Silver cutlery chimed softly against porcelain, a sound almost lost beneath the low murmur of servants and the faint crackle of the hearth. Morning sunlight slanted through the high windows, striking sparks off polished goblets and the silver hawk engraved into every plate.
Breakfast in House Valebryn was never a meal.It was theater.
I dropped into my chair at the long oak table, shoulders loose, posture just shy of disrespectful. To my right sat Alric, already in place — the picture of discipline. Back straight, gold-trimmed cloak draped perfectly over his shoulders, every movement precise.
The Crown Jewel of Valebryn.
Father's pride.
My personal annoyance.
He greeted me with a courteous nod, not a hair of his white mane out of place."Good morning, little brother. You're early today. Miracles do happen."
"Or maybe I just couldn't wait to bask in your perfection," I drawled, reaching for a slice of bread.
Across from me sat Caelia, my elder twin — older by thirty seconds and never letting me forget it. She was all sharp edges and cold beauty: the same snow-white hair tied neatly at her nape, the same Valebryn-blue eyes that could slice through a lie.
"Don't flatter yourself," she said sweetly, buttering her bread with surgical precision."He didn't wake up early. He was probably dragged here to keep Father from scolding him again."
"Jealousy doesn't suit you, sister." I tossed a grape toward her plate. "You'll wrinkle before your time."
She caught it with a flick of her spoon and dropped it neatly back into my bowl, giving me a smile that promised war.
At the head of the table, Serenya — eldest of us all — lowered her teacup with a sigh. Regal even without a crown, she had our family's silver hair draped over one shoulder and a gaze calm enough to hush a room.
"Must you two do this before I've even had my tea?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of quiet authority that made a servant freeze mid-step.
Alric's lips curved in the faintest of smiles. Typical — always above the fray.
I leaned back, ignoring Caelia's glare, and let my gaze sweep over the spread of roasted game, fresh bread, honeyed fruit, and steaming tea.
A perfect picture of noble life. A perfect family — at least to anyone foolish enough to believe it.
The heavy doors at the far end of the solar swung open, and Father entered.
Lord Valebryn moved like a carved lion come to life — tall, broad-shouldered, white hair streaked with silver at the temples. His sharp-cut features looked as if they'd been chiseled by the same blade he'd once carried into battle. The blue of his eyes burned with that cold Valebryn light — the kind that could freeze a man where he stood.
He wasn't alone.On either side of him walked his wives — proof that power never dined alone.
The First Lady, Lady Isolde, carried herself with the serene grace of winter itself: tall, poised, hair as white as falling snow, eyes a deeper sapphire-blue than the rest of us. Her silver-gray gown shimmered with frost-like embroidery.
The Second Lady, Lady Selene, was her opposite — warm bronze skin, golden-honey eyes, her own white hair coiled into a regal crown-braid that caught the light like polished ivory. She wore a dusk-rose gown, soft in tone but no less elegant.
The room shifted as Father strode to the head of the table; even the air seemed to harden."Children," he greeted, his voice smooth yet edged like a drawn blade. "I trust the morning finds you… disciplined."
I offered a lazy half-bow from my seat. Caelia's elbow twitched as though to jab me for it, but Father's gaze had already passed over us.
He sat at the head, Isolde taking her place at his right, Selene at his left. Their presence made the silver hawk engraved in the table's center gleam brighter.
Father's attention swept over us like a winter wind."Alric," he said, his tone softening by a fraction, "your report at last week's council reached the King himself. Well done. You uphold our name."
Alric inclined his head in silent gratitude.Of course he was praised before the bread was even buttered.
Then Father's eyes found me — colder, sharper, the hawk fixing on its prey."And you, boy. Try not to give me reason to hear your name today. It would be… refreshing."
I bit into my bread with deliberate slowness and smiled without warmth."I'll try not to disappoint you, Father. Or should I say, I'll try not to impress you at all."
A muscle ticked in Caelia's jaw. Serenya arched a brow but said nothing. Alric looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else.
The tension was as thick as the honey on my plate — and sweeter than any breakfast I'd had in weeks.
The doors opened again. A faint creak of wheels rolled across the vaulted ceiling's hush.
Every head turned.
The Grand Lord of Valebryn entered, seated in a carved chair of dark oak that glided silently across the floor. Time had bent his back but not his presence; his shoulders still bore the weight of the House crest stitched into the fur cloak around him. His white hair had thinned to a silver crown, his pale-blue eyes dimmed with age yet still burning with the unmistakable Valebryn frost.
Even seated, he filled the hall.The air shifted, as if the walls remembered who had raised them with blood and war.
Pushing his chair was a half-elf woman — tall, graceful, her ears tapering just past the fall of dark-green hair braided with silver ribbon. No jewels, no paint on her lips, just a soft glow to her pale skin and deep-forest-green eyes. She smelled faintly of pine as she guided him forward with effortless strength.
The servants bowed low. Even the knights lowered their heads.
"Father," Lord Valebryn said, rising halfway — as much respect as the stern man ever showed, his voice carrying a note of warmth seldom heard.
The old man's lips curved."Sit down, boy," the Grand Lord rasped, his voice gravel and iron. "You look more like a supplicant than the Lord of Hawks."
He was rolled closer to the table and his gaze swept over us, slow and measuring.When his eyes found mine, something in the frost softened.
"There he is," he murmured, voice lowering just for me. "The only one of this brood who looks awake before the day begins."
Caelia shifted uncomfortably; Alric dipped his head in respect.I straightened despite myself."Grandfather," I said, inclining my head with genuine warmth.
He chuckled, a sound that ended in a cough. "Eat, boy. You'll need the strength if you're to stop wasting that life I gave you."
The half-elf poured him spiced tea with silent precision. Father ignored her entirely; the rest of us pretended not to notice — except Serenya, whose calm eyes flicked toward her once or twice.
The table felt heavier now, three generations gathered beneath the crest of the hawk.
"I heard some commoner girl was looking for you, brother," Caelia said suddenly, her tone sweet, her grin wicked.
Son of a cunning little viper. She lived for moments like this — anything that might get me in trouble.
"Hmm… what can I say?" I leaned back, letting a slow, smug smile spread. "I'm irresistible."
Caelia arched a brow. "Irresistible? That's one word for it. I'd say reckless."
"Ah, you wound me." I pressed a hand to my chest in mock offense. "I thought you'd be proud your twin is so… sought after."
"Proud? No. Amused? Definitely." Her grin sharpened. "Father will love hearing about this."
I met her gaze with my laziest smile — the kind that usually made servants retreat."And I'll love watching you try. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know his youngest son is a menace to common girls' hearts."
"Menace is putting it lightly," she shot back, rolling her eyes.
I let the corner of my eye drift toward Father, searching for the smallest flicker of reaction.As expected, his face remained blank — as if he hadn't heard a word.
"Before you begin your lessons, I would have a word with you," Grandfather said suddenly.
The words fell like a thrown blade. For a heartbeat, even the servants froze mid-step.
Gods, I thought sourly. Is that really how low they see me?
"Me… you mean me, Grandfather?" I asked, keeping my voice light though curiosity edged it.
Being summoned by the Elder of the House could mean only one thing: he was considering me for the title of Lord.
I let my gaze slide to Alric. His shoulders stiffened, a flicker of surprise cracking that polished composure he wore like armor. Beneath it, anger simmered.Careful, brother, I mused. Your mask is slipping.
My eyes found Serenya next. Her beauty was usually immaculate, her expressions measured — until now. Fury fractured that perfect façade, and I found her even more fascinating for it.
And then Caelia — my other half. Saints, her face was priceless: wide-eyed disbelief laced with outrage, as if the world itself had betrayed her. If I'd had a painter nearby, I'd have captured that look, framed it in gold, and hung it over my bed.
Grandfather's wheelchair creaked as he shifted. The half-elf stilled beside him as though even the air held its breath."Yes," he said at last, his voice calm yet cutting through the tension like a blade through silk. "You, boy. I'd like a word after breakfast."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
I turned my gaze to Father, hoping for the slightest hint of emotion.Nothing. The man was a statue of Valebryn marble.
"Of course, Father," he said finally, lifting his teacup with the same ease he might sign a death warrant. "If the boy has somehow managed to earn your attention, I suppose I should be… grateful."
That stung — not that I'd ever admit it.
Caelia's wicked grin widened, thrilled by the spectacle.Alric's jaw tightened, a tiny twitch betraying the effort it took him to stay composed.
"Well," said Lady Selene, Alric's mother and my father's second wife. Her voice was low, velvety, with an edge of steel beneath the silk. She brushed a strand of white-bronze hair from her face and regarded me with cool amusement."The Elder rarely calls for anyone without reason. Perhaps our youngest has finally done something worth noting."
I flashed her my most roguish smile."Perhaps I have. Or perhaps Grandfather's just bored and I'm the nearest source of entertainment."
A young servant choked on his wine. Caelia looked scandalized, which only improved my morning. Alric's fingers drummed once against the table — a small sound, but I heard it.
Grandfather's pale eyes narrowed, and for an instant I thought I saw the ghost of a smirk."Still mouthy. Good. I prefer that to groveling."