Sepehr didn't wait around the room where people were now more encouraged to approach him. He walked out into the garden, perhaps to get some fresh air.
The garden was unexpectedly empty despite having a pleasant atmosphere, and the air was refreshingly cool. Sepehr leaned against the fence, his eyes closed as though savoring the rare moment of peace.
But as it seemed, peace continued to escape from him.
"Well, if it isn't the academy's star student?" The deep, booming voice shattered the calm. "The academic council still hasn't gotten over losing you, you know?"
Sepehr opened his eyes, "Good Evening, Lord Cresmont."
"Drop the formalities already," the man complained. "Why are you outside? Your master seems to be losing it."
"You are exaggerating, Lord Maven." Sepehr replied, "I am sure he is doing just fine. You should also go back inside."
"Always so serious." Maven stepped closer, grinning widely. "Aren't you happy to meet an old friend?"
Maven Crestmont was Ambrose's few friends. He was a long-standing neutral character in the novel. But now the character, with his large frame, was approaching Sepehr with open arms.
Sepehr stepped back, "Technically speaking, I'm your senior."
"I believe we have known each other long enough to be called friends, Lord Sepehr." Before Sepehr could react, he was pulled into a bear hug. Maven was always overly friendly. How else would he manage to befriend the tyrant?
[It's strange for him not to be beside Ambrose.]
[It's like holding bones.]
[He looks like a ghost.]
[Is Sepehr not feeling well?]
Maven's train of thought continued to scurry while Sepehr struggled to breathe in the death grip. He tapped on Maven's shoulder as if asking for a time-out, but it was vain.
While still struggling, Sepehr was pulled away from the death grip from behind, into another firm grip. "What in the world are you doing?" Ambrose's tone was icy enough to send shivers down the spine. But currently, Zen didn't have a physical body, Maven wasn't the type to be scared, and Sepehr was, well, Sepehr. So the intimidation was wasted.
"Why are you glaring at me?" Maven inquired, putting his hands forward defensively. "I should be interrogating you. Are you overworking him? He's skin and bones—as if he got up from his deathbed!"
Sepehr flinched, but only Zen noticed it. The other two were busy glaring at each other. "That is none of your concern." Ambrose's voice was razor sharp. "Worry about yourself."
Maven chuckled, shaking his head as he looked at Sepehr, who was trying to free his arm from Ambrose's grip after moving the other from around him. "Told you—losing it." Maven joked, making Ambrose frown.
"We are leaving." Ambrose walked away. Sepehr muttered an apology before following behind him.
"Your Highness, the party hasn't ended yet. Are you sure you want to leave now?" Ambrose said nothing. "Shouldn't you accompany Lady Vivienne for a while longer?"
"If you have someone to accompany, you're free to stay."
Sepehr didn't have a reason to stay. Even if he did, he would only be subjected to the hawk-like gazes. Besides, it was already past nine. So he followed the prince as always.
Music could still be heard in the distance as they walked away. Their footsteps could barely make up for the quietness surrounding the halls.
The silence was broken only when they got close to their rooms. "Sepehr, didn't you promise your loyalty to me?"
A moment of silence passed before Sepehr responded, "Yes, I did, Your Highness."
"Have you changed your mind now? Or wish you didn't?"
"No."
Another few moments of silence passed before Ambrose spoke again. "Then why," his voice grew quieter, more intense, "Why do you keep taking every other person into your arms?" Sepehr focused his gaze on Ambrose, and Zen did so on Sepehr. It was a question, it clearly was. But for a moment, it sounded like an accusation.
"What does it have to do with my loyalty to the crown?"
A moment of their collective silence finally came. Zen covered his mouth in shock despite not being the one who said it aloud.
Ambrose was looking at Sepehr with an expression neither Sepehr nor Zen could read.
*Step. Step*
The sound of his footsteps echoed ominously as Ambrose closed the distance between him and Sepehr.
Zen would've stepped away, no, he would've run if someone approached him with such an expression. But Sepehr didn't even flinch. So in a matter of seconds, both stood face to face at a mere distance of a few inches.
"Did I say crown, Lord Vale?" Ambrose's tone was different from what Zen had heard thus far. It didn't have softness, coldness, anger, anything at all.
"Did you have one too many drinks, Your Highness?"
"So what if I did?" Ambrose's tone was sharp. The tyrant was showing his tyrannical side today. But not in the same way Zen had known. There was no blood involved, but the heat of his gaze was overwhelming enough for even Zen, who had backed away to a side. However, Sepehr, who was directly under that gaze, remained composed, his eyes locked with Ambrose's, exposing none of his emotions.
"What I do is not of your concern, no, Lord Vale?" Ambrose's words hung heavy in the air.