Queen Lillianne's eyes were like javelins—sharp, unwavering. Yet, her voice, though raspy with exhaustion, carried a softness that betrayed a more personal side beneath the steel. She shook her head, as if pushing aside the weight of her station, steeling herself anew.

Gone were the heavy words of judgment, the heart of stone needed to rule. In their place, a lighter, more personal tone emerged.

"Now that we've addressed the formalities," she said, exhaling as if shedding a layer of armor, "let's move on to something of equal importance. Alexander, I didn't allow you to state it before, but tell me—what is the courtesy name you have chosen? It will ease the nobility's acceptance of your appointment once I begin referring to you by it."

I straightened, glancing at my companions before answering with careful deliberation.

"We have settled on Kevkebyem Lekvedyem Benyeyr."

The Queen's lips curled into a rare smile, one that carried both approval and amusement.

"The Writer Under Starlight." She nodded. "A beautiful name. Though, the way you pronounce it, you've slightly altered the meaning—it now leans toward 'The Writer Who Writes Under Starlight.' It's horribly redundant, yet charming in its own way. It sets you apart. It shows that, while you are foreign, you have made an effort. And, most importantly, it is respectful. Acknowledged, Star-Writer."

I raised an eyebrow, furrowing the other in mild confusion. "Star-Writer?"

V chuckled before I could respond further. "Boss, you ought to realize how much of a mouthful that name is, even for you. You stumble over it yourself. It's long, clunky, and doesn't roll off the common tongue. And, most importantly, it's just… stuffy."

Cordelia, ever the diplomat, chimed in with her own perspective. "While I find the name utterly beautiful for personal reasons, Bastian nobles are only expected to use the full courtesy name in times of war or courtly declarations. Outside of that, most shorten it to a title in the common tongue as a sign of respect."

I frowned. "No file I had access to told me about this…" My voice carried an edge of complaint, which only seemed to amuse Queen Lillianne further.

"Star-Writer, you must understand," she said, the mirth in her tone barely masking something graver underneath, "most nations do not share every detail of their customs with outsiders. It is a form of control—over the population, over knowledge, over power itself."

Before I could respond, her expression twisted. A sudden scowl darkened her features, and without warning, she extended a hand and released a surge of magic to her left.

A crackle of energy. A ripple in the air. Then, the crash.

Morres, Barbatos, Temptation, and Ranah plummeted from the ceiling, hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap.

"Rude."

The voice belonged to Temptation, who had now shifted into the form of a young adult, appearing no older than twenty-three. He dusted himself off with an air of practiced indignation, golden eyes narrowing at the Queen.

Lillianne, however, remained unimpressed. "Rude?" she echoed with cold amusement. "Rude is violating my private chambers when I am inducting a new Prince. Not that any of you care. No Dominus ever does…"

There was a weary resignation in her voice, a note of bitterness that lingered like old scars. Her gaze flickered toward Barbatos, then to me, then back to the four Domini before her.

Her lips curled into a smirk of bitter irony. "Oh. I suppose, technically, you have the greater claim. My apologies, exalted ones."

"Exalted ones?" I echoed, glancing toward Fractal, whose feathers shimmered in understanding.

She flitted closer, her voice a hushed whisper beside me. "Morres once explained that those who could ascend past Dominus status at any moment but have yet to do so—for personal or unresolved reasons—often refer to Domini as 'Exalted Ones' as a gesture of respect."

"I'm glad to see you retained at least some of my lessons," Morres murmured, his usual lethargic tone making him sound as if he had just woken from a centuries-long slumber. His half-lidded eyes were glossy, his posture ever languid. He rose to his feet at the same pace he spoke—slowly.

In stark contrast, Ranah practically bounded upright, stretching her arms before offering a polite, fluid bow to Queen Lillianne. "This one greets the Clouddancer."

Barbatos followed suit, standing with measured grace. Temptation, however, did not rise—he surged.

A storm of steel manifested around him—shields and spears, swords and staves, axes and arquebuses. They hovered, forming a maelstrom of weapons, though none pointed at anyone directly. Yet his fury burned just beneath the surface, barely restrained.

"Savages," Barbatos muttered under her breath, pointedly directing the comment at Temptation.

Lillianne, undeterred by the show of force, folded her arms. Her piercing gaze cut through the gathering like a blade. "Now—tell me. Why have four Exalts chosen to conceal themselves instead of simply entering with the one you are bound to?"

Morres sighed, waving a hand dismissively. "Simple. We preferred to observe the speech unseen. That being said… you really should look into Wilstead's other holdings."

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His voice carried an uncharacteristic note of interest. That alone made my stomach twist.

Then, another realization struck me. A pressing one.

"So… if I'm now bound by Bastian law, and I am male, and I have a titled right…" I trailed off, my mind piecing it together. "…That means I have to marry, doesn't it?"

Lillianne turned her attention back to me, a dry, rasping chuckle escaping her lips.

"Yes. Eventually, you will."

My stomach dropped.

"However," she continued, a glint of amusement in her weary eyes, "unlike traditional Bastian law, I will not force you to take multiple wives. I know that is not the Marr custom. That said…" She spread her hands as if to say the matter was out of her control. "I cannot protect you from the expectation of marriage altogether. And make no mistake—you will have plenty of potential suitors vying for the position."

"Positions?" I echoed, wary.

Lillianne's expression shifted, growing more serious. "Lesson one, young Walker. A ruler's strength does not come from their title alone, but from the keys to power they control. You must satisfy those key positions of power. And in doing so, you grant them the means to rule with you."

She let the words sink in before continuing.

"Paradoxically, those who serve as keys to power… are also power in themselves. And those who hold these positions will face the same burdens you do—on a smaller scale, yes, but with consequences nonetheless."

Seeing my confusion, she elaborated further.

"My keys to power are my thirteen royal noble guilds. They consist of four noble alliances from the Sunlight Court, four from the Moonlight Court, and five from the Court of Blood. You have already met one—Adven, of House Haptra of the Sanguine Spear."

I nodded, listening intently.

"The Court of Blood consists of five noble families: the Sanguine Spear, the Crimson Quiver, the Red Veil, the Scarlet Scythe, and the Crimson Table."

Then, her lips curled into something of a smirk.

"You, Alexander, are now set to join the Crimson Table. The recent… departure… of a noble house due to an illegal Bliss operation has left a vacancy. You shall be its replacement."

She stood from her chair, and stepped forward, her voice no longer that of a queen giving orders, but of a woman making a solemn request.

"From this day forth, you shall be the founding member of House Alizade."

Her gaze met mine. No command. No coercion. A genuine question. A choice.

"Alexander Duarte-Alizade. Do you accept?"

I met her eyes. And I answered.

"I do."

***

Instead of a carriage, what awaited me outside was something far more familiar from the bustling internal districts of Marr—a carpet. But not just any carpet. This one was woven from a rich, silken fabric, its edges adorned with intricate tassels that swayed gently in the wind. Beneath my fingers, the texture was impossibly soft, yet the dense, velvety fur hinted at its exotic origin.

"Wussellick," Lilliane informed me, her tone cool and measured. "The pelt of a Wussellick beast. Its fur is prized for luxury travel among the Crimson Table. House Vermillion has sent this as a gift—both an apology for the test and a calculated move to get on your good side. Noble games, Alexander, are not won with swords and spears. They are won with words, deception, and knowing when to let someone think they've won."

She gestured toward the carpet's pilot seat, where a young man sat with an air of quiet confidence. "This is Ein. He will be driving your carpet. Another will come to retrieve him once you arrive. If you wish to hire him permanently, you'll need to negotiate terms yourself."

I took a seat alongside V and Cordelia, while Fractal, preferring the wind beneath her wings, flitted beside us in her bird form. Ein barely acknowledged us before murmuring a command, and with a seamless shift, the carpet lifted from the ground.

The ride was smoother than I expected, a fluid glide that felt almost like drifting across still water. The carpet didn't just float—it stabilized the air around it, countering turbulence with an almost sentient responsiveness. I brushed my hand against the fur, feeling the subtle hum of the enchantments woven into its fibers.

Curious, I activated Laplace Function. Instantly, a flood of sensory data poured into my mind, revealing the intricate workings of the flight enchantments—minute adjustments in air pressure, the delicate interplay of kinetic forces. I could feel the currents bending to our will, the unseen calculations keeping us perfectly balanced in the sky.

For a few seconds, it was exhilarating. Then the sheer volume of raw information became overwhelming, like staring directly into the sun. My head throbbed, and a warm trickle of blood slid down my nose. With a sharp breath, I shut the Function off.

Too much, too fast.

I wiped the blood away with the back of my hand, only to notice Cordelia watching me, her brow furrowed in concern.

"You're bleeding," she said softly, her voice tinged with unease.

"It's nothing," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"That's not nothing," she insisted. "Does this always happen when you use Laplace Function?"

"Only when I overdo it."

Cordelia didn't look convinced. She reached into her coat and pulled out a neatly folded cloth. "Here. Take it."

I hesitated for a moment before accepting it. "Thanks."

V, who had been watching silently until now, finally smirked. "Well, that's great. We haven't even made it to the estate, and you're already bleeding out. If I have to carry you, I'm charging extra."

I shot him a flat look. "I'm not bleeding out. It's just a nosebleed."

"Yeah, that's what people say right before they keel over dramatically." He leaned back, stretching out on the plush seating. "But hey, if you do pass out midair, at least the carpet's soft."

Cordelia shot him an irritated glance but said nothing, refocusing on me. Fractal, meanwhile, flitted onto my shoulder, her small talons gripping my coat as she tilted her head, studying me with those masked, shifting eyes. She let out a quiet, questioning chirp.

"I'm fine," I reassured her, dabbing at my nose with Cordelia's cloth.

She let out a skeptical click but settled in, curling her wings against herself like a bundle of iridescent light.

Cordelia sighed and leaned back, though the concern hadn't left her expression. "Just… try not to push yourself too hard before we even get there."

I nodded slightly, letting the steady glide of the carpet carry us forward through the open sky.

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