After talking to his father, he went for a walk around the mansion, and when he opened the door to the hall, he was almost knocked down.
Noise, ringing, the smell of pastries mixed with perfume. Servants scurried back and forth, carrying trays, straightening tablecloths, checking glasses.
Everything would have been fine, except that at that very moment, something exploded right in front of him.
"Oh!" came a shriek, and a maid in uniform fell to her knees in front of him, scattering plates, napkins, and a tower of desserts.
She didn't cry. She didn't even apologize. She just sat there, her eyes wide open, holding the empty bottle tightly in her hands.
Kalen blinked.
"Are you all right? And why do you have one stocking white and the other green, and the same with the shoes: one black and the other gold?" he said dryly.
"I..." She looked around, her breath coming in short pants. "Yes, but..." Without answering his question, she just looked down.
"Who pushed you?"
"One of the guests. Those... in the silver jackets. They said the servants should crawl. I was trying to pass. He grabbed me."
Kalen exhaled slowly.
He saw them, three aristocrats by the pillar, grinning, dressed up, with rings, with smeared smiles. One of them clearly whispered something to the other, and the other snorted.
Kallen felt a familiar irritation rising within him. Not rage. Not anger. But that heavy, viscous hatred that made his stomach feel sick, like old blood.
He helped the girl up. The servants began to clean up the debris, whispering. The hostess was already on her way over, but he beat her to it.
"It's okay." Kalen looked directly at the girl. "You did everything you could. Don't worry."
She nodded, still a little shaky. She left.
He turned to the three men by the pillar and walked straight toward them.
"Was it you?" he asked the one closest to him. "Did you push her?"
He looked up from his glass, scanned Kallen from head to toe, and chuckled.
"We were just having fun. And she was getting in the way."
"So you were getting in the way." Kalen tilted his head slightly, as if considering. "If I kick you right now, will you still be getting in the way?"
- what?
And at that moment, Kalen struck. Not with a fist. Just a kick to the knee. Clear, sharp, and fast. The guy collapsed to the floor before he could even scream. His companions recoiled in shock.
"Oh, sorry, I accidentally pushed you, I just didn't notice you." Kalen said with a smile.
The room fell silent.
"Does anyone else want some fun?" Kallen said loudly, without turning around. "While I'm in the mood"
Silence.
He walked past as if nothing had happened and headed for the side exit.
They were waiting for him on the stairs.
Father. Velmut Lionheart. Tall, stern, with a hint of contempt in his eyes.
"You made a scene before the ceremony," he said coldly.
"They pushed the maid," Kalen replied. "I just gave it back."
My father nodded slowly
"Next time, do it out of sight. We have guests."
He turned and left.
Kalen remained standing. He felt his rage growing with every word of the day. It was as if everything that had been building up since morning was now boiling inside him.
He looked at his hands. A slight tremor. He clenched his fists.
"Happy fucking birthday," he muttered, and headed the other way. Towards the chambers. He needed to change his clothes.
He had another evening ahead of him, and an official part.
***
Kalen changed his clothes.
A black suit with silver trim, the Lionheart crest on the collar, and a dark red vest. Everything fit perfectly, too perfectly. It was as if it had been tailored not for a human being, but for a display doll. He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his gloves, and he didn't recognize himself. His hands were the same, his hair was the same. But the person in the reflection was someone else entirely.
He hated this evening.
The reception was held in the main hall. The long windows were draped with purple velvet, and the vaults were adorned with magical light. People moved smoothly, almost soundlessly, like shadows in the dim light. A violin was playing. The melody was delicate and nervous, like a string that had been stretched to the limit.
Alessia's mother stood in the center. She was elegant in a lavender dress, her hair was styled, and her smile was reserved and slightly tired. She caught the guests' gazes and gave them signs to bow, smile, or introduce Kalena.
And he, like a puppet, came over. He said hello. He said the right things. He listened to the boring compliments.
"What an adult you've become!"
"You look like your father"
"Have you found a bride for him yet? If not, we can give him our daughter!"
"The shadow... you say it's weak? Well, never mind..."
He swallowed the poison slowly, in small doses, with a practiced smile.
Veren stood by the pillar, arms crossed, not interfering. Laer had disappeared altogether. The girls Norea and Cilia were milling around the sweet table, blending in with the crowd as if they were running out of air.
Wellmuth was with his advisers. Stone face, hands behind his back, eyes like knives. He didn't say much, but when he did, everyone fell silent. He wasn't just a military man. He was a weapon that everyone was afraid to touch.
And here comes the moment. The expected moment. The solemn moment.
The crier announced:
— Representatives of the Council of Wizards! House of Blanckrave. House of Cyrell. House of Westgrave.
Three men entered the room.
The first was an old man with dazzling white hair and eyes as cold as ice. The second was a masked woman with a dark blue staff. The third... Kalen recognized him. He had shoulder-length black hair, a white robe, a wide collar, an earring, and a sarcastic smile.
"Meet," said the mother quietly, coming up. "The Council. They wanted to see you in person."
The old man nodded:
— Kalen Lionheart. We've heard about you.
"Yes, we've heard about it," the woman repeated, her voice sounding as if it were coming from underwater. "A very... weak Shadow. And yet a Lionheart. Interesting."
The guy with the earring chuckled:
"But they say you have a sharp tongue. That's not a bad thing. Do you think it's possible to become a mage if you can't even control your own Shadow?"
Kalen's eyes narrowed slightly.
"I think you can do a lot. Even become a member of the Council, if you can smile nicely and sit straight."
A moment of silence. Then a chuckle from one of the servants. The woman raised her eyebrows. The old man froze, his lips twitching.
"We will watch your development," he said. "We hope you will not disgrace your father's honor."
Kalen said nothing.
When they left, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
"You could be more polite," Alessia whispered as she approached. "They're... dangerous."
"I don't care," he said. "I'm not a puppet."
"Not yet," she replied quietly.
"What the fuck, why not yet?" Kalen replied in his mind.
She's gone.
And then someone came up from the side. A familiar step. A slight smell of ash.
He turned around and saw Reina.
Fiery hair, scarlet eyes, a black dress with open shoulders. She stood straight, not smiling.
"Wow," she said, looking around the room. "You've got a demon ball here."
— How are you doing here?"
"I was invited. The Academy sent a delegation. Consider me your surprise."
She came closer, bowing her head.
"You look like you want to burn it all to the ground."
"I really want to," he admitted.
— I'll help you."
They both chuckled.