CHAPTER 116: GIVING FACE, TAKING BLOWS

Yes. If only.

Maybe if a certain elf had been more mindful of turning his back, then things wouldn’t have turned out this way.

But then again, it’d only ever be a might-have-been.

Maybe if that were the case, Riley would’ve been sitting elsewhere. He might have been busy—actually, he would certainly be busy—but at the very least, he’d be seated. Seated and justifiably safer.

He also wouldn’t have been carried like a sack of grain after experiencing a flight he’d never, ever want to take again.

But more than that, maybe he wouldn’t be out there in the wild, digging his own grave even deeper.

At least he was still dressed appropriately: all black, for his possible funeral. Although that would be for later. For now, they still had to deal with this.

Rowan Elowen, current heir and the likeliest person to inherit his father’s title, came forward with polished grace. His silver hair caught the light, his robes pristine, his expression calm. A prince straight out of the storybooks.

"Lord Dravaryn," he said smoothly, bowing just enough to be polite. "Allow me to welcome you to Silvara. Though I must apologize for... the manner of your arrival."

Riley groaned internally. Oh, so now it’s ’welcome’ after you tried to slice us into pieces on entry?

Kael’s eyes, molten and unblinking, slid over Rowan. "Apologize? That is generous. I thought it was deliberate."

Rowan’s smile didn’t waver. "You must understand, Lord Dravaryn, lowering the barrier even for a moment would endanger the entire territory. Security is not something we can afford to compromise—least of all in times as critical as these."

"Security," Kael repeated, his tone as flat as a hammer. "Curious. Because I noticed how quickly your people scrambled to repair the part I momentarily opened." His lips curved in something that was not a smile. "Remarkably fragile for a central barrier."

Riley, who had been dragging his feet and trying not to vomit on elf marble, froze. He remembered this. He remembered Kael’s words earlier, spoken in that calm, quiet way that always made Riley think he was about to be volunteered for something lethal.

"It isn’t one great shield," Kael had told him. "It’s a network of smaller ones. The runes ignite at the same time to create the illusion of a single vast defense."

"Why?" Riley had asked, nearly tripping as he tried to keep up with the dragon lord’s ridiculously long strides.

"Show of might," Kael had said simply. "Because who else would dare claim they could shield a territory this large? They rely on appearances. That is all."

At the time, Riley had thought it was one hell of a ruse. A lie so polished, so well-practiced, that even he would have believed it if Kael hadn’t bothered to explain.

So why tell him?

When Riley asked that, Kael’s reply had been effortless. "So you can call their lies."

And sure enough, here it was.

Because when Kael casually mentioned how they were patching the hole he’d made in the barrier, Rowan’s mask slipped. For a fraction of a second—barely a heartbeat—there was worry in his expression.

Then it was gone, replaced once again by the cordial, composed mask of a crown prince.

But Riley had seen it.

Oh, he had definitely seen it.

A cracking mask and that fleeting look of desperation.

Riley couldn’t unsee it. He kept spotting it everywhere—the nervous flickers in elven expressions, the too-careful tones in their voices.

By the time he’d rejected the seventh food offering, he was convinced he’d rather fast the entire time they were in Silvara than accept so much as a grape.

To begin with, Kael had already told him to be wary. But Riley didn’t think much of it. Being wary was his natural state of existence. He’d been reborn wary the day he started working under the dragon lord.

By now, he was used to traveling with what amounted to a miniature version of his house. A self-sustaining bundle of necessities, preserved goods, and even emergency gifts so that he didn’t have to depend on anyone else for anything. Because favors among magical beings? They weren’t really favors. They were contracts. And sometimes contracts could mean your life.

And heck, if he was already working off one lifetime mortgage, signing another one would be downright reckless. Absolutely not. That would just be pushing it.

But then the uneasiness settled in.

It started as Lord Rowan led them, not to a war room, not to the council chambers, but to... the dining hall.

That was the first mark.

Riley blinked. A national emergency of this magnitude, and they’re bringing us to the dining room?

He glanced at Kael, trying to read if the dragon lord also thought it strange. But Kael’s expression was as serene and unreadable as ever. Since no comment came, Riley decided not to tempt fate by asking. He simply followed, stomach twisting tighter with each step.

The towering double doors opened with a ceremonial flourish.

Inside, a long table stretched beneath crystal chandeliers, lined with silver and porcelain. Seated at the far end were five elves, elegant as paintings, their faces calm, their posture perfect. Before them lay a grand spread of food, each dish carefully arranged like part of an edible crown jewel display.

Rowan moved aside with a sweep of his arm, gesturing toward them.

"Lord Dravaryn," spoke the one at the center, Lord Arlen Elowen, the High Lord himself. His voice was rich, commanding, but not unkind. "And his aide. Welcome to Silvara. I would have much preferred to greet you during a more joyous occasion, but alas..." His lips thinned, eyes solemn. "Circumstances are not as we would wish. Still, I apologize for the suddenness of this summons."

Kael inclined his head slightly. "Acknowledged."

That was it. Nothing more.

Riley almost winced. That’s how you respond to a High Lord? Just... acknowledged?

Before the awkward silence could settle too deeply, Lady Rhiannon Elowen leaned forward, her beauty sharp as a blade. "We insist you eat with us, Lord Dravaryn. Surely, after such a journey, you and your aide must be tired. The least we can do is offer nourishment before discussing such heavy matters."

The food smelled good. Too good. Riley’s stomach made a treacherous lurch, and he forced his face into the cordial mask he always used when surrounded by beings who could probably decimate him with a thought. He smiled politely, hands folded, waiting to see how Kael would respond.

And then Kael answered.

"Dining at this point," Kael said smoothly, "may not be the best course of action. After all, I have come in a personal capacity. Due to the stringent requirements your heir set, it seems I will be conducting the investigation with no one but my aide."

The sarcasm dripped so elegantly that Riley almost applauded. Almost.

Instead, he just stood there with his cordial smile, screaming internally as his nose was once again assaulted by the cruelly delicious smell of roasted venison and honeyed bread.

Did Kael just decline the Elven royal feast?

Did he really?

Apparently, yes.

But then, there it was.

If earlier it had just been Rowan who slipped, now it was Lady Lina Elowen’s turn. The young-looking elf’s delicate features twisted into something that looked... constipated. Truly constipated. Until, of course, she noticed Riley staring right at her.

Her back straightened, her lips curved, and suddenly she was all soft and gentle smiles, as if the grimace had never happened.

Riley blinked. Oh, that’s rich. These people could plaster on masks faster than I can make up an excuse for being late.

The rest of the family made their attempt to smooth things over, brushing off Kael’s cutting remark as if it hadn’t stung.

"Of course," Rowan said lightly, "we know well how strong you are, Lord Dravaryn. Perhaps in some ways it is better this way. After all, in the past, you often preferred to work alone."

Another elf added smoothly, "Yes, surely it is more convenient. This arrangement must suit you better, does it not?"

The backhanded praise was so syrupy that Riley almost gagged. They were trying to spin it as though they were doing Kael a favor, like isolating him was some sort of gift.

Kael’s expression did not shift. "If you say so. Since I only responded on the scale you yourselves presented," he said calmly.

Rowan tilted his head slightly. "...The scale?"

"You called it a continental crisis," Kael said, his golden eyes gleaming with faint amusement.

"Surely you wouldn’t expect me to answer something so important with anything less? After all, you Elowens, have always placed great importance on manners—on giving face, on making sure that concerns are treated with seriousness. I thought the least I could do was respect your traditions by treating your panic with the gravity it demanded."

The words were smooth, but every sentence carried a blade beneath it.

Riley stood there, cordial smile plastered on his face, internally reeling.

It was a rare thing even for Kael, but it was painfully obvious that his boss was planning on keeping up with that chatter this time around.

He had even borrowed such a poisonous tongue!

And yet—he couldn’t deny it—it sounded like music to his ears.

Riley actually had to bite his own lip to stop himself from applauding the golden lizard.