Damon POV

This was too perfect.

Damon hadn't expected to run into Theodore here. Honestly, he'd half-expected the former wastrel to be hiding in his workshops, playing with his little civic projects. But here he was, at an actual gathering, trying to pretend he belonged. It was almost endearing, in a pathetic sort of way.

And the timing!

With the tournament starting in days, everyone important was here, watching. What better opportunity to show his magnanimity? Helping the struggling prince improve his clearly basic skills—it would make Damon look generous, noble, a true leader who lifted others up.

Even if those others would never actually reach any meaningful height.

"You know what? Let me help you improve! Consider it a gift from an old friend." Damon said, struck by inspiration.

Theodore's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Probably gratitude. Or embarrassment. Hard to tell with someone so used to hiding their inadequacy.

"We'll play 'Mana's Garden,'" Damon announced, raising his voice just enough to draw more attention. "A children's game, but perfect for your level."

"I'm not sure I'd be good competition," Theodore said slowly. "I've mostly just been working with practical applications..."

Of course he was hesitant. Probably hadn't played any of the proper noble games, too busy with his "practical applications." Damon felt a surge of genuine sympathy. It wasn't Theodore's fault he'd been born with such limited potential. The least Damon could do was provide some education.

"Nonsense!" He clapped Theodore on the shoulder, felt him stiffen under the contact. "Everyone, Prince Theodore has agreed to let me demonstrate proper mana control!"

The crowd pressed closer. Perfect. Lady Melissa was there, and Lord Canton, and—oh, excellent, even some of the Valorian delegation. They'd appreciate seeing the difference between real talent and... whatever Theodore was.

"The rules are simple. Maintain increasing numbers of constructs while carrying on normal activities. Conversation, drinking, socializing. It teaches divided focus, essential for any real mage."

He created twenty elaborate butterflies, each one detailed down to the scales on their wings, and had them dance through the air in a complex pattern. The crowd made appropriate sounds of appreciation.

"Why don't you go first?" he suggested to Theodore. "Show us what you've learned."

Theodore looked at the butterflies, then at his own hands. "Spheres are fine?"

"Whatever you're comfortable with. Start with what you can manage." Damon said generously. No point in pushing the poor man too hard. Theodore created three spheres. They wobbled.

Actually wobbled.

Damon bit back a laugh. This was going even better than expected. The mighty "Infrastructure Prince," struggling with three basic spheres.

"Is it supposed to feel this unstable?" Theodore asked, frowning at his constructs like they'd personally offended him.

A servant offered wine. Theodore reached for a glass and nearly dropped one of his spheres entirely. The crowd tried to hide their amusement. Tried.

"How do you keep track of them all?" Theodore continued, his forehead actually creasing with effort. "My mind feels split..."

"Practice," Damon said kindly, adding another ten butterflies to his collection. Thirty now, swirling in perfect synchronization. "Years of proper training. Here, let me show you a technique..."

This was what leadership looked like. Taking the time to help those less fortunate, even when they'd never amount to anything significant. Damon's father would be proud. The story would make excellent conversation in Zenonis— how he'd tried to help that poor Holden prince, the one who'd been unawakened until recently.

Theodore was up to five spheres now. Still shaky, but progress was progress.

"See?" Damon encouraged. "You're improving already. With a few years of dedicated practice, you might even manage proper constructs."

"Years," Theodore repeated flatly.

"Oh yes. Real mana control takes time. Dedication. The right bloodline helps, of course, but—" He paused delicately. No need to rub salt in the wound.

Theodore added another sphere. Then another.

Wait.

When had he gotten to ten?

***

Theodore POV

Theodore was having a hard time controlling his laughter, so much so that his spheres were wobbly. To be fair, he could probably straighten them out if he really wanted to, but this little dick measuring contest was so low on his priority list that he couldn't be bothered with it.

Damon was still talking.

Something about bloodlines and proper technique and the importance of early awakening. Theodore had stopped listening about three minutes ago when some baron had mentioned the new aqueduct proposals. Now that was interesting. The water pressure problems in the lower districts could be solved if they just adjusted the pipe diameter at key junction points, but the guild was being stubborn about standardization, and—

"The key is visualization," Damon was saying. Or maybe had said. Hard to tell. "Each construct needs your full attention, your complete—Theodore, are you listening?"

"Hmm?" Theodore blinked, refocusing on Damon's face. "Oh, yes. Visualization. Very important."

He absently added another cluster of spheres. The aqueduct thing was really bothering him. Maybe if they used a graduated system? Wider pipes for the main flow, then progressive narrowing for distribution? But that would require custom fittings, and the cost...

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Your spheres," someone said.

"What about them?" Theodore looked up from the mental calculations he'd been doing. Everyone was staring at him. Why were they staring?

Oh.

Right.

He'd been making spheres while thinking about pipe dimensions. Lots of spheres, apparently. They were everywhere—orbiting his head, his hands, spiraling up toward the ceiling, some tiny as pinpricks, others the size of his fist. A few had arranged themselves into a three-dimensional diagram of the proposed aqueduct system.

When had that happened?

"How many is that?" someone whispered.

Theodore did a quick count. "Um. Two hundred and... forty-three? No, forty-four. Forty-five now."

The room had gone very quiet.

"I got distracted," he said, which was true. "The water pressure problem is actually fascinating once you get into the fluid dynamics. See, if you look at this section here—" He gestured at the floating pipe diagram his spheres had formed. "The gradient isn't steep enough for natural flow, but if you introduce pressure points at these intervals..."

Damon's butterflies were gone. When had that happened? The prince was staring at Theodore with an expression he couldn't quite read.

"You're not even looking at them," Damon said slowly.

"Looking at what?" Theodore followed his gaze to the spheres. "Oh. No, I suppose not. Should I be? I thought the point was to maintain them while doing other things."

"The point," Damon said, his voice tight, "is to show control. Discipline. You can't just—this isn't—"

"Did I do it wrong?" Theodore asked, genuinely concerned now. He'd never actually played this game before. Maybe there were rules about sphere placement? Or a maximum number? "You said increasing numbers while maintaining conversation. Was there a specific pattern I was supposed to follow?"

The spheres rearranged themselves into his emotional state—a confused jumble with hints of worry that he'd messed up some noble protocol. Again.

"The room's magical ambiance must be helping you," Damon said suddenly.

What? Theodore looked around. It was just a ballroom. A nice one, sure, but nothing special magically speaking. "I don't think—"

"Or you weren't actually trying. This is a children's game, after all. When we were being serious—"

"Oh, was this competitive?" Theodore asked. "I thought it was a demonstration."

Damon's face was doing something interesting. Multiple somethings, actually. Like he couldn't decide which expression to land on.

"No one who was unawakened two years ago could do this," he said firmly. "You're using something. A hidden artifact. Illegal enhancement potions."

Was it that hard for this guy to believe Theodore had improved? Then again, Theodore would probably have a similar reaction in Damon's place.

"What? No, I just practiced a lot while designing the cooling systems." Theodore gestured vaguely at the spheres, which responded by forming a basic refrigeration schematic. "You have to maintain hundreds of temperature control points simultaneously or the workers complain about comfort levels. This is actually easier because there's no actual thermal regulation involved."

"You must have a secret teacher," Damon insisted. "Someone's been training you. Who is it?"

Theodore was getting confused now. Properly confused, not the polite confusion he usually faked at these events. "I mostly just read books? And experimented? Trial and error, really. Blew up a lot of prototypes before I figured out the stabilization matrices."

"Show me the trick," Damon demanded.

"What trick?"

"The trick you're using to do"—he gestured wildly at the spheres—"this!"

"I'm... not using a trick?" Theodore said slowly. Was Damon feeling alright? He looked a bit red. "Do you want to sit down? You seem upset."

***

Damon POV

This wasn't happening.

This absolutely was not happening.

Theodore—Theodore the Wastrel, Theodore the Unawakened, Theodore the Embarrassment—could not be doing this. It was impossible. Literally impossible. Damon knew how magic worked. He'd been trained by the best tutors in Zenonis since he could walk. Bloodline mattered. Early awakening mattered. Years of proper instruction mattered.

You couldn't just wake up one day and casually maintain two hundred—no, three hundred now, they were still multiplying—perfect mana constructs while discussing sewers!

"We'll settle this properly in the tournament!" The words burst out before Damon could stop them.

Theodore tilted his head. "Tournament?"

He didn't know. He actually didn't know Damon was participating. Hadn't even registered him as relevant competition.

That was... that was...

"You're entering, aren't you?" someone asked Theodore. Lady Melissa, looking far too interested in Theodore suddenly. "I heard rumors."

"Oh, yes," Theodore said absently, still looking at Damon with concern. "Mother insisted. I'm hoping to lose early enough to get back to my workshops. The tournament's going to delay my schedule by weeks."

He was hoping to lose.

Hoping. To. Lose.

And somehow that was worse than if he'd been arrogant about it. Because it meant Theodore truly, genuinely didn't care about the thing Damon had been training for his entire life.

Because this tournament mattered to him, mattered to his kingdom.

"Your trick won't work in the arena," Damon said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. "Real combat isn't parlor games."

"Probably not," Theodore agreed easily. "I've never been good at the fighting stuff. Too messy. I prefer building things."

The spheres had formed what looked like a miniature city now, complete with tiny flowing water systems and what might have been working streetlights.

When had he even learned to do that? You couldn't learn that from books. You couldn't just figure it out through "trial and error." It required talent. Real talent. The kind of talent that showed up in bloodlines, that manifested early, that was carefully nurtured through years of—

"Excuse me," Theodore said suddenly. "Lord Hendricks, about those aqueduct proposals—"

He walked away. Just walked away, mid-conversation, his several hundred spheres trailing after him like obedient pets, still maintaining their city formation. Walked away to discuss pipes.

Damon stood there, surrounded by sympathetic looks that he couldn't bear to acknowledge.

This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. Theodore was supposed to be the failure, the cautionary tale, the example Damon used when explaining why early awakening mattered. For three years, he'd been telling people about the poor Holden prince who'd never amount to anything.

And now...

No. No, there was an explanation. There had to be. Hidden focus. Some Relic, maybe. Secret tutors. Some kind of cheat that would be exposed in the tournament when real pressure was applied.

Because if there wasn't—if Theodore had actually just figured out how to do something that Damon had spent years learning, if he could casually surpass decades of training while thinking about sewers—

"Prince Damon?" Someone touched his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

He wasn't. He really, really wasn't.

But he would be. The tournament would fix this. In the arena, Theodore's tricks wouldn't work. Real combat would expose him for what he was—what he had to be. A fraud. A cheater. Still the Wastrel Prince, just with better props.

Damon straightened his robes, fixed his expression into something resembling dignity, and strode toward the door. He had training to do. The tournament was in days, and he'd make sure everyone remembered why he was Zenonis's greatest prodigy.

Theodore would remember too. Even if Damon had to beat the lesson into him personally.

The prince of Zenonis left the gathering early that night, and if anyone noticed his hands shaking slightly as he departed, they were too polite to mention it.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.