Leoran

Before my eyes, the image of Cedric du Mortier took shape with striking clarity. His jet-black hair framed his face, and his cold blue eyes regarded me with their usual arrogance. Undoubtedly, it was him. My elder brother.

"You've finally woken up," his voice was heavy, like the sound of a stone hitting the ground. The weight of it pressed into me, a suffocating sense of oppression washing over me.

My brother was here... That meant one of the servants had rushed to inform him of my recovery.

"Yes… I'm awake, but my body still aches," I replied calmly, determined not to show any weakness. "Take a seat and share a meal with me."

Cedric crossed his arms over his chest and cast a skeptical glance at the table, where only a few scraps of food remained. The corners of his lips twitched—whether in amusement or disdain, I couldn't tell.

"Judging by the state of things, you've already enjoyed my meal to the fullest," he noted coldly. "It seems you've truly recovered if you can afford such indulgences."

There was a hint of reproach in his voice, but I merely smiled in response. We both knew this conversation was just another round in our endless game.

"I did not expect your visit, so I ate it all myself," I said nonchalantly, leaning back in my chair. "Forgive me, brother, but you see, I was in a coma… because you impaled me with a spear. So, forgive my lack of restraint—my hunger proved stronger."

I was speaking almost the pure truth, but Cedric looked at me as though I were the most audacious liar in existence. His expression darkened, his features sharpened, and something heavy and unreadable flickered in his blue eyes. He didn't say a word. He simply turned on his heel and left, his ever-present attendant following close behind.

I exhaled, watching them go.

Why did I respond to him so harshly? I was supposed to earn his favor…

Stuffed to the brim, I couldn't help but think that the life of a marquis's younger son wasn't nearly as miserable as described in the novel. The food was delicious, the bed soft, the servants respectful—it was easy to grow accustomed to.

But should I really let my guard down? I wasn't sure my brother would simply let my insolence slide. He might hold a grudge, wait for the right moment, and strike when I least expected it. Staying vigilant wouldn't hurt.

If I wanted to earn my parents' recognition, I needed to establish my authority here. But surpassing my elder brother wouldn't be easy. He was too deeply rooted in our father's heart—too useful, too reliable. Father wouldn't turn away from him just because I wished it. Cedric was his pride, his trusted heir. And I?..

For now, I was merely the younger son, a shadow behind his back. But not for long.

"Doris, where is my father right now?"

"Your father, my lord, is attending the aristocracy's assembly," she replied respectfully, lowering her head.

I nodded, smirking to myself.

That meant I didn't have much time, but perhaps just enough…

"Then prepare clean clothes for me and have the carriage readied."

Doris flinched, her eyes widening in horror.

"What? But why? My lord, you can't! Your wound hasn't healed yet!"

I looked at her gently but firmly, letting the corners of my lips curve into a faint smile.

"I appreciate your concern, Doris, but please, do as I say."

She pressed her lips together, torn between duty and worry, but eventually, she nodded and hurried off to carry out my request.

I ran a hand over my waist, feeling the dull ache of my recent wound, and inhaled deeply.

Father was at the aristocracy's assembly. I needed to obtain that item before his return.

***

The trading city of Leoran unfolded before me in all its splendor. Narrow streets were lined with stalls overflowing with vibrant fabrics, gleaming jewelry, and tantalizing delicacies. The air was thick with the aromas of spices, fresh pastries, and sweet honey. Everywhere, the lively chatter of merchants calling to customers mixed with the laughter of townsfolk enjoying the festival.

I stepped out of the carriage leisurely, taking in the bustling, breathing atmosphere, when a dizzyingly sweet scent suddenly filled my lungs.

"Doris, what is that wonderful smell?" I asked, squinting slightly in delight.

"Those are honey buns, my lord. They're made especially for the solstice festival," she replied with an awkward smile.

I inhaled the divine aroma once more, feeling a warm, almost childlike excitement stir inside me. Unable to resist smiling, I headed toward the source of the tempting scent.

In my past life, I had been a terrible sweet tooth… Was I the same in this one?

"My lord, wait for me! Slow down!" Doris called after me, clearly worried.

But I only laughed and continued forward, guided by my sweet craving.

"Two, please!" I requested, sneaking a glance at Doris with a playful smile.

A kind-looking old woman promptly wrapped two golden-brown buns in paper and held out her hand, waiting for payment.

I froze. Something was off… Something I had overlooked. A few long seconds passed as I simply stared at her outstretched palm before realization struck me.

Payment… I needed to pay for them!

"Uh… Doris?" I turned to my companion, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. "Do we have any money?"

She pursed her lips as if she had expected this situation all along.

"My lord…" she said quietly but firmly. "The marquis has forbidden you from spending your allowance…"

I blinked, momentarily dumbfounded.

"What?.." was all I managed to say, utterly taken aback.

Awkwardly shifting my gaze back to the old woman, I felt an uncomfortable warmth creep up my face.

"Could we… put it on my father's account?" I asked hesitantly, throwing another pleading glance at Doris.

But she remained silent, staring at the ground, clearly expecting me to figure this out myself.

Why hadn't I thought this through beforehand…

Just as I was about to turn and leave, embarrassed, the old woman silently placed the warm paper pouch into my hands.

I stared at her in amazement. She simply smiled—genuinely, kindly, without a hint of reproach.

A wave of warmth washed over me. Touched by her kindness, I bowed to her in gratitude, just as I had in my past life.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Doris freeze in shock, as if her soul was about to leave her body.

Pleased, I sat on the edge of a fountain, relishing the cool stone beneath my hands. Finally, I could indulge myself.

But as I unwrapped the pouch, I suddenly remembered I wasn't alone.

I glanced at Doris and, without a word, extended one of the buns to her. She froze, her eyes widening as if she might cry.

"This… is for me?" she whispered in disbelief.

I merely smiled and, gazing at the sky, asked thoughtfully:

"Doris, tell me… Where can I find a cello?"

She stiffened, clearly not expecting that question.

***

Wandering into a secluded alley, we stumbled upon a music shop. A modest sign, slightly dusty windows—the place didn't look too wealthy, but inside, rare instruments were undoubtedly hidden.

As I stepped in, the shopkeeper greeted me with a heavy gaze, full of distrust. I frowned slightly.

Why was he looking at me like that? I was simply dressed and didn't look suspicious… Or did I?

"Sir, could I borrow this cello for a couple of hours?" I asked, a little nervous.

The man crossed his arms. His narrowed eyes carried something harsh, almost threatening.

"What do you need it for?"

His voice was rough, his expression unreadable—like a mercenary accustomed to seeing only lies and greed in people.

"I need to earn money for food," I admitted honestly. "Please lend it to me. I'll return double the price for the instrument."

The shopkeeper chuckled, shaking his head.

"And how can I be sure you'll return with my cello?"

I hesitated for only a moment, then, seeing no better option, resolutely grabbed Doris by the shoulders and pushed her forward.

"Here! Take her as collateral!"

Doris paled, turning to me with a look of sheer terror.

The shopkeeper snorted.

"Take it. But if it's not back in two hours, your servant will pay for your theft… with her hands."

I tensed. Was he serious?

Glancing at Doris, I saw pure horror radiating from her.

Still, I nodded.

"Deal."

I will definitely apologize to her… if, of course, we make it out of here in one piece.

***

As soon as Doris disappeared from sight, I felt a subtle, almost elusive scent of freedom. It was pleasant, filling me with lightness and anticipation.

Gripping the cello tightly in my hands, I made my way to the fountain—the very center of the square. A sizable crowd had already gathered there.

Perfect. Someone was bound to notice me.

Without hesitation, I sat on the edge of the fountain, placed the instrument between my legs, and lightly ran my fingers over its smooth surface. A few people were already watching me with interest.

I took a deep breath, pressed the bow to the strings…

And suddenly, everything around me froze.

In that moment, as the first sound escaped from the taut strings, the world seemed to vanish. Only the instrument and I remained.

The notes flowed softly, one after another, weaving into the city's rhythm. The music seeped into the crowd, wrapping around the listeners, and judging by their captivated expressions, it touched something deep, something real.

***

"Your Grace, where are you taking me?" murmured a man in a black cloak, his voice tinged with mild irritation as he struggled to keep pace with his companion.

"Don't you hear it?" the other responded, walking ahead. His voice was thoughtful, almost in awe. "That melody…"

They moved swiftly through the narrow alley, gliding like shadows in the labyrinth of the city's backstreets. The music grew clearer, filling the space with thin, mesmerizing notes.

Finally, the street opened up into the central square.

The young man in the lead didn't hesitate—he pulled back his hood, and the lantern light caught in his wavy golden hair. His gaze immediately found the source of the music—a young man sitting by the fountain, deeply engrossed in playing the cello.

"Amazing…" he breathed, his eyes fixed on the musician.

"Your Grace, we should return… Perhaps it's not w—"

He never got to finish his sentence.

The young noble, as if not hearing him, suddenly darted forward, slipping through the crowd to get closer to the musician.

The man left behind could only sigh, wiping his forehead with a trembling hand—whether from anxiety or heat, he was now drenched in sweat.

The blond man pulled his hood back up, once again concealing his golden hair. Now, only his eyes were visible beneath the fabric—deep, black, glimmering with an enigmatic light.

He stopped in the front row, holding his breath, his gaze locked onto Eliot.

The musician, without raising his eyes, was completely absorbed in his performance. The wind played with his dark strands, but he seemed unaware of it, oblivious to both the wind and the crowd. His fingers moved with astonishing ease, weaving a melody that made the air tremble and time itself seem to slow.

"I don't believe it…" the cloaked stranger murmured, simultaneously astonished and pleased, a barely perceptible smirk curling his lips.