radens, were among them, glaring daggers at Levan from across the hall. They had long wanted Davan to marry a proper bride—preferably one from another Sacred 69 family—and they hadn't forgiven him for choosing Levan instead.
The gala's centerpiece was, of course, Mark Lantrun, the Supreme Leader of Eden. Surrounded by his mother, Saint Clara, and a tight knot of the Sacred 69, Mark was the evening's sun, and the old guard orbited around him like moths drawn to a flame. Foreign envoys from Essos, desperate to secure new trade deals and alliances with Eden, hovered at the edges of the group, looking for any opportunity to approach the Supreme Leader. But the Sacred 69 wouldn't allow it.
Levan watched with amusement as the founding families closed ranks, murmuring among themselves and ensuring that none of the envoys got too close to the Supreme Leader. It was a delicate dance, one designed to both show off their influence and keep the outsiders firmly in their place. Every smile was a dagger, every handshake a power play.
As Levan and Davan approached the Radens, Levan braced himself. The tension between him and Davan's family was palpable. Lady Aela Raden, Davan's aunt, gave Levan a thin-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Levan," she said smoothly, her voice dripping with false warmth. "I see you've decided to join us after all. It's… refreshing to see someone who isn't bound by convention."
Levan returned her smile with equal venom. "I do try to bring a little variety to the room."
Davan's father, Lord Raden, arched an eyebrow. "And how fortunate we are for it," he said, his tone so dry it could have cracked stone. "Though I must admit, I was under the impression this gala was for governors and dignitaries. Not…" He trailed off, letting the insult hang in the air.
Levan smiled sweetly. "Not glamorous distractions?" he finished for him, tilting his head just enough to let his diamond earring catch the light. "I suppose everyone needs one now and then."
Davan gave Levan a warning glance, but Levan ignored it, savoring the brief flicker of irritation on Lord Raden's face. The Sacred 69 were predictable in their disdain, but Levan knew how to hold his own.
After enduring a few more barbed comments and polite sneers, Levan excused himself. He drifted through the crowd until he found his people—the new money faction, a collection of the children of industrialists, influencers, and tech magnates. Unlike the Sacred 69, who clung to their political connections and ancestral influence, the new money crowd lived fast and loud. They didn't have decades of tradition to uphold; they had media empires, tech startups, and celebrity clout.
"Levan!" cried Iona, a fashion icon with a million followers on the Eden Network. She wrapped her arms around him in a cloud of perfume and silk. "You look fabulous! That suit is divine. I can't believe the Sacred 69 let you in looking that good."
Levan smirked. "They tried their best to make me feel unwelcome, but I consider it a compliment."
The group laughed, exchanging sly glances.
"It's hilarious how obsessed they are with Davan marrying 'appropriately,'" said Felix, the son of a shipping magnate. "Like we're still living in some medieval dynasty drama. Honestly, they need to loosen up."
"They're terrified of us," Iona added with a grin. "They see us coming and know their days are numbered. They can't compete with real wealth."
Levan leaned in. "Speaking of terrified, have you seen how they've been keeping the Essosi envoys out of the Supreme Leader's presence all night?"
Iona rolled her eyes. "Please, those poor envoys don't stand a chance. Look at them, skulking around like stray dogs. They don't realize that Eden doesn't need them anymore."
Felix snickered. "The Sacred 69 are practically foaming at the mouth to keep them away from the Supreme Leader. They'll barely let them breathe the same air."
The group exchanged amused glances. To them, the envoys from Essos were relics of a bygone era, nations desperately clinging to relevance in a world that no longer needed them.
"Did you hear one of them tried to send a message directly to Saint Clara?" Iona whispered, eyes sparkling with delight. "Apparently, they thought Saint Clara might be more 'open-minded.'"
The group erupted into quiet laughter. Saint Clara, known for her motherly warmth toward Mark, was a revered figure—but she was just as ruthless as any of the Sacred 69 when it came to protecting Eden's interests.
"They're so desperate it's sad," Felix said with a smirk. "I mean, how do you even compete with a godlike ruler like Mark Lantrun?"
Levan sipped his champagne, savoring the sweet taste and the knowledge that tonight, he was part of this elite circle. He had made it. Not as one of the Sacred 69, but as someone with wealth, beauty, and the ability to keep Davan interested—for now.
Across the room, the Sacred 69 still hovered around Mark Lantrun like an impenetrable wall, ensuring that no outsiders could get close. The envoys from Essos continued to linger awkwardly at the edges of the room, their hopes for alliances slowly slipping through their fingers.
Levan watched them with a mixture of amusement and pity. They didn't belong here, not in this new world where Eden ruled supreme. And tonight, Londonium's opening gala was a reminder to everyone—whether old guard or new money—that power belonged only to those who knew how to hold it.