The grand hall was silent. Every noble and servant and warrior who had been present had seen it.
Aric had crushed one of the duke's most powerful knights without a single challenge.
Sir Reynard gasped and writhed on the polished marble floor. Broken ribs. Shattered pride. His greatsword, the bastion of his strength, lay strewn at Aric's feet.
The balance of power in the room had changed.
Aric was no longer merely a daring outsider.
He was a threat.
The Duke's expression was inscrutable, but Aric caught the way his fingers pressed harder into his goblet—one slight, unconscious marker of irritation.
Good, Aric thought, smirking. He's figuring out I'm not a person he can control.
And across from him, Lady Isadora Ravencourt regarded him with bemusement.
A Calculated Response
It was Duke Vaelis who finally ended the silence.
"Well," he said, his voice as smooth as ever. "My knight appears to have been… ill-equipped to the such a foe.
A veiled admission of defeat. But not surrender.
The Duke wasn't easily the kind of man to bow.
He refocused his gaze on Aric. "Strength alone is a lot, but it is not all. Here, power is won in loyalty, strategy and alliances."
Aric cocked his head to the side, interested. Where is he going with this?
"Tell me," the Duke went on, "would you serve under my command?"
The nobles gasped. The Duke was giving him a seat in his ranks?
Selene stiffened beside him. She knew her father too well. This was no reward. It was a test. A trap.
But Aric only smiled.
"I serve no man," he replied simply.
Another sharp silence.
The Duke looked him over, then gave a brief, approving nod. "Interesting."
It wasn't clear to Aric whether the Duke found this amusing or infuriating. Perhaps both.
Either way, he had been clear about his position.
An Invitation in the Shadows
But the energy around the banquet had shifted. The nobles murmured behind their cups, eyeing Aric with a mixture of terror and interest.
And then, as the evening started to dwindle, a servant pressed a folded note into Aric's palm.
He opened it discreetly.
Just one line, drafted in beautiful cursive:
"Meet me in the east wing. Midnight."
There was no signature. But Aric didn't need one.
His eyes turned to Lady Isadora Ravencourt.
She was already gazing up at him.
And she was smiling.