Balls, Tea Party and Jade Carving

The gates of the capital of the Kingdom of Ro thundered open with a great cheer.

Alexis, draped in polished silver and sapphire-studded armor, led his triumphant army through the stone streets. 

Trumpets sang their arrival, and flower petals rained down from balconies crowded with citizens waving flags, cheering his name.

"Glory to General Alexis!"

"Champion of the Barren Victory!"

"Hero of Ro!"

His soldiers behind him chanted rhythmic praises, some singing bawdy victory songs with his name woven into every chorus. 

Even the warhorses were adorned with garlands and blue silks as if the heavens themselves had favored the Kingdom that day.

Despite the grandeur, Alexis's smile was practiced, polished like his armor, but hollow inside.

By evening, the palace was alight with music and candlefire. The ballroom, marble-pillared and golden domed, echoed with the swirl of waltzes and clinking of goblets.

The King, a broad-shouldered man with graying hair and eyes like winter steel, stood on his raised dais. A jeweled goblet in hand.

"Citizens of Ro! Tonight, we honor not only our victory—but the man who brought it to us."

The hall hushed, the flicker of chandeliers shimmering over the polished floor.

"My nephew, the gallant General Alexis—not only has he bested the East in fair combat, but his tactics ensured minimal loss of our valiant men. With such honor, courage, and wisdom, he brings our Kingdom glory unmatched."

Applause thundered. Goblets raised. Eyes turned.

Alexis stepped forward, bowing with respectful humility, hand over chest.

"It was only through Your Majesty's foresight, support, and blessing that I could stand victorious," he said smoothly. "As a humble servant of the Kingdom, I am honored to act as Your sword and shield."

The King beamed, clearly pleased. 

He grasped Alexis's shoulder, pulling him close in a hearty show of affection. "Well spoken! Let us celebrate both conquest and future prosperity."

Alexis bowed again. Let the game begin, he thought.

As the orchestra played, nobles flooded the floor in opulent silks and shimmering jewels. 

Lady after lady approached him with coy smiles and hopeful glances, fluttering fans and compliments.

"Oh General, your sword must be as sharp as your wit!"

"You must teach my brother how to ride, you tamed a beast of the East!"

"I hear your tent was always neat! A man who is tidy is one worth keeping!"

Alexis, all charm and grin, deftly passed them off to unsuspecting bachelors nearby, excusing himself for urgent matters, distant relatives, and mysterious injuries.

Slipping out of the grandeur, he wandered past stone corridors and through the overgrown hedge maze that led to the old royal garden—untouched, forgotten.

The moon hung low, just a thin silver waning arc now.

He sighed and sank onto a weathered stone bench, fingers resting on the hilt of his ceremonial sword.

This is what I want, he thought, quiet… and perhaps, not being chased by marriage candidates like a prized stag.

His gaze wandered skyward.

He thought of that cliff, jagged and wind-worn.

And of the man who stood there that night under the moon—not-so-General Hiral, face tilted skyward, thoughts lost to something no one could reach. 

Not even him.

Alexis laughed softly to himself, sad and almost fond.

"How ridiculous," he muttered. "Wishing I were beside him again… sharing dried fruit on a cold rock."

But the memory remained vivid—Hiral's eyes, clear and steady like polished obsidian. 

Eyes that made Alexis feel like his soul, heart, and mind were laid bare. Pierced yet seen in clarity. 

Reflected in those eyes, I looked vulnerable yet honored as a survivor of countless trials, he thought.

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

"I've lost my mind," he whispered. "He's the enemy. And I'm a fool."

He stood, dusting his coat.

"But if I'm truly mad, then better to be mad with purpose."

Alexis looked back toward the lights of the palace—golden and decadent—and remembered the whispers he had heard in the tavern, the wounds of a kingdom ignored, its poor left to rot while nobles danced in silk.

I may not have Hiral beside me, he thought, but I'll do what I can to be the kind of man he'd respect and trust.

He turned away from the garden, determination firm in his chest, and made his way back to the halls where the real battle awaited.

****

Night blanketed the Kingdom of Ro's capital in the hush of formality—palatial towers aglow with candlelight and watchfires, orchestras long silenced from the grand ball in the royal court.

But in Duke Alexis of Ashrift's private estate, a different kind of music played: the soft whirr of gears, the hiss of cooled metal, and the dripping of ink from detailed schematics scattered across a wide cedar desk.

Here, Alexis—the nation's beloved general, the king's golden nephew, and society's darling—was no longer a commander of men. He was an inventor. 

A ghost. 

A man behind an alias inked on every blueprint smuggled into the working class.

Portable steam packs for winter marching. Foldable field cots with self-insulating cloth. Water-purifying flasks small enough for a child to carry.

The nobles thought they came from some eccentric academic deep in the Southern Foundries.

They didn't know he lived in their own capital.

A soft click echoed in the room.

Alexis didn't look up.

Without turning, he flicked a bronze ring on the base of the oil lamp, triggering the trap gear behind his chair. A hidden dart mechanism slammed from the bookshelf and caught the would-be assassin square in the throat. The man collapsed with a gurgle.

"Five tonight," Alexis murmured dryly, rising and wiping ink from his hands. "They're getting bold."

He stepped over the body without pause, headed toward his chamber—not for rest, but for a different reason.

Inside the chamber, dim and spartan despite his status, Alexis went to the drawer beside his bed.

From it, he took out a small leather pouch, one he had carried through the parade, the ball, and every meeting since.

Within was a balm still untouched.

The one Hiral gave him on the cliff.

He stared at it for a moment, thumb running over the rim. Then, on impulse—stupid, sentimental impulse—he opened it.

The scent was faint. Practical. Herbal. But beneath it…

A trace. Just a trace of something warmer. Like sandalwood burned in autumn wind.

Alexis closed his eyes.

A memory rose:

Hiral's eyes flicking toward the jagged cliff instead of him, lips twitching upward in silent amusement.

Hiral tossed him a balm, then walking away as if the moment meant nothing.

And yet here Alexis was, in the safety of his inner sanctum, surrounded by ideas that could change the world—and still thinking of one man's eyes, and the secret burdens they both seemed to share.

He let out a breath and chuckled softly. "I'm losing it."

He was not a fool. He knew how many in the court wanted his name buried—some feared his fame, others his bloodline, many his loyalty.

And still, his thoughts spiraled back to a man whose presence disrupted him more than assassins ever could.

"I don't even know your truth, Hiral," Alexis murmured, placing the balm back in the drawer like a sacred relic. "And yet..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He just stood in the quiet and watched the flame of his lamp.

Bright. Steady. Quiet.

Much like Hiral himself.

****

The clang of blades rang out crisply in the training yard, the afternoon sun striking off polished steel.

General Alexis, bare-armed and sweat-slicked, moved like a panther among his knights—every parry a lesson, every strike calculated to humble and hone. 

He disarmed his opponent with a twist, sent the younger knight sprawling, and was just turning to instruct when a messenger in silk-trimmed livery appeared at the gate.

"Message from Her Majesty the Queen," the boy announced, bowing low.

Alexis took the letter, his fingers already tensing before the seal broke. The writing was elegant, the tone sweet:

"Dearest Nephew,

It would warm my heart to see you at the small tea I am hosting this afternoon. I have invited some lovely young ladies who have expressed admiration for your deeds. Your presence will delight us all."

A gracious request on the surface.

A veiled command in every word.

He could almost hear the Queen's clipped voice underneath the flowery ink:

Show yourself. Smile. Play along. Let them see we're united.

Alexis snorted softly and handed the letter back. "Tell Her Majesty I'll be honored."

As the messenger bowed and scurried off, Alexis turned to his knights. "Afternoon training will continue under Commander Varse. Focus on precision forms and stamina. I want no bruises visible tomorrow."

Laughter rose among the knights. Alexis only smirked before striding off the field.

Back at his private estate, Alexis's boots echoed across the polished floor as he entered his personal intelligence room—a chamber hidden behind his library, filled with coded documents, spies' reports, and political assessments.

He swept aside the latest scrolls and scanned them with the clinical detachment of a man used to reading poison wrapped in pleasantries.

The Queen's favored lady:

Lady Irisse of the Glade, ambitious and sweet-spoken, rumored to be her personal spy.

Lady Vian of Merrowcourt, famed beauty, but with half her estate seized for illegal trade—desperately in need of a powerful match.

Lady Renna, whose father was just reinstated in court—likely bait to ensnare favor.

He raised a brow. A spider's tea party, indeed.

But the real gems came tucked deeper in the latest update:

The King had just discreetly gifted a manor to his favored musician.

The Queen's rumored lover had disappeared—and another one already warms her bed again.

The Crown Prince, still a boy in most eyes, had been spotted sneaking into a popular actress's home more than once.

Alexis leaned back, smile faint. The whole kingdom was dancing with masks, blades hidden beneath brocade sleeves.

Then, just as he was about to close the files, his fingers stopped on one of his own coded scrolls. A small footnote tagged "Eastern Whisper."

The General of the East, has stabilized the capital. Caution: he seems to have more power and influence than the empress.

Alexis stilled.

Caution, huh?

Alexis sighed. 

I'm quite certain that General, is Hiral.

What was he doing now? Managing affairs beneath the Empress' thumb, no doubt, silencing dissent with elegant hands, just as he disarmed a crisis. 

The very thought brought an odd warmth to Alexis's chest.

He rose, stripped off his training attire, and donned a formal coat of black brocade laced with gold—the colors of shadow and triumph. Fitting for what awaited.

Before heading out, he paused at his nightstand and opened the drawer.

The balm.

It sat there like a small, silent joke. A balm he'd never used, yet never set aside. 

With no hesitation, this time, he tucked it into his inner chest pocket, right above his heart.

A half-smile curved his lips as he fastened the last button.

"Don't know why you're still on my mind, Not-General Hiral," Alexis murmured under his breath. "But I have a feeling... your quiet is more dangerous than any court dagger."

He stepped out into the corridor, already imagining the Queen's smirk, the glittering stares, and the smiling wolves in silk dresses.

But his thoughts?

They remained somewhere east, beneath a pale moon and a pair of unwavering eyes.

****

The palace garden was transformed into an elegant menagerie of silk canopies, crystal-cut parasols, and porcelain teacups filled with the rarest imported blends. 

Lady musicians played gentle lutes in the background while courtiers and nobles mingled with an air of cultivated delight. At the center of it all sat the Queen of Ro, a vision of grace and quiet power, every smile perfectly measured.

Alexis arrived precisely half an hour late, dressed in white-gold robes with a high collar embroidered with the insignia of Ro's victorious army. 

His hair was neatly tied, his gloves freshly cleaned, and his smile… masterfully charming.

He bowed deeply to the Queen, who greeted him with the warmth of an aunt and the steel of a sovereign.

"How delightful that you graced us with your presence, dear nephew."

"I live to please," Alexis replied smoothly, kissing the back of her hand, his eyes as impassive as polished stone. 

The Queen's lips twitched at the subtle sarcasm, but she let it slide. For now.

He wove through the guests like a tide — always moving, always courteous. 

Ladies giggled and whispered, vying for his attention. Some tried to flatter, others to provoke curiosity. 

Alexis nodded, complimented their wit or their gowns, and asked thoughtful questions that seemed idle, but gathered valuable insight.

Lady Irisse spoke of art, but mentioned the noble houses that just received tax relief—information the Queen hadn't yet made public.

Lady Vian, demure yet sharp, tried probing Alexis's opinion on the eastern conquest, her tongue slippery with curiosity.

Lady Renna let it slip that her father recently met privately with the Queen—twice.

All useful.

And still, as the sun lowered slightly and the shadows grew long on the teacups, the Queen watched Alexis closely—her expression calm, but her fingers gripping her fan too tightly.

He had smiled at all the ladies. 

Danced with two. 

Flattered enough to entertain, yet never lingered long enough to commit. 

He was the perfect prince of the battlefield and the ballroom. But not hers.

The Queen's fury was laced with resentment and resignation. And Alexis knew.

At one point, he strolled beside her in the garden, alone for a moment. His voice low, casual.

"Your Majesty looks radiant today. I'm sure the gentleman in your mirror each night thinks so, too."

The Queen froze for a blink too long.

And then Alexis bowed gracefully and took his leave, the way a man exits after checkmating a queen—with courtesy and finality.

****

With the tea party behind him and his afternoon still free, Alexis cast aside his noble attire and dressed plainly, slipping into the identity of a traveling merchant. 

He blended easily with the crowded market, fingers brushing over tools, metals, leathers—materials for his latest invention meant to ease saddle sores for long-range scouts.

He stopped at a humble antique shop, drawn not by the storefront, but by the odd shimmer of something inside.

A jade carving.

Two koi fish circling in a perfect circle—green so deep it shimmered blue beneath light.

Alexis entered the shop, fingers reaching for the piece before he could stop himself. The design was intricate, ancient, and yet... felt intimate.

"Ah, you have good eyes, sir," the shopkeeper, an older man with salt-gray hair and warm eyes, smiled. "That one's from the east. Came to me by way of my wife's kin. Said it once belonged to someone important. A general, I think."

Alexis stilled. "General?"

"Yes. General Hiral, they said. Seven years back—tragedy, it was. The boy lost his betrothed. Ran off with his friend. They found their bodies in the river days later, fingers laced."

"...Drowned?"

The man nodded. "Young love, eh? The jade was the general's first gift to her. Too painful to keep, so they had it passed through hands until it reached us. Thought a Westerner might take it, so he wouldn't have to see it again."

Alexis stood there in silence, his grip tightening around the carving. For a moment, he considered putting it down.

But he didn't.

He bought it.

That evening, as his carriage rocked softly toward his mansion under the deep blue dusk, Alexis held the jade carving in his palm, the weight unfamiliar and too personal.

"If he claims it," Alexis muttered to himself, "then he admits he's the general. That he's the man I suspected all along."

But that also meant he was the man who still mourned for his lover.

Alexis looked down at the twin koi, eternally chasing, never touching.

He rested the carving on his chest, just over his heart.

And smiled—bittersweet and reluctant.

"It's the first time," he whispered to the carriage's shadows, "I wished to be wrong."