The trio giggled, waving back then turned to their own conversations.

Alaric made his way across the hall with determined purpose, weaving through crowd until he reached Selene's side.

"Is everything alright, my dear aunt?" he asked smoothly.

Viviane's amber eyes immediately fixed on Alaric with predatory interest, her lips curving into that same sharp smile she'd been wielding against Selene.

"Oh my… so this is the mysterious nephew?" she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

"How... unexpected to see such devotion between family members. He's handsome, yes, but I can't help but wonder… is he truly blood related, or just another one of your little secrets, Selene?"

Though before she could respond...

Alaric's crimson eyes settled on Viviane with lazy amusement, and a slow smile spread across his flushed features.

"Ah? And what exactly are you implying, Lady...?"

"Countess Viviane Valtair," she replied with obvious pride.

"Lady Valtair..." Alaric repeated thoughtfully, swirling his wine. "Interesting. You know, I've been wondering something ever since I arrived. Do all the of you here make it their hobby to stick their noses where they don't belong, or is that a special talent of yours?"

Alaric chuckled lightly.

"Lady Viviane, you shouldn't sound so jealous."

Viviane's smile faltered. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well," Alaric continued with that maddening casual tone, "it's just fascinating how concerned you are with my aunt's affairs. Almost like..." He paused, studying her with mock concentration. "Like someone who doesn't have enough happening in her own life to keep her occupied."

His smile turned razor-sharp. "Though I suppose when one's husband is busy collecting mistresses like trophies, a wife might need to find other ways to entertain herself."

The words hit like a physical blow. Viviane's face went white, then flooded crimson with rage.

"You insolent little—"

"Mother." A smooth voice interrupted as a young man, appeared to be in his early twenties, quickly positioning himself between them, and seeing his mother's facial expression.

His grey eyes fixed on Alaric with barely concealed hostility.

"Perhaps you should watch your tongue when speaking to your betters, Lord Glimor."

The way he emphasized the last word carried clear disdain, as if questioning Alaric's very right to the title.

Alaric's smile only widened, his eyes sparkling with dangerous amusement and he just swayed a little coming a bit closer.

"Betters? That's rich coming from someone whose greatest achievement is being born."

Renard's jaw tightened as he stepped closer, his posture straightening in an obvious attempt to appear more imposing.

"At least my lineage isn't... questionable. Lady Selene," he turned to her with what he probably thought was a charming smile, "surely you don't approve of such crude behavior from your... ward?"

This remark was obvious, reducing Alaric to a mere ward rather than acknowledged heir, while simultaneously positioning himself as the more refined gentleman.

"After all," Renard continued, his voice taking on a smoother tone as he focused entirely on Selene, "A lady of your... taste deserves to be surrounded by those who understand proper decorum."

Viviane watched her son's performance with growing satisfaction, clearly pleased to see him taking charge of the situation.

But Alaric just took another sip of wine, his expression one of lazy entertainment.

"Oh, this is good. Please, continue. I'm fascinated by this display of... what would you call it? Peacocking?"

His eyes gleamed with that predatory amusement as he looked Renard up and down like a cat sizing up a particularly slow mouse.

"You know what's funny about peacocks? All that flashy display, all that preening... but at the end of the day, they're still just birds trying desperately to convince everyone they're worth looking at."

He paused, tilting his head. "Tell me, Milord, does all that posturing actually work on anyone, or is this just... sad?"

Renard's face flushed in red color, his carefully maintained composure cracking.

"You—"

"That's enough, both of you. This is a gathering of peace, not a training ground. Words need not be sharpened into blades." Selene interjected smoothly, recognizing the dangerous territory they were entering.

Viviane, on the other hand, practically vibrated with indignation. She fanned herself furiously, her face coloring.

"The audacity… this insolent boy dares mock me and now my son, under your very nose, Selene!" she snapped, as though Selene herself were responsible for keeping Alaric in line.

But Renard was already too far gone. His pride, need to impress Selene, and the weight of all those amused stares pressing on him broke his restraint.

"Enough!"

Renard snarled, his amber eyes blazing. "I challenge you to a duel, here and now! Let's see how clever your tongue is when you're holding steel instead of wine!"

The words rang out clearly across the surrounding area, causing nearby conversations to halt mid-sentence. Heads turned with the magnetic pull of scandal in the making.

A low murmur surged across the hall.

"A duel? Here?"

"Finally, something worth watching tonight."

"Hah! I was starting to fall asleep."

"Count Valtair's son against Lady Selene's so-called nephew? This might be entertaining."

Viviane's eyes lit up with vicious satisfaction, this was exactly what she'd hoped for. Her son would put this upstart in his place, and Selene would see the difference between true nobility and whatever this pretender represented.

Selene, however, felt a flicker of genuine concern. Not for Alaric's wellbeing, he was, after all, primarily a useful political asset, but for the potential complications this could create. A duel gone wrong could destabilize carefully laid plans.

Some of the younger nobles who had been drowning in tedious small talk suddenly perked up with interest, leaned forward with hungry grins, eager for scandal and blood.

Others whispered among themselves, wagering already on who would win. A few older lords shook their heads but did not hide their intrigue.

Alaric tilted his head, rolling his shoulder with lazy ease before glancing toward Selene. His half-lidded eyes glimmered with amusement, lips curving as though this was more entertainment than confrontation.

She met his look without a word, then gave a small shrug and stepped back, her expression clearly conveying: You got yourself into this mess, deal with it yourself.

"Well then."

A soft chuckle slipped from Alaric's throat.

He swayed slightly, the wine still burning faintly in his veins, one hand sliding into his pocket while the other brushed back a strand of his hair.

"I suppose I accept your... what did you call it? A duel?" he drawled, voice smooth yet faintly slurred, as though mocking the weight Renard had tried to place on his challenge.

Hic!

His cheeks were still flushed that telltale red from the wine, but his crimson eyes held a glint that suggested the alcohol hadn't dulled his reflexes as much as it appeared.

A ripple passed through the gathered nobles. Excited whispers rose instantly, the tension of the hall shifting from stiff formality into the thrill of spectacle.

Bored faces lit up, eyes gleaming, at last, something worth watching.

"Clear the floor!" someone barked, and the crowd shuffled back quickly, heir excitement palpable as chairs and tables were pushed aside.

Forming a wide circle around the two young men.

This was precisely the kind of unexpected entertainment that would be talked about for weeks.

Then—

A distinguished middle-aged gentleman stepped forward, raising his hands for attention.

"Given that this is Lady Rithvale's celebration, I'll oversee this duel. No weapons, no essence usage will be allowed. We'll keep this to simple hand-to-hand combat. First to yield or be unable to continue loses."

Renard gave a sharp nod and took his position with practiced form.

His stance betraying years of formal training as he settled into a combat-ready pose. Every line of his body screamed discipline and noble martial education.

On the opposite side, Alaric barely seemed to register the weight of the occasion.

He stood with both hands still casually tucked in his pockets, gaze half-dazed yet oddly sharp beneath the haze of wine.

His posture so relaxed he might have been waiting for tea service.

"Agreed," he murmured, tilting his head like a predator humoring prey.

From the edges of the circle, Marcus and his companions erupted in cheers for Renard, voices rowdy and eager, already declaring victory in their friend's name.

"Go lord Renard, show him whom to not mess with."

"Yeh. Remind him who's the boss, Renard."

Viviane smiled faintly, clearly entertained.

Selene, arms folded and face unreadable, simply watched, attention sharp, though she gave no sign of support for either side.

Meanwhile, the trio of young ladies, Cordelia, Catherine, and Eleanor, watched with bright-eyes, though they maintained neutrality.

They leaned closer, whispering among themselves with barely concealed anticipation, eager to see how the cocky exchange would unfold.

Livia, however, stood apart from the excitement. Her grey eyes were fixed on Alaric with unmistakable worry, her fingers unconsciously clutching the tear-shaped pendant at her chest as she silently hoped this wouldn't end as badly as it could.

The air grew charged, every gaze fixed on the circle, awaiting the first move.