Thalor mengeratkan kedipannya. Langkahnya perlahan, ketajaman posturnya kembali. "Apa yang kudengar lewat?
Cassiar tak menjawab seketika. Ia tak terhenti berjalan—tangan tetap terlipat di belakang punggung, langkahnya tetap licin.
"Kamu akan mendengarnya cukup lama," katanya santai.
Thalor berhenti.
Cassiar tak berhenti.
"Apa?" tanya Thalor, sedikit lebih keras sekarang. "Cassiar—"
"Orang yang kamu minati..." ucap Cassiar, tetap tidak menoleh.
Alis Thalor bergemeterai. "Orang? Lucavion?"
Cassiar memberikan gumam tak berkomitmen. "Huh-uh..."
Suara Thalor menurun. Lebih kaku. "Apa yang terjadi padanya?"
Cassiar berhenti sejenak. Sekali. Sekali saja cukup lama untuk menoleh sedikit—cukup untuk cahaya lilin tertangkap di tepi senyumnya.
"Itu dia," katanya lembut, hampir penuh kasih sayang, "yang bisa kuduga, ia benar-benar sesuatu.""
Thalor memandangnya tatap mata, datar. "Apakah dia melakukan sesuatu?"
Tapi Cassiar sudah berbalik lagi, langkahnya tak pernah terputus saat ia melaju ke koridor berikutnya.
"Itu saja dariku hari ini," panggilnya dari bahu. "Lain kali, kamu harus menaruh lebih banyak telinga di sekitarmu, Thalor."
"Cassiar—!"
Tapi pewaris Vermillion tampaknya hanya mengangkan tangan dalam sikap seolah-olah."
"Bastard,
" bisiknya Thalor dalam napasnya, saat ia berjalan lagi—lebih lambat kini, lebih bijaksana. Cassiar tak hanya berkata-bolong untuk menyiksa. Tidak kali ini.
Ada sesuatu di tonenya. Kasih sayang itu. Berat yang tenang di balik kata-katanya.
'Sepertinya ia benar-benar sesuatu.'"
Alis Thalor kembali kali ini, lebih lama.
"Apa yang kamu lakukan kali ini, Lucavion..." gumamnya pada dirinya sendiri.
Lalu—
Gerakan menarik perhatiannya.
Di kepala jalan, di sebuah koridor menyilang di bawah cahaya lembut lampu tembaga, muncul dua orang tokoh.
Cahaya bersinar lembut di rambut pirai biru putih dan aksen perak tajam pada pakaian formal yang rapi.
Mata Thalor lancar.
Dia mengenali mereka dengan cepat.
Adrian Lorian.
Dan di sampingnya, berjalan dengan kemiringan yang sama—terlalu halus, terlalu pas...
Isolde Valoria.
Kepala utusan Lorian.
Thalor menatap mereka sejenak lebih lama—Adrian dan Isolde, berjalan bersama seperti lukisan yang terlalu sempurna. Pirai dan perak. Kedudukan dan ketenangan. Masa depan Kekaisaran jika keluasan bangsawan dipercaya.
Dengan menyeringgeng.""
Tentu saja mereka bertunangan.
*****
Koridor sunyi, hanya terdengar langkah mereka yang memantul dari batu yang dipahat rapi. Cahaya lampu lilin menyaring lembut di atas hiasan emas pada jubah Isolde dan brokat pada mantel Adrian—dua pantulan kekuatan yang berjalan dalam ritme diam yang terukur.
Ia tak berkata apa-apa.
Bahkan ia.
Tapi diam selalu menjadi jenis percakapan di antara mereka. Yang mengatakan lebih banyak dibanding kata-kata.
Pada akhirnya, suaranya nyaris tersengaja seperti pisau emas yang dikeluarkan dari velvet.
"Ada kabar dari Ibu Kota?"
Langkah Adrian tak pernah terputus, tapi rahangnya kaku—hanya sedikit. Kilatan ketegangan di permukaan.
"Belum,
" katanya dengan tenang.
Ia mengangguk sekali, tak menoleh.
"Aku lihat."
Hanya dua hari. Dua hari sejak Adrian mengirimkan permintaan terenkripsi ke jaringan intelijen internal Lorian. Dua hari sejak nama Lucavion Thorne diketik ke arsip imperial dengan kode izinnya. Dua hari menunggu.
Cahaya lilin menangkap kilatan mata Ishilde se saat ia menoleh, hampir tak terlihat, ke arahnya.
Dua hari adalah waktu singkat dalam pentas besar politik Kekaisaran.
Dan namun—terlalu lama bagi seseorang seperti dirinya.
Adrian tak melewatkan perubahan posturnya. Lurusnya punggung sedikit. Kehampaan tangan yang tidak bergerak.
Dia... menghitung."
Selalu.
Ia dalam napas dalam."
Tapi jarinya mengerat di belakang punggung.
Sial.
Terpaksa mengakui taruhan itu di depan seluruh halaman dalam seperti itu—"
Adrian merasakannya lagi. Kilasan panas di kulitnya. Bukan malu. Belum tentu. Lebih dekat pada kemarahan. Putra kandung Lorian, di goda seperti bangsawan biasa yang dituntut untuk menyaksikan tipuan seorang penggagas biasa."
Itu merendahkan martabatnya.
Dan dia tak bisa menolak.
Tidak di hadapan seluruh penonton. Tidak dengan begitu banyak mata yang sudah menantikan retak dalam kesabarannya, kelemahan dalam karakternya. Setiap bangsawan Arcanian pasti berbisik bahwa Lorian takut. Bahwa putra kandungnya tak bisa berdiri sebagai saksi tanpa gemetar."
Lucavion telah tahu itu.
Dia tahu persis di mana harus mencelah.
Rahang Adrian kaku.
"Dia bermain bagus," bisiknya, rasa pahit berwarna di tepi suaranya.
"Hm?"
Isolde menatapnya dengan jelas. Kilau lembut senja terperangkap di mata liliputnya ungu.
Dia tak mengulangi. Dia tak perlu.
Tentu saja dia tahu.
Diamnya hampir... bermain-main.
"Jangan biarkan itu mengganggu kamu," katanya dengan lembut. Hampir terlalu lembut.
Adrian mengerutkan kening."
Isolde berbalik lagi."
"Jika dia yang kami pikirkan..."
"Jika ia yang kami pakaikan..."
Suaranya mulus. "Maka akan kudapatkan sendiri."
Tak ada ketegangan dalam suaranya. Tak ada naik turun. Tak ada gemetar. Hanya ketenangan yang menakutkan. Seperti pisau yang diletakkan lembut di leher—dingin, terukur, tak terelakkan."
Adrian menatapnya dengan cemberut datar. "Yakin?"
Jeda bahaya.
Ia berhenti berjalan.
Dan perlahan-lahan menoleh untuk menghadapinya.
Matanya—lilin ungu yang tak terbaca di setengah-bayangan—menghadapinya dengan adu bara darah yang hanya lahir dari keturunan dan kemenangan.
"Kapan,
" tanyanya dengan lembut, "aku pernah salah?"
Dirinya ragu."
"Tapi cukup untuk menarik napas."
"Akan,
" bisiknya sebelum ia bisa menjawab. "Tidak pernah."
Dan lalu tangannya mengangkat untuk menyentuh pipi. Sentuhan yang ringan seperti embun beku. Gerakan untuk dunia, bisa jadi ada yang menyaksikan. Aksi intimasi yang rancang untuk terlihat seperti kasih sayang."
Tapi itu tak hanya untuk pertunjukan."
Tidak sepenuhnya."
Ia melesat."
Dan ia mendatangi setengahnya.
Mereka bersentuh—lengkang yang terlalu terlatih untuk pasi, terlalu halus untuk kalah. Bukan tentang keinginan. Bukan benar-benar. Ini tentang kepemilikan. Mengklaim. Dunia yang menyaksikan dan mengangguk. Dua rumah kuat menyegelarran pengaturan dengan tekanan mulut dan niat kuno."
Dan meskipun dalam pelukan itu..."
Matanya tak pernah tertutup."
Api lilin ungu bersinar di balik tirai kelipnya."
Dingin. Tajam. Menyaksikan."
Dan untuk sejenak singkat, seseorang dapat bertanya..."
Jadakah yang dia cium bukan dia sebenarnya yang ada di hadapannya?
Thalor narrowed his eyes. His steps slowed, the sharpness in his posture returning.
"What did I miss?"
Cassiar didn’t answer right away. He just kept walking—hands still folded behind his back, gait smooth as ever.
"You’ll hear about it soon enough," he said lightly.
Thalor stopped.
Cassiar didn’t.
"What?" Thalor repeated, a little louder now. "Cassiar—"
"The guy you’re interested in..." Cassiar said, still not looking back.
Thalor’s brow twitched. "The guy? Lucavion?"
Cassiar gave a noncommittal hum. "Huh-uh..."
Thalor’s voice dropped lower. Tighter. "What about him?"
Cassiar paused then. Just one step. Just long enough to turn slightly—just enough for the candlelight to catch the edge of his grin.
"That guy," he said softly, almost fondly, "I can say, he really is something."
Thalor stared at him, deadpan. "Did he do something?"
But Cassiar was already turning again, pace never once breaking as he headed for the next corridor.
"That’s all from me today," he called over his shoulder. "Next time, you should put some more ears around you, Thalor."
"Cassiar—!"
But the damned Vermillion heir just raised a hand in mock farewell and vanished into the dormitory shadows, steps echoing down the stone hall like a disappearing smirk.
Silence fell again.
Thalor stood alone now, jaw tight, brow furrowed—his earlier good mood long buried.
"Bastard," he muttered under his breath.
Thalor’s scowl deepened.
"Cassiar, you silk-swathed menace —finish your sentences like a normal human being for once!"
His voice echoed down the corridor, sharp and irritated, bouncing off the quiet dormitory stone. A few distant doors creaked open slightly before retreating just as fast.
Far ahead, Cassiar didn’t bother turning back.
He just lifted a hand—palm open, fingers loose—and gave the laziest wave imaginable.
Utterly unbothered.
"Damn bastard," Thalor muttered again, voice low now. "Always walking off like he’s the end of a Chapter."
He exhaled, the edge of his irritation cooling to a simmer as he resumed walking—slower now, more thoughtful. Cassiar wasn’t just being vague for the sake of tormenting him. Not this time.
There was something in the tone. That fondness. That quiet weight behind the words.
’He really is something.’
Thalor’s brow furrowed tighter.
"What the hell did you do this time, Lucavion..." he murmured to himself.
But then—
Movement caught his eye.
Just ahead, turning from one of the intersecting corridors under the soft halo of a brass lantern, came two figures. The light bounced faintly off platinum-blonde hair and sharp silver accents on tailored formalwear.
Thalor’s eyes narrowed.
He knew them instantly.
Adrian Lorian.
And beside him, walking with that same casual, too-precise grace...
Isolde Valoria.
The head of the Lorian envoy.
Thalor watched them for a beat longer—Adrian and Isolde, walking together like a painting drawn too perfectly. Platinum and silver. Stature and serenity. The Empire’s future on two legs, if the noble factions were to be believed.
He scoffed.
Not loud enough to draw attention. Just a quiet breath through his nose—sharp and derisive.
Engaged.
Of course they are.
Empire-sanctioned, politically cleansed, orchestrated like some grand symphony of dynastic theater.
’Two perfect puppets in perfect balance,’ he thought, turning away.
His boots clicked once against the stone before his pace resumed.
I had one too, once.
The thought came without emotion, as if brushing past an old ruin—still standing, but long since cleared of anything useful. His expression didn’t change. But his hand did twitch slightly at his side.
Too bad that it was a low-born wastrel.
One more turn through the corridor, and the faint echoes of Isolde and Adrian’s steps faded behind him.
Thalor didn’t look back.
*****
The corridor was quiet, save for the sound of their footsteps echoing off the carved stone. The light from the brass lanterns filtered softly across the gilded trim of Isolde’s cloak and the brocade on Adrian’s coat—two reflections of power walking in measured, silent rhythm.
She didn’t speak right away.
Neither did he.
But silence had always been a kind of conversation between them. One that said more than words.
At length, her voice slipped into the space like a silver blade unsheathed from velvet.
"Any news from the Capital?"
Adrian’s stride didn’t break, but his jaw set—just slightly. A flicker of tension beneath the surface.
"...Nothing yet," he said quietly.
She nodded once, not looking at him.
"I see."
It had only been two days. Two days since Adrian had sent the encrypted request to the Lorian internal intelligence network. Two days since the name Lucavion Thorne had been typed into the imperial archives with his clearance code. Two days of waiting.
A flash of candlelight caught on the edge of her eye as she turned her head, almost imperceptibly, toward him.
Two days was a short time in the Empire’s grand theater of politics.
And yet—too long for someone like her.
Adrian didn’t miss the shift in her posture. The faint straightening of her spine. The slight stillness in her hands.
She was... calculating.
Always.
He inhaled deeply, then let the breath go. Slow. Even.
But his fingers clenched behind his back.
Damn him.
Being forced to acknowledge that bet in front of the entire courtyard like that—
Adrian felt it again, that flicker of heat under his skin. Not shame. Not exactly. Something closer to indignation. A prince of the Lorian Empire, baited like a common noble into serving as witness to some commoner’s little ploy.
It was humiliating.
And yet— he couldn’t refuse.
Not in front of the entire crowd. Not with so many eyes already watching him for cracks in his poise, weakness in his character. Every Arcanian noble would’ve whispered that Lorian was afraid. That the prince couldn’t even stand as a witness without trembling.
Lucavion had known that.
He’d known exactly where to prod.
Adrian’s jaw tensed.
"He played it well," he muttered, bitterness threading the edges of his voice.
"Hm?"
Isolde looked at him fully now, a sliver of cool moonlight caught in her lavender gaze.
He didn’t repeat himself. He didn’t need to.
She already knew.
Of course she knew.
Her silence was almost... amused.
"Don’t let it weigh on you," she said, softly. Almost too gently.
Adrian frowned, faintly.
Isolde turned away again, gaze returning to the corridor ahead.
"If he’s who we think he is..." she continued, voice smooth, "
"If he’s who we think he is..." she continued, voice smooth, "then I’ll deal with him myself."
There was no tension in her tone. No rise, no tremor. Just a terrifying steadiness. Like a knife laid gently on a throat—cool, deliberate, inevitable.
Adrian glanced at her, brow tight. "...Are you sure?"
A dangerous pause.
She stopped walking.
And slowly turned to face him.
Her gaze—lavender and unreadable in the half-shadow—met his with the calm arrogance only born of blood and victory.
"When," she asked softly, "was I ever wrong?"
He hesitated, but only for a breath.
"Right," she murmured before he could answer. "Never."
And then her hand lifted to his cheek. A caress—light as frost. A gesture for the world, if anyone had been watching. A performance of intimacy, designed to look like affection.
But it wasn’t just for show.
Not entirely.
She leaned in.
And he met her halfway.
Their lips touched—a kiss that was too practiced to be passionate, too poised to be clumsy. It was not about want. Not truly. It was about possession. Claiming. The world watching and nodding. Two powerful houses sealing their arrangement with the press of mouths and ancient intent.
Yet in that kiss....
Her eyes never closed.
Lavender fire glinted behind the curtain of her lashes.
Cold. Sharp. Watching.
And for the briefest moment, as her fingers curled ever so slightly at the nape of his neck, one would wonder....
If it was really the man before her that she was kissing?
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