Chapter Four: A Banquet of Masks

The banquet hall glittered with gold.

Hundreds of candles blazed from crystal chandeliers, their light scattering across polished floors and tall windows draped in crimson velvet. Silver platters carried delicacies from across the empire stuffed quail, glazed fruits, goblets of dark wine. Nobles in jeweled finery filled the chamber with laughter, gossip, and a symphony of clinking glasses.

It was a display of wealth, a theater of power. And Ethan, draped in Adrian’s body, stood at the center of it.

He could feel their eyes. Every lord and lady turned to watch him as he entered, his silver hair catching the light like a blade. Their gazes were sharp, hungry. Some glittered with scorn, others with suspicion. A few simply waited, eager for his next humiliation.

Because Prince Adrian was infamous at banquets.

He had once hurled wine at a visiting duke.

He had mocked the stammer of a provincial lord until the man fled the hall.

He had danced with another man’s wife out of spite, then laughed when her husband demanded satisfaction.

Ethan knew this from the book. He knew they were expecting him to play the villain again.

And if he did… he’d walk himself closer to the execution block.

So he breathed deeply, straightened Adrian’s embroidered coat, and forced his steps to be steady as he entered the blaze of nobility.

“Ah, Your Highness.”

A rotund noble intercepted him almost immediately, bowing with a smile too wide to be sincere. “We wondered if you would grace us tonight. It is rare indeed.”

Ethan recognized the man vaguely from the bookLord Merrow, a vulture who thrived on others’ mistakes.

“I couldn’t refuse the invitation,” Ethan said smoothly. He forced a smile. “How could I deny myself the pleasure of such company?”

Merrow’s grin faltered for just a moment, as though surprised not to be insulted. Then it returned, sharper. “Indeed. Perhaps you might find more pleasure in conversation than… in your usual pursuits.” His gaze flicked toward the wine.

A few nobles nearby chuckled.

Ethan felt heat crawl up his neck, but he bowed his head slightly. “A fair suggestion. I’ll drink less and listen more.”

The chuckles died. Whispers rose in their place.

Merrow stared, his smile twitching uncertainly. Ethan inclined his head politely and moved past him, leaving the noble gaping like a fish.

Every step deeper into the hall was another test. Ladies approached with mocking curtsies, lords with baited remarks. Each time, Ethan responded with courtesy, with humility, never giving them the fire they sought.

And the whispers grew.

“The prince is… polite?”

“Who is this man wearing Adrian’s face?”

“Surely it’s an act. Surely.”

He had just begun to breathe easier when the herald’s voice rang out.

“His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Lucian!”

The hall seemed to inhale as one.

Lucian entered with measured steps, dressed in black and silver, the imperial crest gleaming at his chest. He carried no crown, yet his presence alone bent the room around him. Nobles bowed deeply as he passed, their eyes shining with devotion.

Ethan’s heart thudded painfully.

Lucian’s gaze swept the hall and landed on him.

Gray met black across the chamber. Ethan felt pinned, exposed.

Lucian did not smile. He did not frown. He simply walked forward, and the sea of nobles parted effortlessly before him.

When he reached Ethan, the hall was silent.

“Brother,” Lucian said, his voice carrying easily in the stillness.

Ethan forced himself not to flinch. He bowed, just enough to acknowledge but not abase. “Your. Highness.”

A faint twitch at Lucian’s lips amusement? Scorn? Ethan couldn’t tell.

“You seem different tonight,” Lucian said, his words calm but edged. “Quieter. Almost… civilized.”

A ripple of laughter swept the hall.

Ethan’s chest tightened. They were watching, waiting for him to lash out, to prove he was still the Adrian they despised.

He raised his goblet instead. “Perhaps I finally realized wine tastes better when not thrown in someone’s face.”

The hall went still.

And then, to Ethan’s shock, a few nobles laughedgenuine laughter this time, not mocking. Even Merrow barked an uncertain chuckle.

Lucian studied him closely, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Then, slowly, he lifted his own goblet. “A rare moment of wisdom from my brother. Shall we drink to it?”

“To wisdom!” several voices cried, raising their glasses.

Ethan clinked his goblet lightly against Lucian’s. Their eyes met over the rim. For a heartbeat, Ethan thought he saw something flicker there not warmth, not trust, but curiosity.

He drank, the wine rich and bitter on his tongue. His hands were steady only because he forced them to be.

The banquet carried on. Musicians struck up lively tunes, dancers spun across the polished floor, and platters of food continued to appear as if conjured.

Ethan drifted through it all, cautious, careful. He spoke little, smiled when necessary, declined wine after two cups despite the raised brows.

But he couldn’t relax. Not with Lucian’s presence lingering like a shadow at the edge of every moment.

At one point, Ethan caught him speaking quietly with a cluster of nobles. They laughed at something Lucian said, but their eyes flicked toward Ethan, sharp and calculating.

Suspicion. Always suspicion.

When the evening finally ended, Ethan’s body ached with tension. He slipped away into the cooler corridors, relieved to be free of the hall’s heat and scrutiny.

But he hadn’t gone far when a voice called softly.

“Adrian.”

Ethan froze.

Lucian leaned casually against a column in the shadows, as though he had been waiting. The dim light cast sharp angles across his face, his eyes gleaming like a predator’s in the dark.

“You surprised them tonight,” Lucian said. His tone was even, unreadable.

Ethan forced a smile. “Perhaps I surprised myself.”

Lucian stepped closer. “Don’t mistake politeness for redemption. A snake may slither quietly for a time, but its fangs remain.”

Ethan’s stomach twisted. He wanted to protest, to insist he wasn’t Adrian, that he didn’t have fangs at all. But he swallowed the words.

Instead, he met Lucian’s gaze. “Then perhaps I’ll learn to live without biting.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them.

Then unexpectedly Lucian chuckled. Just once, low and sharp, before his expression hardened again.

He leaned in slightly, his voice quiet. “I’ll be watching you.”

With that, he turned and strode away, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall.

Ethan exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to his chest.

He had survived again. But survival wasn’t victory.

If he wanted to live in this world, he couldn’t just avoid mistakes. He would need allies. Influence. Something more than a polite smile.