"Ooh, seems we’ve arrived!"

The rhythmic rattling of carriage wheels against the stone roads of the capital felt weirdly loud after days of traveling through the quiet forest. As the envoy reached the top of the last hill, the Capital finally came into view.

Cherion pulled the curtain back for a better look outside with obvious curiosity. Even through the carriage window, he could feel the change in atmosphere immediately. People lined the streets, stopping whatever they were doing the second the procession passed by. Some leaned out of windows while others crowded the sidewalks, whispering loudly enough to blend into the constant noise of wheels and horses. Quite a few pointed at the black wolf crest fluttering on the Valtrane banner.

"I wonder if the Solaric envoy already got here," Cherion mused while scanning the crowd.

Zarius, sitting across from him, didn’t even bother to look out the window. He sat in a state of stony, oppressive silence, his arms crossed over his chest like a physical barrier. The Duke had been in a foul mood ever since they left the forest, ever since Gillian Sylvaris had dared to linger a second too long on Cherion.

"Probably," Zarius grunted, his voice like grinding gravel. "They departed before us. Or maybe they didn’t. Who cares?"

Cherion turned away from the window to frown at the Duke. Zarius looked like he was ready to bite the head off anyone who spoke to him, and Cherion knew exactly why.

According to the background details Reiner had filled him in on, the relationship between Zarius and the Solaric Prince was written in blood and scorched earth. The Valtrane line was always destined to lead Auzelia’s wars, and for years, Zarius had been the one to face Gillian on the battlefield. They weren’t just political rivals, they were legendary enemies who had spent a decade trying to tear each other down. To Zarius, the "Peace Treaty" wasn’t just a document, it was a forced invitation to let a man he hated walk through his front door.

"You look like you’re chewing on nails," Cherion remarked. "Try to relax."

Zarius responded with something dangerously close to a growl and turned his head away like an offended wolf the size of a building.

Fifteen minutes later, the carriage slowed to a crawl before turning into a massive arched driveway. When the door was finally opened, Cherion stepped down and let out a low, appreciative whistle. Standing before him was the Valtrane estate, a masterpiece of dark stone and intricate masonry that looked like it could withstand a siege while simultaneously hosting a royal ball.

A long line of maids, footmen, and household guards were already standing in perfect formation, their heads bowed in synchronized respect.

"Wow," Cherion whispered, eyes wide as he took in the scale of the manor. "You have a home here, too? I knew you were rich-rich, Zarius, but I didn’t realize you were rich-rich-rich."

Elios, who was supervising the unloading of the luggage, caught Cherion’s awe and offered a soft, amused chuckle. "His Grace owns estates in several key territories, Lord Cherion. It is a necessity for a Duke of his standing to have multiple residences throughout the kingdom."

"Good, good," Cherion nodded, looking at the architecture with a critical eye. "That’s a solid investment portfolio. Real estate is the only thing that lasts."

Inside his head, Cherion was practically laughing. Of course he’s rich-rich-rich, he thought. He’s a serialized fiction Duke. Imagine if the author gave him terrifying power, political influence, trauma, battlefield glory, and then made him live in a two-bedroom apartment with bad plumbing.

Unfortunately, Zarius still looked miserable. He marched toward the entrance, his cape snapping behind him. A man in his late forties, dressed in a crisp, high-collared suit, stepped forward to meet them at the base of the stairs.

"Welcome back, Your Grace. Lady Marielle," the man said, bowing deeply. He then turned a pair of sharp, observant eyes toward Cherion. "I am Theon, the head steward of the Valtrane estate in the capital. It is an honor to finally meet the one we have heard so much about."

Cherion offered a friendly wave. "Nice to meet you, Theon. I’m Cherion Antel. Thanks for having me."

Theon’s eyebrow twitched for half a second at the painfully casual greeting, but years of noble-related suffering kept his expression perfectly polite. "The honor is ours. Please, come inside. You must be exhausted from the journey. I have had the rooms prepared as per His Grace’s instructions."

The interior of the estate was even more imposing than the outside. The ceilings were absurdly high, the walls covered in dark polished wood, and the whole place smelled faintly like cedar, old books, and generational wealth. Once they reached the his chamber, Cherion practically dove toward the massive bed in the center of the room. He landed flat on his stomach with a muffled groan of relief, his face sinking into the silk-covered pillows.

"I’ll go prepare some snacks and tea," Reiner’s voice came from the doorway, sounding much more composed than Cherion felt. "You should rest for a moment while the staff brings up the trunks."

Cherion just waved a limp hand in the air, a silent sign of acknowledgment. He heard the heavy thud of the door closing, leaving him in a sudden, blissful silence.

For several minutes, Cherion simply lay there in silence, letting his exhausted body slowly relax into the mattress. Then he rolled onto his back with a long sigh, staring up at the detailed gold carvings decorating the ceiling.

His mind, which usually moved at a hundred miles an hour, immediately drifted back to the Solaric envoy.

He frowned, his eyes narrowing as he replayed the events in the forest. This wasn’t in the novel, he thought, his chest tightening with a familiar sense of unease.

No, not only the scene. But the people itself.

But now, everything was shifting.

Then he rolled onto his back with a long sigh, staring up at the detailed gold carvings decorating the ceiling. In a world where he was trying to navigate a "villain" toward a happy ending and avoid his own demise, a new variable was the last thing he needed. He didn’t know if this Solaric presence would bring good or bad for them.

On one hand, a peace treaty could mean stability, giving him more room to breathe. On the other hand... the Solaric royals could be opportunistic enemies waiting for a moment of weakness, or an annoying political distraction that would draw Zarius’s attention away from the real threats.

He thought of the way Gillian had looked at him, not with the fear people usually showed around Zarius, but with a sharp, calculating curiosity.

I need to be on my guard, Cherion decided, his resolve hardening. I don’t know the rules of their game yet.

He wasn’t going to let some blue-haired Prince fro that shouldn’t even be here mess up the life he was building. Peace treaty or not, Cherion knew that in this world, the moment you stopped watching your back was the moment someone put a knife in it.

Cherion exhaled slowly and glanced around the luxurious room again. Suddenly, the beautiful suite felt less comforting and more like an extremely expensive cage.

Yeah, no, he thought flatly. I’m watching every single one of them.