The Eyes of the Nobles

Victor's eyes stayed on the mansion gates as they creaked open with a deep, stately sound that rolled into the night. The Suncrest manor loomed before him in quiet glory—its marble pillars veined with bars of gold, the gardens precisely sculpted, and looping paths shining under the soft beat of magic lamps. A gentle gust of air rushed through the wide gate, caressing his coat and with the smell of lavender blended with the light taste of newly polished stone.

Carriages rolled over the shining stone road, wheels whispering secrets. The air vibrated with subdued laughter, the rustle of silk, and the muted hum of dignified speech. Nobles flowed through the gates in a dignified stream—men in coats with pin-pointed brooches shining with gems, women in gowns that glimmered like starlight. Each step, each smile, was weighted with performance, a social waltz long rehearsed before tonight's music ever started.

Victor stood on the periphery of it all, a silent witness. His golden eyes pass through the glow and glamour, perceiving beauty—feeling none of it, however. Where others perceived grace, he perceived masks. The brilliance of the estate did not impress him; it merely made him feel more disconnected. Underneath the glittering surface, he sensed a sort of hollowness, a coldness that was not bred of cruelty but of habit. These individuals didn't relate—they calculated. Power wasn't a connection here; it was an obstacle, cloaked in velvet and manners.

The notion settled within him like a soft ache. As he stood and observed the nobles disappear into the haze of chandeliers and laughter, the intangible barrier of their world leaned softly against his breast. The wind changed again, cooler now, with whispers and torchlight dancing across his cheek. For an instant, the aroma of lavender receded, and all that lingered was the burden of distance—refined, scented, and completely smothering.

He stood close to the door, his silver and violet-trimmed long coat dignified without ever vying for attention. A subtle lion crest was embroidered over his chest, the mark unobtrusive but full of weight, the sort that didn't have to roar to be heard. His posture was relaxed, uncaring, but it was weighted; a peaceful poise that attracted gazes without expecting them. Around him, the imperial guards stood motionless, their gleaming armor flashing in strict, rhythmic highlights. Each man was motionless, disciplined, and vigilant—an implicit testimony to the one he served.

At his side, Ania stood with impassive elegance, her fingers lightly clasped together at her waist. The dim lantern light touched her violet silk dress, causing a shimmering that flowed like fluid moonlight whenever she breathed. Fine silver thread embroidery played upon her sleeves and hem, every strand catching the light as she moved ever so delicately. Her mere presence at his side altered the atmosphere; it thickened with focus, the type which attends when loveliness and composure enter a room.

Talks began to stall. The drone of laughter and chinking glasses muted to the point where only the soft echo of whispers could be heard. It began softly, like breeze rustling through leaves, then carried throughout the crowd that had congregated—curiosity yielding to hushed wonder.

"Who is he?" someone close to the path hissed.

"See those robes… and the guards."

"They have imperial crest on them."

The whispers spread outward, each one fueling the next, until the entire entrance hummed with a sort of awed tension. Heads snapped around. Eyes tracked. The name hovered just beyond everyone's lips, stuck between surprise and awareness.

Then, somewhere on the periphery of the crowd, a voice broke through—low, incisive, full of curiosity.

"If those are imperial guards, then… could that be—?"

"Idiot," the noble hissed softly, his bejeweled hands clenching more tightly around his goblet. "Don't you know him? That is Prince Victor. And the girl next to him… Princess Ania."

The words raced like fire through the assembly. Speeches stuttered, waves froze in mid-air, and an expectant hush ran through the great hall. The lively music and laughter fell away, to be replaced by the oppressive quiet of curiosity and anxiety. All eyes turned toward the two figures coming in through the golden doors—Victor's imposing height holding quiet power, Ania's serene elegance shining beside him.

"But why are they here?" someone finally asked, the incredulity running through his voice. "The royal family never shows up at parties like this. These banquets are held for top nobles, not royalty."

"Perhaps you haven't heard," a grizzled old man spoke softly, his lips twisting with wry amusement. "Prince Victor was once betrothed to the Suncrest heiress. Their presence here tonight… isn't precisely unexpected."

A younger lord sneered, stirring the wine in his cup. "Expected? That was a years-long engagement. Everyone knows that."

"How would you know?" the older man said softly, his eyes narrowing.

Leaning in, the younger noble spoke almost in a whisper, voice carrying just enough to stir curiosity around them. "After the prince didn't cultivate, he retired from court life. The heiress of Suncrest ceased visiting shortly afterwards. Rumor has it their engagement was discreetly canceled."

Someone close to them sucked in a harsh breath, shattering the strained quiet. "Then what are both the prince and princess doing here tonight?"

Everywhere around, whispers flared up like smoldering embers igniting a blaze, but now gentler—half wonder, half trepidation—as everyone's gaze went back to the royal siblings who had suddenly re-entered the world that once turned its face away.

The whispers thickened once more, whirling like restless air among the high marble columns. Victor heard them all—each softly spoken word, each hushed voice—but his face betrayed nothing. His face remained expressionless, his eyes half-closed as he surveyed the great estate ahead of him. Only a faint glimmer of amusement brushed his lips before it disappeared again almost at once.

He'd grown up with whispers, whispers of doubt and curiosity and envy and admiration—over the years, they'd all merged into one indistinct hum. It was normal to him, this background noise, like breathing.

But Ania wasn't accustomed to it. The glances were heavy on her skin, and the tenderness of her small hand, reaching for Victor's, shook. He noticed it immediately—the gentle, nervous press of her palm against his own.

He looked down at her, his tone low and soft. "What is it, little one?"

Ania shook her head hastily, her gaze shying away as if she could conceal her disquiet. "N-Nothing, brother… I just—" Her voice caught, revealing the tension she attempted to suppress with a tentative smile.

Victor's gaze softened. He gave her hand a light squeeze, his thumb brushing against her skin in quiet reassurance. "Don't be nervous," he murmured. "Attention is nothing new to us. You'll get used to it."

"I know," she whispered, lowering her gaze. "But… they're all staring."

He leaned in close, so that only she could hear him. His breath was hot against her ear when he said, "Then let them gawk. When you are older—when you stand as an empress—their gazes will follow you wherever you are. You'll glow no matter where you stand."

Ania's lips parted ever so slightly, her heart racing at the gravity of his words. "But… I don't want to shine," she whispered. "I just want to be… me."

Victor smiled weakly, his voice gentle but firm. He reached up, pushing a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. "You already are, Ania," he said softly. "Even the stars don't choose when to shine—they just do."

Her eyes went soft at that, a nervous laugh breaking out before she could suppress it. The laughter lasted barely a moment when—

A voice rumbled through the courtyard, steady but warm. "My prince and princess… welcome to the Suncrest estate."

Victor sat up, his head turned in response to the direction of the voice. From the stone steps in front of him, a figure appeared — tall, stately, wearing a well-cut black suit that hugged him with the precision of ancient nobility. Every step he took bore the unspoken assurance of one who had dedicated a lifetime of service to those above him. His silver-streaked hair caught the late sunlight, and the very faint lines on his face spoke not of age but of discipline and experience.

The man's face was calm, but there was real warmth in his eyes — the kind that made strangers feel they were expected. On his chest, the golden Suncrest crest glowed faintly, a badge of loyalty that required no words.

He came to a halt a few steps short of Victor, standing straight with measured movements. Then, in the ease of long training, he bowed profoundly — a bow of respect and recognition.

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