Claude passed by two maids chatting in hushed tones, their voices echoing faintly through the tall marble corridor like whispers carried by the wind.
"Have you heard? Young Master Lloyd is coming back…" one of the maids said, her voice tinged with concern.
The second maid opened her mouth to respond, but both immediately went dead silent the moment they spotted Claude approaching, trailed closely by his personal horror film come to life: Roy.
'Why is she concerned? Is Lloyd a bad person? Or did he just have the audacity to not tip the maids once? God forbid.'
Claude didn't say a word as he passed them. Just kept walking with practiced calm, spine stiff like a wooden plank. Roy, of course, followed behind like a loyal shadow—but with all the warmth of a taxidermied panther. Claude could feel the man's stare trailing him from behind, like ice cubes being shoved down his back.
'This creep scares me. Every time he so much as glances in my general direction, my soul tries to jump out the window.'
The hallway stretched out endlessly before him, high-ceilinged and filled with cold morning light pouring in through stained glass windows. The scent of old wood, polished stone, and distant lavender from some overzealous maid's cleaning spree lingered in the air. Paintings of stern ancestors glared down from gilded frames as if silently judging him for the heinous crime of existing.
Claude pressed on toward his quarters, but his mind wandered. He kept cycling through everything he needed to accomplish in the short week leading up to the ball. So many tasks, so little time—and now Lloyd had entered the equation like an unwelcome plot twist.
He hadn't planned on giving Elyas' brother any real thought. Why would he? Siblings were rarely anything more than background noise in noble families. But now, judging by the maid's worried expression, Lloyd might not just be background noise—he might be a walking red flag.
Claude frowned slightly.
'Okay, so maybe Lloyd isn't just some awkward overachiever with a stick up his ass. Maybe he's the kind of guy who makes grown women whisper in hallways like scared little rabbits.'
He couldn't ask about Lloyd directly, though. That would raise suspicion. But he remembered something useful—Elyas had once mentioned that he barely remembered his brother.
Weird, but not entirely unexpected. Some noble families treated emotional distance like a badge of honor.
'Maybe Elyas did remember, but didn't want to talk about him. Maybe he was scared. Honestly, judging by the maid's reaction, I wouldn't blame him. Who knows, maybe Lloyd used to kick puppies for fun.'
One thing was clear.
Claude needed to be very, very careful.
---
Later that day, Claude sat in his room, a book opened in front of him—not that he was really reading it. His mind was elsewhere, thoughts circling like vultures. The room around him was far too pristine for the chaos in his head: sunlight streamed through wide balcony windows, casting golden lines across the soft carpet. Ornate bookshelves lined the walls, filled with untouched tomes likely chosen more for their spines than their content. A crackling fireplace added faint warmth to the air, though Claude hardly noticed it.
Then came a soft knock at the door, followed by the entrance of a maid wearing a different uniform—sleek, darker, more refined. The Head Maid.
"Young Master, as per your request, I've gathered the list of attendants to the coming ball," she said, voice crisp and professional.
Claude accepted the list with a gracious nod and a practiced smile. "Thank you very much."
The maid bowed and exited, her footsteps fading down the hall.
He began reading through the document immediately, reclining in the padded chair like a scheming librarian. The names were familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Predictably, there were lots of nobles attending. Of course. Because fate clearly hated him and wanted to stack the anxiety buffet as high as possible.
Claude skimmed through most of the lesser names. Minor families, weak houses—nothing of interest or importance. But then, some real gems started to pop out.
The first was the Sea Heart family, a Count-level house ruled by Countess Cordelia. Their lands sat on the northern shore, and they were known for overseeing trade, border control, and basically being the sea's cranky landlord. Strong, influential, and—of course—likely insufferable.
The second? The Ironhollow family. One of the two Marquess houses in the region. Their patriarch, Marquess Thornec, was apparently the royal family's designated master crafter. Weapons, armor, jewelry—you name it, they could forge it. Claude imagined them as an entire family of blacksmiths with etiquette lessons.
And then came the big one.
The Duke family.
Ravenshaw.
Led by the elusive Duchess Seraphina, accompanied by her two daughters: Sylvia and Sylvaine. Claude paused at that.
Apparently, this family only showed up when something truly mattered. High-class, high-power, and high up on Claude's "avoid at all costs" list.
'Why the hell are they coming to a party for a baron's kid? I mean, am I secretly the chosen one or something? Do I glow in the dark?'
Claude frowned.
But then—his eyes dropped to the last name on the list, and his lips slowly curled into a smile.
The Red Heart family.
A Count-level house ruled by Count Emrys, also known as the Red Heart of the Savanna. Sounds dramatic, which probably meant he was dangerous. They were known for their overwhelming power and ruthlessness. Claude remembered that name—and not just from this list.
He remembered the girl. The one he freed almost a month ago. The girl who led him straight into this noble nightmare of stolen identities and fancy breakfasts.
'Of course it'd be them. Just my luck. The universe really doesn't know how to let a man rest.'
He leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly.
He had to prepare for everything… but especially for that meeting. If Count Emrys was half as terrifying as the rumors made him sound, Claude would need more than witty lies and puppy-dog eyes to survive.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
Roy.
Claude looked up and saw him. The ever-watchful gargoyle of a man, staring directly at him again. Eyes as sharp as blades. Claude flinched visibly.
"W-what?" he asked, and for once, the stammer wasn't an act.
Roy tilted his head slightly, his voice smooth and unbothered. "I saw you smiling wildly, Young Master. I am sorry for my rudeness, but I couldn't help but be curious about the list—and who it was that got you to smile like that."
Claude's brain short-circuited. His face betrayed nothing, but internally?
'As if I'm going to tell you, you deranged hellhound. The day I trust you is the day I decide to take a nap in a bear's mouth. I should punch you in the face for asking me that—scratch that, I'd break my own hand on your jaw.'
But of course, Claude simply smiled meekly.
"S-sure! U-uh, I was just curious why the Duchess herself will be attending. Am I really that important?" he asked, voice trembling just the right amount.
Roy, thankfully, bought it.
"Oh… of course you are important, Young Master. But the real reason behind it may be more than just you. Recently, several noble children were kidnapped and nearly sold into slavery—if not for their families intervening at the last moment. This event will most likely serve as a meeting between the noble families of the North, rather than just a ball celebrating your return."
Claude's eyes widened, the truth settling in like bricks being stacked on his chest.
'Of course! That's it! It's not just about me—it's about the outskirts. This barony sits dangerously close to the lawless border. They're not here for me, they're here for themselves. Politics, safety, strategy. This whole ball is just a fancy war table with music.'
Everything made sense now. All the high-ranking families. The duchess. Even the Marquesses. They weren't showing up for Claude, they were showing up because their kids could've been the next ones tossed in a prison cell like Elyas.
But just as Claude was piecing it all together, Roy suddenly turned toward the window.
"Young Master… it seems your brother has arrived early."
Claude's blood turned to ice.
'Oh joy. The prodigal psychopath returns.'