Irish threw Stone with dramatic flair, Irien chose Stone with her usual calm, and Arlon… picked Scroll.
"Ha!" Arlon said, his tone flat but faintly smug. "Scroll wraps Stone."
Irish's jaw dropped. "What?! No way! I never lose!"
Irien gave a small laugh, shaking her head. "It seems we been defeated, Irish."
Arlon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "So, what's this gift I'm supposed to get?" he asked, his tone amused.
Irish pouted for a moment but quickly recovered, a mischievous glint sparking in her eyes. "You'll see!" she said, darting toward a basket of flowers that Dimitri had set aside earlier as decoration for the table.
Arlon raised an eyebrow as she and Irien whispered to each other, their hands moving quickly as they worked on something out of sight.
Eric giggled softly, his tail wagging as he watched the twins. "What are they doing?"
Arlon shrugged, sipping his tea with mock patience. "I'm not sure I want to know."
Finally, the twins returned, Irish holding something behind her back.
"Close your eyes, Lord Arlon!" she said, grinning.
Arlon gave her a skeptical look. "Why?"
"Just do it!" she insisted, her excitement bubbling over.
With a resigned sigh, Arlon closed his eyes. A moment later, he felt something light and soft being placed on his head.
"Okay, you can open them now!" Irish said, practically bouncing with glee.
Arlon opened his eyes, his expression still unreadable, but Ace's sudden snort of laughter told him everything he needed to know. He reached up, feeling the delicate weave of flowers resting on his head.
"A flower crown?" he asked flatly, raising an eyebrow as he looked at the twins.
Irish grinned triumphantly. "Yes! It's your gift! Doesn't it look amazing?"
Irien gave a small, approving nod. "It suits you, Lord Arlon."
Arlon glanced at Eric, who was staring at him with wide eyes, a look of pure amazement on his face. While Ace looked amused, his crimson eyes gleaming with delight.
For a moment, Arlon said nothing, his gaze shifting between the smiling faces around him. Then, with a small sigh, he leaned back in his chair, making no move to remove the crown.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice dry but laced with a faint hint of amusement. "I'll wear it. But only because it's a gift."
The twins cheered, their joy filling the gazebo. Eric smiled shyly, and Ace, perched nearby, smirked.
"You're quite the trooper," the cat's voice whispered in Arlon's mind. "You almost look like you're enjoying yourself."
Arlon glanced at Ace, his lips twitching faintly. "Don't push it," he thought, though he couldn't quite hide the warmth creeping into his expression.
As the cheerful atmosphere lingered in the gazebo, Dimitri appeared at Arlon's side with his usual composed demeanor. He cleared his throat softly before leaning closer to his lord.
"My Lord," he said with quiet urgency, "the meeting will begin shortly."
Arlon straightened, his sharp gaze shifting to Dimitri. "I see," he said simply, setting his tea cup down on the table. Without hesitation, he pushed his chair back and stood, his commanding presence immediately shifting the mood.
The twins, who had been busy adjusting the flower crown on Eric's head, paused and looked up at him, their smiles fading slightly.
"You have to go already?" Irish asked, her voice tinged with disappointment.
"Yes," Arlon replied, his tone firm but not unkind. "The meeting can't wait."
Irien, quieter but no less wistful, added softly, "We understand."
Eric glanced up at Arlon, his ears drooping slightly. The boy didn't say anything, but the sadness in his golden eyes was clear.
Irish perked up, trying to maintain her usual cheer. "Will you come back later, Lord Arlon? You promised yesterday that you'd join us for studying."
Arlon paused for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a small nod. "I'll come back," he said. "Make sure you're ready."
That seemed to satisfy the twins, who smiled brightly once again.
Before leaving, Arlon crouched briefly beside Eric, placing a hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "You'll be fine with the twins," he said quietly, his voice steady but reassuring. "Have fun."
Eric nodded slowly, though his fingers clung lightly to the hem of his shirt as he glanced at the twins.
As Arlon stood again and turned to leave, Irish called out after him. "Lord Arlon! Don't take off the crown, okay? You have to wear it all day!"
Irien nodded, a rare playful glint in her usually calm eyes. "It's a gift, after all."
Arlon didn't answer, his mind already shifting toward the meeting and its pressing matters. He walked away, his long strides carrying him back toward the castle halls. Dimitri fell into step beside him, as silent and efficient as ever.
Step— Step—
They passed through the arched entrance and into the quiet corridors, the sound of Arlon's boots echoing softly off the stone walls. Dimitri glanced at him briefly, noting the crown of woven flowers still resting neatly on his head, but said nothing.
The stage is ready, and it's time to face the audience.
Arlon's expression remained impassive as he walked, his thoughts already consumed with the plans he had meticulously prepared for the meeting.
Step— Step—
The quiet tap of his boots against the polished floor echoed faintly in the hallway, a rhythm that mirrored the calm precision of his mind.
After a few moments, his steps slowed, his gaze growing distant as though a thought had just surfaced. He came to an abrupt halt, the silence around him thickening.
"...?"
Dimitri, ever observant, stopped a few paces behind, raising a curious brow as he watched Arlon turn his head slightly.
"Ah," Arlon said, his tone calm, almost absent-minded. "I forgot something."
Dimitri tilted his head, his expression remaining composed but tinged with faint confusion. "May I inquire what it is, my lord?"
Arlon didn't answer immediately. Instead, as he resumed walking, a sudden smirk crossed his face, adding a subtle air of mischief to his otherwise composed demeanor.
"No need," he replied simply. "It's already taken care of."
———
The meeting room was thick with an air of quiet authority as the nobles sat poised around the long polished table, each one carrying themselves with the practiced grace of seasoned aristocrats.
Step— Step—
Arlon's entrance was met with silence, their gazes following his every step as he made his way to the head of the table.
Dimitri followed quietly behind, taking his usual place against the wall. His sharp eyes flicked over the nobles, noting their reactions—or lack thereof—with subtle amusement.
Arlon, unfazed by their scrutiny, took his seat at the head of the table. His presence was steady, commanding, as if he had never worn the mask or hidden behind a veil of mystery. He rested his hands lightly on the table, his posture confident but not stiff.
The flower crown, delicate and almost absurdly out of place amidst the weight of political machinations, lingered like an unspoken question in the room. The nobles' gazes flickered toward it briefly—subtle but unmistakable—before they quickly schooled their expressions into calm neutrality, pretending they hadn't noticed.
At the far end of the table sat Lord Henry Everson, Lord Earl Dwyer, and Lord Alfred Fontaine. Their expressions were polite, almost welcoming, but their sharp eyes betrayed their true intent. To them, Arlon was a figure to be molded, manipulated—an inexperienced heir they could control under the guise of mentorship.
Arlon remained impassive, his hands resting lightly on the table. His gaze swept over the room, his calm demeanor unshaken.
Let them play their games, he thought. They've been waiting for this.
They sat with relaxed confidence, as though they had already won whatever battle they believed this meeting to be.
Everson was the first to speak, his voice smooth and measured. "My lord," he began with a faint smile, "allow me to begin by expressing my admiration for your commitment to the family. It is no small thing to take on the mantle of heir at such a pivotal time."
Arlon inclined his head slightly, his face unreadable. "I appreciate your words, Lord Everson."
Everson leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Of course, with such a great responsibility comes the need for… guidance. No leader, no matter how capable, succeeds without the support of those around them. Wouldn't you agree?"
Arlon's lips twitched slightly, though his tone remained neutral. "Guidance is valuable, yes. But leadership requires the ability to make decisions independently."
Dwyer chuckled softly, his deep voice carrying a note of amusement. "Ah, but independence must be tempered with wisdom, my lord. A leader who acts without seeking counsel risks making mistakes that could have been avoided."
Fontaine spoke next, his tone soft but cutting. "And wisdom, as you know, is often the product of experience. Experience that, perhaps, some of us at this table have gained over decades of serving the Throndsen family."
"..."
The implication hung in the air, subtle but unmistakable. Arlon remained silent for a moment, letting their words settle.
"They're building their case slowly," he thought, his gaze flicking briefly to each of them. "Positioning themselves as the wise mentors while painting me as inexperienced. Transparent, but clever."
Everson continued, his voice carrying the calm authority of someone used to being listened to. "Take, for instance, the matter of maintaining alliances. It's not enough to simply uphold existing agreements. A true leader must forge new ones, securing the family's future through careful diplomacy."
Dwyer nodded, his smirk deepening. "Careful diplomacy, yes. But also decisive action. A leader who hesitates, who deliberates too long, risks losing the respect of their allies—and their rivals."
Fontaine's hawk-like eyes gleamed as he leaned forward slightly. "And respect, my lord, is the foundation of power. Without it, even the most secure position can crumble."
Arlon's expression remained calm, though his thoughts sharpened. "Respect, power, diplomacy—they're stringing together the perfect lecture. All framed as advice, but every word is a challenge to my authority."
"I agree," Arlon said finally, his tone even. "Respect and decisiveness are crucial. But they must be balanced with caution. Acting without understanding the full scope of a situation is far more dangerous than taking the time to consider one's options."
"..."
The room fell silent for a moment, the other nobles exchanging subtle glances.
Everson's smile thinned. "Caution is important, of course," he said smoothly. "But caution must not become hesitation. A leader who hesitates too often risks being seen as indecisive—something the Throndsen family can ill afford."
Dwyer leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as his deep voice carried a note of mock concern. "Indeed. The weight of the family's legacy is a heavy burden. It demands strength, decisiveness, and above all, the ability to inspire confidence in those who follow."
Fontaine tilted his head, his piercing gaze fixed on Arlon. "And confidence, my lord, is not given lightly. It must be earned—through actions that demonstrate not only capability but vision. The kind of vision that turns challenges into opportunities."
Arlon's gaze swept over the room, his expression unchanging. They're circling closer, weaving their web. Trying to frame themselves as the wise guides, while positioning me as the inexperienced figurehead.
"I understand the importance of vision," Arlon said evenly. "But vision alone does not build a legacy. It requires integrity, perseverance, and the ability to see through the illusions others create."
The subtle jab wasn't lost on the three nobles. Fontaine's lips twitched slightly, but he quickly masked it with a faint smile.