Tenrian nobility was not governed by law.
It was governed by appearance.
To a child like Deus Zars — who'd already dissected his first opponent like a chess piece — that was both a joke and an opportunity. Because here, among lords and ladies swathed in silk and power, truth was just another tool to polish… or bury.
"You must bow at a forty-five-degree angle. Any deeper, and you appear servile. Any shallower, and you appear insolent."
Deus didn't nod. He simply adjusted his posture.
The etiquette instructor pursed her lips, uncertain whether she liked the boy or feared him.
He was only eight — too young to be attending a noble gala. But this was the Zars family, and he was their heir. That changed things. Expectations bent when your family controlled nearly one-third of southern Tenria's military economy.
Deus was to attend the Winter Accord — a masked political gathering where alliances were tested and broken over wine and false compliments.
"Smile when introduced," the instructor continued. "But only with your mouth. Nobles smell desperation when it reaches the eyes."
Deus blinked.
"Why smile at all if it's not necessary?"
The instructor froze.
Then chuckled, unsure. "Because sincerity is... inconvenient."
That night, Thesea Zars entered his chamber unannounced — as she often did.
She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the silver pin in her hair. Deus sat behind her, lacing up his ceremonial boots.
"You've memorized the noble houses?"
"Yes," he replied.
She tested him anyway.
"House Velmara?"
"Trade and ports. Backed by the Church of Eden."
"House Al Gray?"
A pause.
"Military. Steel industry. Their daughter is—"
"I didn't ask about the daughter."
Silence.
Thesea looked at him through the mirror.
"She'll be there tonight. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't stare. Don't play games with people who don't know they're in one."
"I wasn't planning to."
"You were. That's why I reminded you."
She walked away before he could answer.
The Winter Accord – Royal District of Varnemire
The ballroom was carved from crystal and cold light. Chandeliers spun like frozen stars, and the guests danced more with words than feet.
Deus entered quietly, flanked by two guards. He wore a silver half-mask, patterned with runes of minor protection. It didn't hide much — just enough to leave the mind guessing.
He greeted who he needed to greet. Bowed, but not too low. Smiled, but not warmly.
He moved like a shadow given manners.
"Zars has bred a killer," someone whispered behind a fan.
"I heard he reads battle theory instead of fairy tales."
"Do you think he's ever smiled for real?"
Deus heard all of it.
He cataloged each voice and stored each face. Every ally. Every threat. Every opportunity.
He found himself alone near the glass archway overlooking the frozen garden.
Then — a voice.
"Staring at flowers won't make you seem interesting."
He turned.
She stood there, unmasked.
Lizia Al Gray.
Same white-gray eyes. Same smirk from the capital. Wearing a midnight-blue dress and an expression like she'd already figured him out.
"You're not supposed to speak first," he said.
She sipped her drink. "You're not supposed to pretend to be a person."
He said nothing.
She stepped beside him, looking out at the frost-covered roses.
"They say you don't use magic. That you win fights with strategy."
"I win fights by understanding weakness."
She raised an eyebrow. "Including mine?"
"Everyone's."
She tilted her head, intrigued. "That's not confidence. That's arrogance."
"Is there a difference when you're correct?"
She let out a small laugh — unladylike and honest.
"Zars boys are usually boring. You're something else."
He didn't smile.
But something in his chest… shifted.
Across the room, Thesea watched them.
Duke Stradar approached, wine in hand.
"She's baiting him," he muttered.
"No. She's testing him."
"And if he fails?"
"Thesea sipped from her own glass. "Then she'll become part of the lesson."
Midnight – End of the Accord
Deus returned to his quarters, stripped off the ceremonial armor, and stood before the mirror.
He stared at his reflection — eyes cold, mouth flat.
Then slowly, he raised the corners of his lips into a small smile.
Held it.
Dropped it.
Held it again.
A flicker of satisfaction passed through his eyes.
He had learned something new tonight.
Obedience was just another illusion — and he had mastered it.