The mage's laughter doesn't stop quickly, it stretches, loud and unhinged, echoing off the walls like it's the greatest joke the world's ever heard. He claps once, then again, head tilted back in unfiltered amusement. It grates on me. Not just because it's unsettling, but because it's deliberate. Too drawn out. Too controlled.
Then, just like that, it stops.
A curtain drops.
His face turns expressionless, wiped clean of joy, like the madness was never there. Only cold neutrality remains. His emotions rise and fall like waves hitting the shore, relentless, rhythmic, and impossible to predict.
"Apologies," he says, not looking sorry at all.
Ramian steps forward now, cutting through the tension like a blade. His voice carries no reverence. "What are you trying to do, mage?"
There's no honorific. No hesitation. He speaks to the man like he's forgotten this guest outranks him.
Adrian, if that's even his real name, just turns his head slightly and dismisses him. Not with words. Just a flick of his gaze. Like Ramian doesn't even matter.
"So, where was I? Right, the 'R' titles." He chuckles again. Then, as if a switch flips, his tone turns sharp and brittle. "So. Why are you trying to learn magic?"
No greetings. No formalities. He talks like we're old friends catching up after a long absence.
I take a breath, leveling my voice. "Before asking questions, isn't it polite to introduce yourself?"
I meet his gaze without flinching. I need to guide this conversation back onto rails, my rails, if I'm to stand any chance of understanding him.
He pauses. Smiles.
"Oh, yes," he says, like he's only just remembered he's human. "I think people call me Adrian."
He says it like it's a borrowed name, a label worn for convenience.
"You can call me Uvar," I say, letting the edge of sarcasm carry in my voice. If we're pretending this is a polite exchange, I'll play my part, just not quietly.
Adrian's expression doesn't shift. "You want to learn magic, huh? What do you want to learn?"
His tone is flat, unreadable. But underneath, there's a flicker, an ember of curiosity barely veiled.
"Tier 1 of the four base elements," I reply.
That catches his attention. For a moment, he studies me, not like a scientist studying a specimen this time, but like a teacher weighing the potential of an uncertain pupil. Still, I can't read him. He's a puzzle, and I hate puzzles that stare back.
"So, you want to be a mage," he says, voice calm but focused.
"Maybe," I offer, leaving it vague.
He tilts his head slightly, then nods. "We'll start from tomorrow evening. Invite your sister too."
My body goes rigid.
The anger spikes fast, sharp. "Why do you need to meet my sister?" I ask, words cutting out colder than I intend, but I don't regret the tone.
He turns, not to me, but to Ramian.
"Has he not been informed that I'm teaching both of the marquis's children?"
I glance at the butler, hoping, expecting, a denial. But Ramian just gives a short nod, cool and quiet.
That takes the wind out of my anger. If it's father's decision, then Eloise is already caught in the web. I inhale slowly, steadying myself.
"Sorry for my outburst," I mutter.
Adrian looks at me again, his eyes gleaming with something I can't quite place. "So it's true. There was an assassin."
Not a question, an observation.
I try to derail the conversation, to pull it away from Eloise, from assassins, from truths I'm not ready to share. There's a question clawing at the back of my mind, something I haven't shaken since I stepped into this room.
"What did you do to me? In the beginning," I ask, narrowing my eyes.
Adrian doesn't smile. He doesn't blink. He simply leans back, arms crossing over his chest like he's considering how much a coin weighs.
"You shouldn't ask for the secrets of a mage," he replies evenly, his voice light but laced with a quiet warning. "Curiosity can be more dangerous than ignorance."
Before I can press him further, he pivots, effortlessly, like the wind changing direction.
"Who sent the assassin?" he asks, gaze sharpening like a blade being drawn.
His tone is neutral, but something in his posture shifts. Like he already has a guess.Like he's testing me ,Or worse, waiting for me to lie.
"Secrets like that shouldn't be spoken," I say, letting the words slip through my teeth like smoke, cryptic and meant to end this line of questioning.
But Adrian doesn't bite the bait. He leans forward instead, fingers steepled, eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Oh, then someone in power," he muses aloud, like this is some parlor game. "The Dukes? No, the Demures wouldn't fear them. The Mage Towers? Unlikely. They wouldn't risk political friction for no tangible profit. Presh Kingdom? No, Marquis Demure would have declared war."
His gaze drifts to Ramian, then flicks back to me. Calculating. Hungry.
We say nothing.
And somehow, that silence answers more than words ever could.
Then he continues, voice lower, with a gleam of triumph lacing every syllable. "If it were the King, she'd already be dead. No. This is sloppier, desperate, almost... personal. The Marquis hasn't taken sides in the succession crisis. Neutrality offends those who believe silence is treason."
He pauses, lets the thought settle like dust.
"There's only one among the contenders arrogant enough, paranoid enough… and vicious enough to send blades after a child."
Adrian smiles.
A slow, satisfied thing.
"Is it the Crown Prince?"
His eyes glow green now, soft and eerie, like polished jade under torchlight, and for a breath, he looks like a child awaiting praise for solving a riddle.
But I don't nod.I don't confirm.I simply meet his gaze, cold, unreadable, and wonder...
Why does he look so pleased?
"It's the Crown Prince, right?" Adrian asks again, tone light, but there's a glint in his eyes, sharp, expectant.
I force a neutral expression, but inside, my thoughts are spiraling. I can't let him get more than he already has.
"I think it's time for my etiquette lesson," I say, my voice measured, just polite enough to mask the urgency.
I rise from my seat with practiced calm, ignoring the way my pulse thrums beneath my skin like war drums. I don't wait for permission. I don't look back.
"I will lead you to the guest quarters," I hear Ramian's voice low and composed, an attempt to smooth over the tension left hanging in the air after my abrupt exit.