The royal palace did not sleep, though it pretended to. Even in the early morning, before the bells rang and before the nobles pretended they had woken up naturally, the palace was already moving—soft footsteps, quiet commands, doors opening and closing with practiced precision. And today, all of that movement seemed aimed at me.
"Good morning, Count Rio," a servant said, bowing slightly.
"Your schedule for today, Count," another announced.
"Count Rio, would you prefer—" Please stop saying it like that.
I hadn't even finished waking up, and already my title was chasing me down the corridors. Servants bowed a little deeper, guards straightened faster, and while no one stared directly, everyone noticed. The attention was subtle, controlled, and somehow worse than open scrutiny.
So this is the morning after, huh.
The King and Queens were nowhere in sight, busy as always with meetings, councils, and preparations for Tesselia's birthday that was still two months away. I caught fragments in passing: guest arrangements, foreign delegations, seating disputes. They were busy, which meant no one was micromanaging this situation, and that thought made my stomach tighten.
The first "accident" happened near the east corridor. I turned a corner too quickly, and she stopped just as suddenly. Naturally, we collided.
"Oof—!" I grabbed her arm instinctively, and she grabbed my sleeve. For a moment, it looked like we might recover.
We did not. We hit the wall instead.
Tesselia blinked. "…Good morning."
"Morning," I replied, immediately letting go. "Sorry."
"You always say that."
"You keep appearing in my blind spots."
She smirked. "So it is your fault."
A servant nearby suddenly found the floor very interesting.
We continued walking, and I noticed she slowed her pace—not enough to be obvious, just enough that I didn't have to rush.
She didn't even comment on it.
The second collision was worse. She stopped to greet a noble. I didn't. I walked straight into her. We both went down. Hard.
"…Don't move," she said.
"I wasn't planning to."
She sat up, brushed her hair like nothing happened, and then looked at me. Her lips twitched.
"If anyone asks, this is absolutely your fault," she said calmly.
"Of course it is," I replied.
She laughed quietly, honestly. It caught me off guard.
When I offered my hand, she took it immediately, no hesitation, no stiffness.
That's new.
We reached the garden entrance and paused.
"You're different today," she said.
"Because of the title?"
"No," she replied. "Because you're actually paying attention."
I frowned. "That's… bad?"
"For people like us? It usually comes later."
Then she walked off, leaving me staring at the garden like it had personally offended me.
Mother found me before lunch. She didn't knock. She never did.
"You're awake," she said, setting tea in front of me as if confirming the obvious.
"Observant as always, Mother," I replied casually—or at least I tried to. Judging by how her eyes lingered on me, she noticed.
Father leaned against the doorway. "No guards. Good."
We talked normally at first: palace things, capital things, how absurd it was to start planning a birthday two months early. Then Mother folded her hands.
"You're a Count now."
"I've noticed."
Father nodded. "That changes things."
Mother smiled gently. "You won't be under our wing anymore."
I paused.
"You have land," Father continued, "Authority. Responsibilities."
"And that means?"
"You govern it yourself," Mother said. "We advise only if you ask."
Father met my eyes. "If you fail, you fail as a Count. Not as our son."
That landed harder than the title itself.
So this is where the line is drawn.
"I understand," I said.
They nodded. That was it.
Night came quietly. No ceremony, no speeches, just the steady hum of the palace winding down. I lay staring at the ceiling. Count. Land. Distance.
The title didn't trap me.
It just made something obvious. I was already walking a path where retreat wasn't an option. Now everyone had stopped pretending otherwise, and somehow that scared me more than any battle ever had.