The room was quiet now.Not peacefully quiet — stiflingly quiet.

Avin sat slouched on one of the couches, staring lazily at the chandelier above them as its crystal ornaments swayed gently. The cushions beneath him were so soft they practically swallowed his body, but his mind refused to rest.

Across from him sat Beric, the prince — posture straight, legs crossed neatly, every movement sharp and deliberate. The golden sheen of his uniform caught the light like armor.

And below him, still on the floor, was the boy from earlier — curled up, trembling faintly. He looked pitiful, like a kicked dog trying to make itself invisible.

Avin sighed and rubbed his temple. "Gods, this is awkward."

The silence broke as the door clicked open.

Theo entered, his steps crisp and silent as ever. He carried a tray balanced effortlessly in one hand, two porcelain cups of steaming tea resting on it.

He stopped first in front of Beric, lowering the tray slightly and bowing as he presented the cup. "Your tea, Your Majesty."

Beric accepted it without a word, inhaling the rising steam as though it were the breath of divinity itself.

Then Theo turned toward Avin, extending the second cup.

Avin stared at it. His mind briefly calculated the odds of being executed for refusing hospitality.

"Hell no, I'm not drinking that—" he started under his breath, but stopped midway, forcing a smile that looked more painful than polite. "—is what I would've said if I wanted to be kicked out of this place."

He took the cup with a grin, lifting it slightly in mock gratitude.

The tea smelled fine. Almost fragrant, in fact. But the moment he took a sip, his entire soul recoiled.

It was bitter. Horribly bitter. Like someone had steeped disappointment and shoe leather together for three hours.

He kept smiling, though his insides screamed. "Ah, lovely," he lied.

Inside his head, however, a very different thought echoed: Ew. This reminds me of Aunt's cooking.

A flash of memory hit him — a blurry recollection of overcooked stew, something that smelled like burning despair, and his aunt's proud voice saying, "It just needs more salt!"

His tongue twitched at the phantom taste. He swallowed hard, forcing the tea down and silently begging whatever gods existed to erase the memory.

Desperate to shift his mind elsewhere, he looked across the room. "So," he said, setting the cup carefully down, "where are the others?"

Beric raised an eyebrow. "Others?"

"There are supposed to be five of us," Avin said. "But there are only three here."

"Three?" Beric repeated, looking faintly amused. Then he chuckled — a soft, practiced laugh that somehow still managed to sound condescending. He lifted his hand and pressed his knuckles lightly against his lips, a noble's gesture even while laughing.

"Oh," he said, bumping the body on the floor gently with his boot, "this one counts as part."

Avin blinked. "Ah." He nodded slowly, glancing down at the trembling mess of a person. "Figures."

Then his gaze flicked toward Theo. "And you're part too?"

Theo said nothing, just smiled faintly — that polite servant's smile that revealed absolutely nothing.

Avin frowned. I thought he was just a butler.

"And the last one?" he asked aloud.

"The females are in another section," Beric replied, taking another unhurried sip of tea.

"I see," Avin murmured, leaning back again. The silence crept in for a moment, heavy and uncomfortable. He could feel the words building in his throat — the question he'd been holding since he walked in.

Finally, he exhaled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So," he said slowly, "why were you harassing our teammate?"

The air in the room tightened.

Beric tilted his head slightly, still wearing that infuriating smile. "Harassing?"

Avin didn't blink. "Yes. Harassing."

The prince leaned forward as well, meeting him halfway across the space between their seats. His smile widened, sharp enough to draw blood. "Well, you see," he said softly, "we're entitled to treat people like him however we want."

Avin frowned. "People like him?"

Beric nodded once. "Yes. Commoners."

There was a pause — the kind of pause where reality checks itself to make sure it heard correctly.

Avin blinked. His eyes slowly widened as the meaning settled. "So… it's like racism," he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing," Avin said quickly, waving his hand.

Beric continued smoothly, seemingly unbothered. "Commoners exist to serve the royal bloodlines. My family rules over them. They owe their lives to us — because my father is their king."

"What?" Avin said again, louder this time. He looked from the boy on the floor to Beric, trying to make sense of what he'd just heard. "What the—" He stopped himself, taking a deep breath before he lost his composure entirely.

He forced a calm tone. "Where are you in line for the throne?"

The question slipped out before he could stop it.

Instantly, Theo's boot struck the floor — a sharp thud that echoed like a warning shot.

"Sir Avin," Theo said, his tone controlled but his face stern, eyes narrow with something dangerously close to anger.

Avin froze, then sighed quietly. "Well, there goes my chance at royal friendship," he muttered under his breath.

He stood, brushing invisible dust from his clothes. "Guess I'll just find another prince," he said dryly, starting toward the door.

Beric leaned back in his seat, smiling still — but his smile had hardened. "Leaving already?" he asked. His tone was almost amused, but his eyes said otherwise.

Avin stopped halfway, turned back slightly, then looked down at the boy still huddled on the floor.

"You know what," he said, stepping forward again. "I'm taking him."

The boy twitched at his words. "W–what?"

Avin ignored him and bent down, grabbing the boy by the arm and pulling. "Get up, idiot."

The boy resisted weakly, trembling even more. Avin tugged harder until he finally stumbled to his feet, barely keeping balance.

"Move," Avin said, dragging him toward the door. He passed Theo — who looked ready to intervene — but didn't slow down.

They stepped out into the grand hallway, the door closing with a heavy thunk behind them.

Avin sighed, releasing the boy's arm and straightening up. He turned back to glance at the door — but it was gone. The ornate double doors had simply vanished, replaced by seamless golden walling.

"…Yeah," he muttered. "We're not invited back."

He turned back to the boy, who was sweating profusely, his breathing uneven.

"Shake it off," Avin said, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him gently.

The boy blinked rapidly, as though waking from a trance. Then, to Avin's confusion, he suddenly smiled — bright and almost manic. He placed a trembling hand on Avin's shoulder.

"You did a good job," he said cheerfully.

Avin blinked. "…What?"

"You understood my signals!"

Avin's expression twisted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'd heard rumors that you weren't very bright," the boy continued, completely ignoring him, "but it seems they were wrong!"

A vein popped on Avin's forehead. "Okay, back up," he said, stepping away. "What nonsense are you spewing?"

The boy stumbled backward slightly, then grinned even wider. "You understood my Morse code."

"…What."

"My trembling!" he said proudly. "It was Morse code! A message! You picked up on it perfectly — made an excuse and took me with you!"

Avin just stared. Words failed him. His mind processed the statement, tried to reject it, then decided to simply stop working altogether.

He opened his mouth. "Wh—"

But the boy interrupted again, stepping forward with outstretched hands and a smile so radiant it was almost painful.

"I'm Henry," he said. "Nice to meet you!"

Avin, too stunned to refuse, shook his hand automatically.

As Henry grinned, Avin just stood there, blank-faced.

"How," he thought, genuinely baffled, "did I end up with this weirdo?"

He sighed, looking at the overexcited boy in front of him, and already felt the dull weight of regret settle on his shoulders.

To be continued.

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