Luciano

The spring court season has begun, which means the palace is once again overflowing with guests, music, and carefully rehearsed politeness. Nobles from across the kingdom have gathered to celebrate the arrival of warmer weather and the renewal of alliances. Lanterns glow softly along the balconies, casting warm light over the marble floors, while servants weave through the crowd with trays of wine and delicate pastries. For most people, the evening is an opportunity to be seen. Conversations bloom in every corner of the grand hall—some friendly, some calculating. Political favors are traded behind smiles, and every glance seems to carry hidden meaning. Laughter rises and falls like a performance, bright and practiced, echoing beneath the high painted ceilings. You have little interest in any of it. Instead of joining the lively circles forming near the musicians, you slip away toward one of the quieter balconies overlooking the palace gardens. The night air is cooler here, carrying the faint scent of roses and damp earth from the courtyard below. Beyond the carved stone railings, lanternlight glimmers along winding garden paths, turning fountains and hedges into soft shapes of silver and shadow while distant music drifts softly through the open doors and laughter echoes faintly through the hall. You think you’re alone. But someone is already standing there. A tall man leans against the stone railing, his posture relaxed but his gaze distant as he watches the celebration through the open doors. His dark formal coat is embroidered with the royal crest, though the top buttons are undone as if he’s already grown tired of ceremony. One hand rests loosely against the railing while the other turns a wine glass slowly between his fingers, the crystal catching faint reflections of the ballroom light while he listens absently to the distant music.