Thorne and Jonah walked side by side down the cobbled streets of Alvar’s noble quarter, their footsteps echoing in the cool morning air. The sun was just beginning to rise higher, casting long shadows from the tall, imposing buildings that lined the streets.

  Each mansion they passed was grander than the last, their fa?ades gleaming in the light, but none seemed to draw much attention. It was as though the nobility here had retreated into their estates, hiding from the chaos that gripped the city.

  Jonah, fidgety, glanced at Thorne as they approached the Langston mansion. His fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt, his discomfort obvious. “This place doesn’t look all that different from Uncle’s,” Jonah muttered, eyeing the tall iron gates and the mansion beyond.

  Thorne nodded slightly, his eyes scanning the estate. He couldn’t argue with that. From a distance, it was almost a mirror image of Uncle’s home—grand, elegant, and steeped in age-old wealth. But something about it felt off.

  The noble quarter wasn’t large, and Thorne already knew the layout of the houses well enough to be certain that this was Lady Rosalind Langston’s estate. Yet there was no bustling activity, no signs of the lavish, ostentatious displays he had come to expect from noble gatherings. No line of carriages filled with eager guests, no servants and bodyguards standing at attention.

  Jonah shifted nervously beside him. “Uh... are we sure this is the right place?”

  Thorne shot him a glance, feeling the tension between them rise. “Yes. I know whose house this is,” he said quietly, his eyes flicking toward the two lone guards stationed at the gate.

  The guards, dressed in simple but well-maintained uniforms, straightened as Thorne approached. Their expressions were neutral, betraying no emotion. Thorne held his head high, his southern noble persona already in place. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the invitation Arletta had given him earlier. The Langston family crest gleamed in the morning light as he handed it over to one of the guards.

  The guard took the envelope, examining it for a moment before nodding to his companion. "Wait here," he said curtly, stepping through the gate and disappearing down the path toward the house. Thorne exchanged a glance with Jonah, who looked even more out of place as the seconds stretched on.

  Moments later, a man in uniform rushed toward them from the mansion. He was older, his back slightly hunched, and his face lined with years of service. The butler bowed deeply as he reached Thorne. “My lord, we’ve been expecting you,” he said, his voice smooth and practiced. “Please, follow me.”

  With a small nod, Thorne followed the butler through the gates, Jonah trailing behind. They walked up a stone path flanked by neatly trimmed hedges and flower beds, the house looming ahead of them. As they neared the entrance, Thorne couldn’t help but glance around surreptitiously, taking in every detail.

  His eyes moved over the structure—grand, yes, but there was a certain emptiness to it. The windows were clean but lacked the gleam of constant upkeep. The fa?ade, while impressive, showed signs of wear. The grandiosity of the Langston estate was fading, just as the information Arletta had given him had suggested.

  House Langston was in decline. They were barely managing to hold onto their noble status.

  The butler led them through the front door and into a grand foyer. Thorne’s eyes flicked over the space, noting the large marble columns and the intricate, but faded, tapestries that hung on the walls. There was a sense of age here—of wealth that had once been immense but was now struggling to maintain its dignity. He could feel it in the air, the quiet desperation that lingered beneath the surface of the well-kept, yet sparse, furnishings.

  They crossed the foyer and moved into a large sitting area. Again, the room was elegant, but sparse. The few pieces of furniture that adorned the space were ancient, each one valuable in its own right.

  Thorne could tell at a glance that the tapestries and sculptures were relics from another era, priceless artifacts that had likely been passed down through generations. But there was nothing new, nothing modern. It was as if House Langston was living off the remnants of its former glory.

  “Right this way, my lord,” the butler said, guiding them toward a set of tall glass doors that opened into the garden. He pushed the doors wide, allowing the fresh morning air to sweep into the room.

  Thorne stepped through the doorway and into the garden, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the scene before him.

  The garden was beautiful, but there was a simplicity to it that caught him off guard. It wasn’t the lavish display of wealth he had expected from a noble party. There were no fountains made of gold, no towering statues or extravagant decorations.

  Instead, the garden was small and intimate, with carefully tended flower beds lining the stone paths. A modest fountain bubbled quietly in the corner, its waters sparkling in the sunlight. The scent of fresh flowers filled the air, and the soft murmur of conversation drifted from the small group of guests who were already mingling in the garden.

  Thorne stood still for a moment, struggling to keep his Mask of Deceit in place. The garden was pleasant, yes, but compared to the opulence he had seen in Valewind, it was almost... mundane.

  The stark difference between what he had expected and what he was seeing left him momentarily unsettled. The nobles here were dressed simply, their clothes fine but not overly showy. There were no extravagant displays of wealth or power, just quiet conversation and small glasses of colorful drinks in hand.

  A large table sat in the center of the garden, draped in a simple white tablecloth. It was already set, the silverware polished and the porcelain plates arranged neatly, but there was nothing ostentatious about it. No towering displays of food, no garish centerpieces—just a few vases of fresh flowers and the quiet, understated elegance of a family trying to hold on to its place in noble society.

  Before Thorne could fully process the scene, an older woman broke away from a group of nobles and approached him, a small smile playing on her lips. She was well-dressed, though her clothes, like the rest of the party, were simple compared to the extravagance Thorne had grown accustomed to in Valewind. Her gray hair was pulled back into an elegant bun, and her eyes, sharp and calculating, were fixed on him.

  “Ah, you must be Lord Thorne Silverbane,” the woman said, her voice warm and gracious. She offered him a polite smile and a small bow of her head. “Welcome. I’m Lady Rosalind Langston.”

  Thorne returned the gesture with a smile of his own and a slight bow, feeling the weight of her gaze as she sized him up. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Langston. Thank you for the invitation.”

  Her smile widened, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The pleasure is mine. It’s not every day we have a noble visit from the south. I must admit, we’re all quite curious about what brings you to this... forgotten corner of the kingdom.”

  Thorne kept his smile in place, though inside he could sense that Lady Rosalind’s interest in him was more out of necessity than genuine curiosity. Her words were polite, but her tone carried a hint of something else—something calculated. She was doing him the courtesy of being gracious, of including him, but it felt more like a move in a game than a genuine welcome.

  “I’ve been traveling for some time,” Thorne replied smoothly, his Sculpted Persona sliding into place once more. “I wanted to see more of the kingdom, to experience its people and places firsthand. I’ve heard many things about Alvar, and I couldn’t resist visiting.”

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  Behind him, Thorne heard the butler leading Jonah away, likely to some other part of the garden or inside the mansion. He resisted the urge to turn and follow his friend, knowing that this was a test—a moment to prove himself among the nobles of Alvar. He was on his own now.

  Lady Rosalind’s smile remained as she gestured toward the group of nobles she had just left. “Come, let me introduce you to some of our other guests. I’m sure they’ll be just as curious to meet you.”

  Thorne followed her across the garden, his eyes flicking from one noble to the next. As Lady Rosalind introduced him to the group, he could feel the indifference emanating from them. They were polite enough, offering nods and small smiles, but it was clear that they weren’t particularly interested in him. Their glances were brief, their expressions neutral, and none of them bothered to hide their boredom.

  Thorne forced himself to remain charming, engaging them in light conversation as best he could. He could feel the eyes on him, watching, judging. But no matter how hard he tried, the group seemed distant, as if they were merely tolerating his presence rather than welcoming him into their circle.

  Before long, Lady Rosalind clinked her glass with a small spoon, drawing the attention of the party. “My dear guests,” she said, her voice ringing out across the garden, “please, let’s take our seats. Brunch is ready.”

  The guests moved toward the large table at the center of the garden, and Thorne was guided to his place by a servant. As he took his seat, he glanced around the table, noting the faces of those present. The absence of both the Ravencourts and the Thornfields was obvious. Neither of the most powerful families in Alvar had bothered to attend.

  Thorne’s eyes flicked back to Lady Rosalind, who took her place at the head of the table. The game was just beginning, and he could already feel the weight of it pressing down on him.

  The clink of silverware against porcelain filled the air as servants moved gracefully around the table, placing dishes of roasted meats, fresh breads, and vibrant fruits before each guest. The meal was simple, like the rest of the gathering—no towering displays of food, no exotic dishes from distant lands. Just solid, respectable fare, served with quiet efficiency.

  Thorne picked up his fork, noting the polite murmur of conversation around him. The guests spoke in hushed tones, their voices barely rising above the gentle sound of the fountain bubbling in the garden.

  He glanced around the table, taking in the faces of the other nobles. Most were older, their expressions a mix of boredom and thinly veiled disinterest. They ate slowly, methodically, as if the act of brunch itself was simply a routine they had long since tired of.

  Thorne’s mind raced as he tried to gauge the mood, to figure out how to break through their indifference. He had seen far more intricate social maneuvers in Valewind, where every word and glance held layers of meaning. But here, it all felt... flat.

  Suddenly, Lord Gregory Farroway, seated a few chairs down, turned toward him. Thorne recognized the man immediately—head of House Farroway, a family that controlled the trade routes to the south. He was older, with a sharp gaze that seemed to cut through the pleasant fa?ade of the gathering.

  “So, Lord Silverbane,” Lord Farroway began, his voice smooth and cultured. “What brings a young man like yourself to Alvar? Not exactly a common destination for one of your rank.”

  The other guests, previously lost in their quiet conversations, turned their attention to Thorne. He could feel their eyes on him now, watching, waiting for his answer. This was it—his first real test.

  Thorne smiled, letting his Sculpted Persona slide into place. “I’ve always had a passion for travel,” he began, his voice calm and steady. “Before the responsibilities of my family fall on me, I wanted to see as much of the kingdom as I could.”

  Lord Farroway raised an eyebrow, his expression mildly intrigued. “And where have your travels taken you so far?”

  “My last stop was Valewind,” Thorne replied smoothly.

  The mention of Valewind drew a few quiet murmurs from the table. One of the older nobles leaned slightly forward, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Valewind? I’ve heard there’s been unrest there recently.”

  Thorne nodded, keeping his expression composed. “Yes, it’s true. There was a... particularly grand event that spiraled into chaos. The Grand Ball. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

  A few of the nobles exchanged glances, some nodding slightly. Thorne could tell they knew more than they were letting on. Even in this remote corner of the kingdom, the whispers of Valewind’s intrigue had reached their ears.

  “And what of the route from Valewind to Alvar?” another noble, a stern-faced man with graying hair, asked. “I’ve heard it’s become more dangerous. Bandits, rogue adventurers, aether beasts. Not the safest journey for a noble, especially without proper protection.”

  Thorne let out a soft sigh, allowing his Acting skill to take over. His expression shifted, a touch of sadness creeping into his voice. “It was indeed perilous,” he admitted. “I lost most of my attendants along the way.”

  The mood around the table shifted slightly. A few of the guests nodded sympathetically, though Thorne could tell their sympathy was mostly performative. They didn’t care about his lost attendants, only the fact that he had survived the journey. Still, his Acting skill worked its magic, making his sorrow appear genuine, his loss heartfelt.

  Another noble, a sharp-eyed woman with a jeweled brooch pinned to her dress, leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. “And how did you come to be in the care of Master Varyn Eldridge?” She trailed off, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  Thorne blinked, his mind racing for a moment before it clicked. They were talking about Uncle. But, of course, no one here knew his true name. To them, he was just “Master Eldridge”, a mysterious figure who held sway over the city’s underworld and noble dealings alike.

  He paused briefly, crafting his next words carefully. “When we were attacked by those dreadful beasts, our cries were heard by adventurers protecting a cargo for Master Eldridge.” He let the name hang in the air, knowing they would fill in the blanks themselves.

  “They helped us fend off the beasts and, seeing I was in dire need of protection, offered to take me to him. He has been a gracious host so far, though I’ve seen him very little.”

  The faces around the table shifted subtly—some showing polite interest, others still looking bored or mildly distrustful. Thorne could sense the wariness in their eyes, the unspoken judgment. They didn’t know what to make of him, and worse, they didn’t seem to care. His words were falling on ears that weren’t truly listening. The indifference was palpable.

  One of the younger nobles, a thin man with a sharp nose and impatient eyes, spoke up next, his voice almost dismissive. “And where do you plan to head next?”

  The tone in the man’s voice wasn’t lost on Thorne. He could feel the unspoken message—when will you leave? It was as if the noble couldn’t wait to be rid of him. Thorne suppressed a frown, forcing his smile to remain in place.

  “I’ve always wanted to visit the capital,” Thorne replied smoothly. “But since I’m this far west, I thought I might be a bit more adventurous. I’ve considered heading to the Emerald Shores next.”

  There was a brief silence at the table before a scoff broke it. Down the table, a young man sat with his arms crossed, his large, muscular frame barely contained by the finely tailored suit he wore. His face twisted into a look of disdain, his lips curled in a sneer.

  Thorne’s eyes flicked toward him, his instincts kicking in. The man’s posture, his broad shoulders, the way he held himself—it was obvious. This must be the young Lord Lockridge, son of Lady Elena.

  House Lockridge was known for its private army, small but highly trained. If the Thornfields could bring them into their fold, they’d gain a valuable asset. But young Lord Lockridge didn’t seem eager to make friends.

  “What would you do there?” the young man asked, his tone dripping with scorn. “There’s nothing in that kingdom but sand and vipers.”

  Thorne didn’t bother hiding his frown. The crude display was jarring, and what surprised him more was that none of the other nobles seemed to find it inappropriate. There was no disapproval, no muttered rebukes. Even Lady Elena, seated beside her son, didn’t correct him. She merely placed a hand on his thigh, a small, restrained gesture that did little to hide her own simmering frustration.

  Thorne glanced around the table, reading the expressions of the guests. There was no subtlety here, no hidden half-truths or delicate maneuvering like he had seen in Valewind.

  It was as if the nobles in Alvar wore their emotions on their sleeves, unfiltered and unrestrained. What you saw was what you got. And right now, what Thorne saw was a group of people who either didn’t trust him, didn’t care about him, or were simply waiting for him to leave.

  Lady Rosalind, sensing the discomfort that had settled over the table, quickly chimed in, her voice warm and polite. “And how are you finding Alvar, Lord Silverbane? Are you enjoying your stay so far?”

  Thorne forced himself to smile as he turned his attention to the older woman. “Alvar is... different,” he said carefully. “It’s a beautiful city, and the people are kind. I’m grateful for the hospitality I’ve received.”

  Lady Rosalind nodded, her own smile firmly in place, though there was a flicker of something behind her eyes. “It is a quiet place, isn’t it? A far cry from the hustle and bustle of the major cities, I imagine.”

  Thorne nodded, making small talk as best he could, but the entire time, a sense of failure gnawed at him. He was getting nowhere with these people. Every word felt hollow, every attempt to charm them fell flat. The indifference that surrounded him was suffocating, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t break through it.

  He could feel himself slipping, his Sculpted Persona wavering under the weight of the silence. For the first time in a long while, Thorne wondered if he had misjudged the situation. He had come here prepared to charm, to manipulate, to win over allies for the Thornfields. But these nobles didn’t seem interested in being won over. They were bored, disconnected, and utterly indifferent to his presence.

  And that, more than anything, made him feel like he was failing his mission.

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