Altus Plateau.
Horace Loux reclined in a soft seat, his long silver-white hair loose over his shoulders, watching the streets slide backward outside the window.
The carriage was leaving Leyndell, following the main road toward Liurnia.
Across the carriage, Rellana Caria leaned against the window, looking just as exhausted.
"I never want to attend another wedding," Rellana suddenly said, her voice drained.
"Anyone else's or our own."
Horace did not open his eyes. "Agreed."
Neither of them wanted to think about the wedding that had just ended.
The reason was simple: those powerful nobles had swarmed over in wave after wave like sharks scenting blood, trying to attach themselves to the first lord's younger brother.
Every smile was carefully calculated, every congratulation concealed a probe, and every clink of glasses carried the flavor of a transaction.
Horace was annoyed to death, but he could not lash out.
The nobles were the middle pillars of the dynasty's rule, the gears that kept its territories running. Horace no longer represented only himself; in the nobles' eyes, he was Godfrey's brother.
And weddings in the Golden Dynasty were themselves an important part of noble social life.
Strengthening alliances and exchanging benefits over drinks was an unspoken rule among Leyndell's nobles.
Etiquette prevented Horace from refusing the conversations that came his way.
He had to smile, nod, raise his glass, and exchange pleasantries a thousand times over, listening to the same flattery and roundabout requests.
Although Godfrey himself paid absolutely no attention to any of this-the first lord had spent the wedding drinking against the Crucible Knights, leaving a crowd of nobles hanging-Horace could not afford to ignore it.
Everyone knew the first lord was simply a great general, and that the lion on his shoulder was the true "king." No fool would try