The heavy doors of the Grand Ballroom finally clicked shut behind him, cutting off the orchestra’s sound and the shallow laughter of the nobles inside. Edward Vistro walked through the quiet corridors of the annex, the silence of the hallway a welcome relief after the sensory clutter of the party. As he reached his personal chambers, he quickly started taking off his regal blue tunic. He loosened the silver buttons holding it together and let out a big breath as the silk came away from his skin.
He sat on the edge of his bed, already replaying everything that had happened. Lucy Luminaris, the Fifth Princess. In his previous regressions, she had often served as the bridge between the crown and the military during the chaotic early days of the civil war. In this life, with the civil war looming only eight months away, her fascination with him would prove vital. She was a conduit of information and, more importantly, a potential crack in the absolute control of the royal line.
As he stood to fully remove the tunic, a soft knock on the door quickly got his attention.
"Come in," Edward said, his voice calm.
The door opened, and it was Fiona. She wasn’t all stressed out like she usually was at the market. Instead, she looked tired, her pink hair a bit messy from working all day. She held a silver tray with a glass of orange juice on it.
"Young Master," she said, stepping inside and moving toward the side table. "I thought... well, the music was so loud, and there were so many people. I felt you might be exhausted, so I brought you something to help you relax."
She put the tray down carefully and bowed deeply. Edward nodded to say thanks. He picked up the glass, and the sour-sweet taste of the juice was a nice change from the stuffy air in the house. As he drank, he continued to loosen the silver buttons of his tunic, the fabric sliding off his shoulders to reveal the lean figure.
Fiona looked at him for a second before quickly stepping closer, her face turning red. "Allow me, Young Master. It is my duty."
Edward didn’t say no. He stood still as she took over. She worked with a strange focus, moving a bit more firmly than usual. She got the coat off and then knelt to unfasten the belt and the trousers, leaving him in nothing but his silken undergarments. She had done this a bunch of times, but tonight, it felt like something was going on between them.
She picked up the blue silk and folded it neatly before going to his drawer. Edward sat back on the bed, his gaze drifting toward the window. He knew the cycle. By tomorrow morning, the ’benevolent’ release granted by his father would expire. He would be escorted back to the Abyssal Cells, to the cold stone and the soul-sucking Null-Stone. He didn’t mind, really. In fact, he looked forward to it. The manor was too loud, too full of distractions. In the dark, his cultivation could resume its true, terrifying pace. He was only five circles away from the Peak Adept stage, and the quiet of the cells would help him get there.
Fiona placed the tunic into the drawer, but she didn’t leave. She stood there, her back to him, her shoulders slightly tense.
"She’s a good dancer, isn’t she?" Fiona asked, her voice sounding a bit fake.
Edward glanced at her. "Who?"
"The Fifth Princess," Fiona replied, finally turning around. She tried to maintain a neutral expression, but her eyes showed a hint of something sharp—a little jealousy that she couldn’t hide. "Everyone was talking about it. A royal princess asking a... well, asking for a dance. It was quite a spectacle."
"She does what she wants," Edward said simply, his voice flat.
"She seemed very... comfortable in your arms," Fiona pressed, taking the empty glass and stepping closer to the bed. "Most men would be falling over themselves to be noticed by a Luminaris princess. You didn’t seem very impressed. Is there a reason for that, young master?"
"I simply wasn’t impressed. That’s all," Edward said, lying back against the pillows.
Fiona bit her lip, clearly not happy with his quick, cold answers. She wanted him to say more, to say he wasn’t interested in Lucy or maybe admit that there was a difference between a maid and a princess. But Edward didn’t give her anything.
"I see," Fiona whispered, her voice quiet. She bowed one last time, holding the tray tightly. "I shall leave you to your rest, Young Master. I will be here to escort you in the morning."
As she left the room, Edward closed his eyes. The politics of the heart were a nuisance; the politics of the sword were his true calling.
********
Hours went by. The candles in the ballroom had burned down, and the hall now empty. In the main courtyard, the royal entourage was finally descending the grand stairs. The moonlight caught the silver design of the Duke’s carriage, making it look like a ghost ship waiting to sail into the night.
Marquis Vistro walked beside Duke Charles Luminaris, their conversation low and playful, the masks of formal alliance still firmly in place.
"A successful evening, wouldn’t you say, Phoenix Lord?" the Marquis chuckled, gesturing toward the carriages.
"Indeed," the Duke replied, though his voice carried a lingering trace of distraction. As they reached the carriage door, the Duke paused. He turned, his hand gripping the Marquis’s forearm tightly.
"Regarding your son, Edward," the Duke said, his eyes narrowing. "Are you absolutely sure about him?"
The Marquis blinked, surprised. "Sure about what, Charles?"
"That he is unable to use magic? That he is truly unawakened?" the Duke pressed. The memory of that invisible blade—the needle of spiritual sense that had pricked his heart—was still vibrating in his mind.
The Marquis laughed, looking annoyed. "Yes, I am sure of it. You of all people know the laws of awakening, Charles. An awakening ceremony is only possible with a high-grade mana catalyst stone and mages from the Church of Light to anchor the ritual. There is no way a boy could do it alone. And even if some rogue mage tried to assist him, the boy has shown zero talent for swordsmanship or magic since he was a child. I’ve had him tested a bunch of times. He has zero affinity for such things. I expect him to fail completely if he ever tries to awaken."
The Duke searched the Marquis’s face for any sign of deception. He found only the arrogant certainty of a father who despised his own blood.
The Flame Phoenix Lord slowly released the Marquis’s arm. He felt a wave of relief wash over him. If the Marquis—a True Mage Cultivator who watched over the boy daily—was this certain, then the Duke’s earlier sensation must have been a fluke. Perhaps it was the stress of the political climate, or the lingering effects of an old war wound.
"I see," the Duke said, smiling tightly.
The Duke climbed into the carriage, the confirmation he needed finally settling his heart. He concluded that Edward Vistro was exactly what he seemed: a powerless nobody that could do no harm.