Rebecca lowered her head in acceptance of her father's words. Straightening her shoulders, she turned to me and spoke in a low voice; quiet, yet clear enough for all to hear: "Please, come with me."

As we stepped into the vast corridors of the palace, the murmur of the hall faded behind us. The interior was an echo of the splendor outside: long navy carpets, brass candelabras catching the light with every step, bas-reliefs of century-old wars etched into the walls… What coursed through the veins of this palace was not nobility, but grandeur itself.

Rebecca walked beside me in silence. The discipline in her steps reminded me not of a soldier, but of a duchy's heir. It was only the two of us now; the guards remained behind. In the silence, only the sound of heels echoed.

The high ceiling carried our footsteps, as though a hidden history was watching us from between the stones. We walked among portraits, marble reliefs, and gilded frames; centuries of eyes weighed on our backs.

Rebecca said nothing. Glancing sideways at her face, I saw the hard line of her jaw, her gaze fixed forward. In her bearing, I saw less of her mother's cold elegance, and more of her father's strict discipline.

After a time, her voice rose, almost at a whisper, yet carrying a commanding tone: "Your words just now… were not bad. But for your own sake, I would prefer if you avoided causing trouble while you're here, Leo."

"There's already an army waiting to make trouble for me," I said lightly. "The only thing I did was refuse to belittle myself."

Rebecca's heels struck the carpet with a sharp rhythm before she slowed her pace. Without turning her head, she spoke in sidelong glances. "You know well that in my mother's eyes, mistakes are unforgivable. What you said was not defiance, but it could be read as such. In this household, intention matters little. Perception rules."

At that moment we passed beneath portraits of the old dukes. Their oil-painted faces gazed down with somber weight. The family may not have founded the Empire, but they were certainly among its founders.

Each painting bore sharp jaws, battlefield postures, and in every pair of eyes the same sign: the cold confidence of those accustomed to command.

Perhaps this house was not built by blood, but it had preserved it. Rebecca was right; here it was not intention that ruled, but appearance.

"It feels strange, walking beneath their eyes," I murmured, glancing toward the oldest portrait. A bearded duke, heavy sword in hand, glared out of the canvas. "As if they're still alive. Still judging."

Rebecca did not stop, but something flickered on her face. Not agreement, not denial, a more thoughtful silence. "They are as much your ancestors as they are mine, Leo. If they were alive today, they would take more pride in you than in my siblings."

Her words rang within me like an echo beneath a stone pillar. Pride… Even when the word left her lips, it was wrapped in icy formality. Yet the thoughtful look on her face, for the first time, made her seem almost human.

"Are you certain?" I asked softly, not mocking, but doubtful.

Rebecca did not turn her head. Her eyes stayed fixed on the heavy doors at the corridor's end. The faint line at the corner of her mouth told me she, too, had asked herself that question.

"I don't need to be certain," she said, her measured voice reverberating against the stone walls. "In this family's history, certainty does not exist. Only persuasion does. It isn't whether they take pride, it's whether you can make them."

Her steps slowed. For a moment, her fingers brushed one of the passing reliefs — a duke on horseback, spear raised in battle. When she withdrew her hand, there was the faintest glimmer in her eyes.

"If they lived…" she continued, her voice shifting to something more personal, "perhaps they would see you as I do. Forget my mother and father, Leo. You are a capable soldier, a nobleman, and a man who knows how to treat those he loves."

When her words faded, she offered me a slight smile. It was both a compliment and a rare glimpse of sincerity.

We stopped before the massive door. The guards on either side studied us even from within their steel shells. Rebecca lifted her chin with a graceful but imperious motion, and the door opened silently. As we entered, her face betrayed not a shred of emotion, yet as her hand brushed past mine, I felt a fleeting touch.

That touch… From the outside, it might have seemed accidental, but I knew the faint graze of her finger against my palm was a deliberate signal.

The moment we stepped into the chamber, Rebecca turned and walked to the window. Heavy velvet curtains allowed only a sliver of sunlight through. Half her face was shrouded in shadow, the other etched with cold seriousness.

"Rest until dinner. Or if you prefer, you may bathe later. I will leave servants outside should you need anything. For now, I must go."

Her voice faded like the last note of a song. With the sweep of her cloak, her presence left the room. When the door shut behind her, the silence that remained carried not the palace's grandeur, but the stillness of a tomb.

I paced across the dark carpet. In the dim light spilling through the window, even the wall reliefs blended into shadow. Time seemed heavy here, as if the stone walls set their own rhythm.

At last a servant entered, drawing back the curtains and announcing the toll of the evening bell. The sky lay over the capital in hues of purple and gold. As my footsteps once more echoed in the corridors, carrying me toward the dining hall, a single thought circled in my mind:

Tonight, not only food would be consumed, but words as well.

Servants entered my chamber, leaving a change of clothes to rid me of the dust of travel. I studied my reflection in the mirror for a moment. Amid all this gilded splendor, I still seemed a stranger. Yet the eyes staring back at me grew a little less uncertain.

The dark navy coat draped across my shoulders, the heavy knot of the cravat at my throat… It felt less like preparing for a meal, and more like preparing for an examination. When I was finally ready, a young servant bowed slightly and whispered, "The table is set, my lord."

This time, my footsteps did not echo alone. Armor glinted, the faint clatter of silverware carried from afar, and a gathering hum grew louder… until the great doors of the banquet hall swung open.

Warm light drew me in. Silver plates lined the long table, gleaming under candlelight. The air was thick with the scent of spice and roasted meat; the red glow of wine shimmered in glass as flames danced upon it.

The family was already seated. At the head sat Duke Argenholt, as solid as a statue of stone. Not even the shadows falling across his shoulders could diminish his authority. Beside him, the Duchess sat beneath a thin silk shawl, her face carved from ice, her eyes sharp as steel.

Below them sat my siblings. Beside Rebecca were my two stepsisters: Cecily and Amara. Cecily, always composed, calculating, the mind of a politician. Amara, devoted to art and pleasure, her gaze eternally laced with disdain.

My three half-brothers, my father's pride, and my mother's unyielding weapons. Titus, the eldest, renowned among the nobility; his eyes swept across the table, yet when they fell on me, they saw only a rival. Julian, the second, shone with academic brilliance, yet every word he spoke was a thorn. Marcus, the youngest, still clung to our mother like a pup at her heel, eyes wide and ever searching for approval.

And I… Count Leonardo Argenholt. Official records claimed I bore the same blood as the others, but my mother was different. Mine was the woman forgotten in the palace shadows. My place here had never been truly accepted. Yet whenever triumphs were spoken of on the battlefield with the sword, my name lingered at the table despite itself.

As servants filled the cups with silent precision, the Duchess's eyes fell upon me. In them was neither hatred nor affection. Only the gaze of a judge, one who already knew the guilt of the condemned.

"Welcome, Leonardo," she said at last, her voice fine yet sharp. The hall went silent, save for the faint crackle of candles.

I bowed, measured but respectful. "It is an honor to answer the summons of your house, my Lady."

Rebecca's gaze found me; a smile, barely there, touched her lips. Cecily raised an eyebrow as she sipped her wine, her silence sharp as words. Titus's heavy stare bore into me, as though reminding me of my place.

At last the Duke's deep voice filled the hall: "Sit, Leo. Here, no one is a guest. All who share our blood are part of this family."

When I sat, the silver reflected so brightly it stung my eyes. The only sound came from servants' footsteps as they laid out dishes that seemed more ceremonial display than meal.

The Duchess turned slightly toward me. Her expression unchanged, yet her words already shaping the course of the table. "It has been a long time since you graced our table, Leonardo." There was no yearning in her tone, nor reproach. Only a reminder, spoken for all to hear.

Cecily, lips barely moving, murmured into her cup. "Perhaps distance suits him better." Her voice was almost a whisper, yet it reached my ears.

Amara let out a soft chuckle, her smile curled at the nose. The red reflection of wine lit her face, sharpening her mockery.

Titus needed no words; his gaze spoke volumes. Julian smirked faintly, feigning interest in the meat before him.

Marcus, however, looked at me with unguarded curiosity. A boy's eagerness to see what answer his brother would give… the only honest, unfiltered face at the table.

I raised my cup, the dark red wine catching the light. My face held neither excess warmth nor hardness. "To sit at this table is always an honor. My absence was due to reasons well known: duties and obligations."

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