The corridors of Duke Avish's palace were made to impress. Vaulted ceilings arched high above, their beams traced with golden filigree that shimmered in the glow of floating crystal lanterns. Tapestries depicting dragons, phoenixes, and the great victories of the empire draped the walls. The floor beneath was a mosaic of black and white marble, polished so smooth that the light from the chandeliers glimmered like stars upon it.
Rishi walked with Serenya at his side. She carried herself with quiet grace, her lavender dress flowing with each step, her silver hair spilling like liquid moonlight down her back. Behind them followed their personal maids: Lira, silent and composed as always, and Serenya's taller maid with hazel eyes and a steady posture.
The air of the palace was still and regal, yet walking beside Serenya gave it warmth. She had always been his closest bond in this family—the one who stayed near him when shadows grew heavy.
"Brother!"
A clear, ringing voice broke through the quiet. From the far end of the corridor, a girl in a pale pink gown came running, her dark curls bouncing wildly. It was his little sister, only ten years old, her eyes the same deep black as his, shining with joy.
She flung herself into Rishi's arms with the abandon only a younger sister could have. He caught her with practiced ease, his laughter slipping out before he could stop it.
"You'll flatten me one of these days," he teased, ruffling her curls.
She pouted, puffing her cheeks. "I was worried! You slept for so long I thought you might never wake up."
Rishi pinched her cheek, making her squeal. "Worried, or did you just miss having someone to tease you back?"
"Brother! That's not fair!" she protested, tugging at his sleeve.
Serenya's lips curved into a smile, her soft laugh chiming in. "It seems our little lady hasn't changed. Still as dramatic as ever."
The girl turned immediately, throwing her arms around Serenya. "Cousin Serenya! You're as beautiful as the roses in the garden today!"
Serenya bent slightly, embracing her with warmth. "And you, little one, are as mischievous as always. But your heart is still brighter than any flower."
The three of them lingered there in playful chatter, before making their way toward the dining hall together.
The hall was as lavish as the corridors that led to it. A long table of polished oak stretched down the chamber, its surface gleaming under cascades of crystal chandeliers. Tall windows draped in crimson silk allowed sunlight to pour in, catching the golden embroidery on the walls.
At the head sat Duke Avish, a man whose broad shoulders and stern features spoke of command. His black hair, streaked with silver, framed sharp eyes the color of steel, though behind their weight there was a faint glimmer of familial warmth.
Beside him, the Duchess Avantika sat with quiet elegance. Her chestnut hair fell in gentle waves, her green eyes bright and kind, softening the formality of the chamber. She was the hearth to the duke's flame, her presence carrying both grace and warmth.
At her side sat their young son—Ardyn, no older than seven. His hair was dark like his father's, though his eyes gleamed golden, innocent and curious. There was no weight of politics in his gaze, only the earnest light of a child, though his posture already hinted at noble upbringing.
Rishi, Serenya, and his sister bowed politely, before taking their seats. The hall filled with the clink of silverware as steaming dishes of bread, fruit, and roasted meats were served.
Conversation flowed lightly—the duchess asking after Rishi's health, Ardyn speaking with childlike excitement about his morning lessons, and his sister chiming in with playful complaints about her tutors. The air was warm, familial.
But beneath that warmth, Rishi's thoughts turned inward.
The old Rishi trusted this family without hesitation. To him, they were a pillar that would never crumble. But I've read the story. Heck!..even the so-called protagonist, with plot armor, faced betrayal again and again. If betrayal could touch him, what about me?
His gaze flicked to the duke, calm and unreadable at the head of the table. If I'm to live here, I must know whether I can truly trust them. Or whether they'll cast me aside the moment it suits them.
He set down his cup of tea, his tone respectful but steady. "Uncle… I have a request."
The hall quieted.
"I want a trainer. Someone capable, someone who can push me to my limits."
The duke's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why now? You've never shown this determination before."
Rishi lowered his gaze, letting a trace of sorrow soften his face. "Before he passed, my father spoke to me… He told me of a place of trial, where I might find an opportunity worthy of our name. But after his death—and my mother's—I was buried in grief. I forgot his words. Only yesterday, as I thought back to those times… I remembered."
The words hung in the air, carefully measured.
The duke studied him, his expression contemplative, tapping his fingers once against the table.
All lies, Rishi thought calmly, his face unchanged. My father said nothing. That trial belonged to the protagonist. But even if the duke suspects, he cannot call me a liar outright. Old foxes trust not believable lies, but flawless ones.
Finally, Duke Avish spoke. "Very well. Tomorrow, you will meet your trainer. Be prepared."
Rishi inclined his head, hiding the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
The meal continued with lighter tones—Ardyn's innocent chatter, Serenya's gentle teasing, his sister's laughter, and the duchess's warmth filling the chamber. Yet Rishi's thoughts never drifted from the game he had already begun.
Trust is not given. It is tested. And in this family, I will play my cards carefully.