The Welcoming Ceremony

At long, long last—it all began.

On every television throughout Concordia—in hotels, diners, workplaces, and homes—the AC News was broadcasting its coverage of the Christmas Convention where every world leader vacationed together throughout the month of December. The people of Silverhollow gathered and looked on from afar. The lights of the giant Christmas tree danced and sang a wordless tune when the clock struck six. And—every guest in the magnificent Silver Peaks Lodge was now gathering in its massive and decorated dining hall.

The tables were covered by white tablecloths with a Christmas green trim. Many were occupied by guests, friends and family. The booths along the far wall were as well, the orb lights hanging still and dark from above, unnoticed, only the Christmas lights along the corners of the ceiling and the regular chandelier brightening the room as of now. Sampson was busy handing out drinks from behind the bar, music echoing softly amid the crowd noises—and the stage was momentarily empty.

The stage resided at the far back end of the room, complete with its own lights, sound system, and microphone, but nobody stood upon it until the clock struck six—and Osric quietly made his appearance there, gazing over the room at everyone else.

He stood above the crowd, staring into a small ocean of people, taking a deep breath and remaining silent for a moment. His hand traveled up, turning a knob on his goggles—and they switched into general heat-seeking mode, everyone in the crowd suddenly lighting up in his view, all of them showing as a strong heat signature, no weak ones among them at all.

He quietly returned his goggles to normal sight mode, inhaled again, and cleared his throat, eyes traveling across everyone before him. Congressmen and members of the British parliament sat around tables and booths with their families, some people standing and talking with drinks over by the bar. Andres and Ubuntu were standing near the stage, trading conversation and laughter. Sakura and Anders were talking to one another beside a table where Akari sat quietly, Grayson and King Henry doing the same at a different table, and Donovan was at the bar, chatting with random people. A man in a dark brown suit and a stylish matching hat—Richard Holmes, the prime minister of the Australian Aisle, who had arrived here the previous night—was talking heartily with Sampson down the bar, releasing the occasional booming laugh as he did. Mayor Byers was near the far back corner, sipping on a drink and talking to Alexander Armani while Bellura and Trisha lingered nearby them, gossiping to one another. The news reporter and the cameraman from the AC News stood back near the entrance, filming silently. It seemed that everyone was here—almost.

Osric scanned over the crowd another time, searching for someone else he knew was meant to be here, but he didn’t see the man anywhere in the crowd.

Then—he felt a tap on his shoulder, one that didn’t come from the tiny prod of a metal finger.

Osric turned—and he spotted the man he was looking for standing right beside him on the stage now, Ron Whittaker, with his slicked-back hairs, slender pinstriped suit, and charismatic smile, a certain twinkle in his eye.

“Oh… hello,” Osric uttered with a laugh. “I was wondering where you were. Never saw you arrive.”

“Ah… I got here last night,” Ron shrugged, pocketing his hands and glancing at the crowd. “Are we ready?”

Osric stepped back and motioned to the microphone stand. “Be my guest. I don’t think you should try to follow me.”

Ron cocked his head and flashed a flattened sort of smile at him, then sauntered forward and plucked the mic from its stand, clearing his throat loudly before he spoke.

Osric took another step back, leaning slightly closer to Oliver and muttering to him.

“Go prepare the music and start it when it’s time,” he instructed. “And make sure you’re beside me again by the time your brothers come out so I can relay orders.”

“Right away, sir.”

Oliver whizzed off the stage and soared over to where the jukebox resided—just when the coordinator from the UNO began to speak.

“Hello, hello… great people of Concordia!” Ron greeted everyone in the enormous room, his voice echoing from the speakers and bounding off the wood-paneled walls. “If my calculations are indeed correct—it appears we’re two whole minutes past six in the evening, which means that it is undoubtedly time to get this show on the road!”

The AC reporter and his cameraman moved forward to film everything from a closer view, and a wave of hushing traveled across the crowd, everyone turning to the stage.

Evony, Cally, Thomas, and Javari stood beside the stage now, staring up at Osric and Ron as they patiently waited for whatever came next.

“Thank you! Thank you,” Ron continued, reaching out and motioning directly across the center of the room. “And if I remember correctly—I believe that everyone sitting or standing at the center tables here will want to vacate the area ASAP. You know how these dinners tend to go!”

Everyone who was seated or standing in the middle of the room traded glances before they all began to stand or shuffle away.

Evony made an odd face as she watched everybody clear the center of the dining hall, turning to Cally. “What’re they all moving for…?”

Cally merely smirked. “You’ll see.”

“Very good! Don’t want anyone getting stuck in the floor, now do we?” Ron laughed. “Well, anyway—here we are, at the end of our first step into the great 2080s! And it has been a long time coming, hasn’t it? I just want you all to take a moment to appreciate yourselves. You wonderful people got us this far!”

He jutted his arm out to the crowd, gesturing to Ubuntu and announcing his name and home country to the crowd, everyone pausing to give the man his own applause. Ron did the same to Andres, then Sakura, then Anders, then Richard, then Grayson, introducing them all individually, and each of them got an applause. After that, Ron gave Mayor Byers an introduction and a nod, thanking him for inviting every world leader to his home town yet again—then finally, the coordinator stepped back, preparing to hand the microphone off.

“And last but not least—a man who needs no introduction—the brilliant, strange, kind, quirky, and incredible—Osric Azarias!”

The crowd erupted into applause once more—and Osric took the microphone, Ron making a lazy salute before leaping swiftly off the side of the stage, strolling past Evony and heading to the nearby exit that led into the back hall.

Osric laughed breathlessly a few times as he looked upon the crowd, waiting for the clapping to die down before he spoke.

“Oh… I don’t know why he handed me the damned thing,” the inventor remarked, carelessly tossing the microphone away and clicking something on the side of his goggles. “You’d think he would know better by now.”

A tiny metal rod emerged from the bottom-left side of his goggles, bending at a perfect 90 degree angle and creating a smaller microphone that he didn’t have to hold, the crowd chuckling in impressed amusement at this.

“That’s better,” Osric said. “Now, I have no doubt in my mind that listening to a crazy hermit ramble isn’t what everyone here wants to do—especially when all of you know very well by now how particularly extravagant our dinners tend to be.”

The crowd laughed again.

“So, I promise—I won’t keep you waiting for dinner for long,” Osric stated. “Just a brief announcement—and then we’ll have a nice little break-in to the rest of the 2080s. First of all—our old manager, Grady, is no longer here with us. Therefore—I’ve hired a select few co-managers to assist with the endeavors of the convention this December.”

He gestured to the side, where Evony and her friends stood.

“If you’re unable to ask me something directly—you can ask any of the four of them,” Osric told the room. “Or—you can ask the artificial members of my staff.”

He looked across the room and gave Oliver a subtle nod.

The bot butler swiveled around to face the jukebox and began tinkering with it.

“I’ve never used many bot butlers for the convention before… but there’s something unspeakably special about the year 2080,” Osric smirked, clicking the sides of his wrists and activating each firework gauntlet, metal skeletons rapidly unraveling around both of his hands. “And I suppose I wanted to do things a little… differently this time.”

Then—the main lights in the room turned off, the music kicked on, and a powerful synthwave song began echoing throughout the room, the hanging orb lights suddenly brightening from high above, flashing and dancing along with the beat of the music in countless different colors.

Everybody gazed around the room in surprise as the neon lights flashed across the crowd in rhythmic waves.

Oliver positioned himself beside his master again just when the gauntlets finished constructing around his hands—and Osric raised them, blasting bright sparklers from either fist and making everyone in the crowd yell and beam with delight.

And amidst the sudden darkness of the room—nobody noticed the two circular openings on either side of the stage floor, each of them opening, and several bot butlers arising from inside them, floating up high and spreading across the air.

Osric raised both fists—shooting whizzing spinning fireworks into the air above him that created long trails of colorful lights as well as loud whistles, everyone in the dining hall reeling back in delighted surprise.

And the moment the spinning fireworks arose—every screen on every single bot butler powered on, suddenly illuminating the air space all around their master, all of their faces flashing with various colors just as the orb lights were.

The crowd screamed and squealed with amazement, some people applauding while others simply watched or whistled.

Osric slowly lowered his hands, clicked his wrists, and retracted the gauntlets, wearing an unreadable visage now.

“Combat mode,” he said softly.

Oliver made a nodding motion—and his screen turned red, as well as the screens of all the others, an ominous crimson glow overtaking the endless robots hovering midair.

“Dive-bomb,” Osric mumbled.

Oliver shot off like a bullet—and all the others did the same.

The bot butlers were flying down at the crowd and whizzing above their heads very quickly now—making a few people jolt back or yell in alarm, some laughing, others merely shocked.

Evony watched in surprise as the bot butlers swarmed over the crowd like angry bees, glancing up at the stage.

Oliver sailed through the air and returned to his master’s side.

“Back to me,” Osric muttered.

At once—all the other bot butlers arose and retreated from the crowd, hovering back to their positions above the stage.

Everyone in the crowd who had ducked or jumped back began to straighten up now, Mayor Byers grimacing with annoyance and adjusting his tie, Anders narrowing his eyes at the stage, and Grayson ogling the inventor with a peculiar expression.

“Party mode resume,” Osric murmured.

Instanty—the bot butler’s screens flickered back to their state of flashing neon colors, bobbing up and down in the air along with the music.

“And… light show,” Osric said dismissively, collecting his cane from the stage floor and starting to walk away.

The bot butlers all revealed tiny barrels above their glass faces, shooting laser lights of varying colors across the room and creating the atmosphere of a rave, the crowd exploding with shouts of glee once again.

As they did—Osric quietly stepped off the side of the stage, happy to be given a moment to slip away. He marched directly toward the open doorway of the back hall.

Evony and the others turned and watched him go.

Osric entered the back hall with Oliver floating along beside him, speed-walking away from the noisy room at once.

“Oh… and it’s time to serve dinner,” Osric remembered, nodding over at his bot butler.

“Quite so, sir.” Oliver made a salute. “I shall meet you upstairs in a moment.”

Osric lazily waved him off and continued walking, Oliver wheeling around and returning to the dining hall.

Moments later, the rave lights ended, the bot butlers all displayed ordinary blue screens with basic expressions, and the music softened, switching to a softer Christmas melody. Oliver glided over to the wall beside the bar, flipping a large switch—and the entire floor in the center of the room began to move.

Evony took back; the entire floor in the center of the dining room shifted, the tables affixed to the wood panels, but the chairs simply fell into the large, dark hole that was opening up, the sheets of moving flooring flipping inward, and the floor consumed the affixed tables, a brand new floor arising from the dark hole, this one with a single long dining table attached to it.

The new floor snapped perfectly into place, the hole vanishing, and in seconds—the bot butlers began shooting through the air and soaring out of the room, all of them returning moments later with items, some with antique wooden chairs dangling from their arms, others holding large platters of food from the kitchen, Dean propping the kitchen doors open and allowing the bots to flood in and out of the room with ease.

With great swiftness and synchronization, the bot butlers placed the chairs all around the new table, and they set all the platters of food and dishware up and down the table’s surface, prepping it for dinner in mere minutes.

Everyone in the crowd looked pleased to see this, though none of them looked particularly impressed by this part, as it was something they saw every year—except for the children, who marveled at the serving of dinner like it was a magic trick.

With the music and lighting having returned to normal, and with everyone in the dining hall now seating themselves for dinner, Evony turned and glanced between her friends. Cally was wearing an oddly troubled face, and Thomas and Javari both looked particularly thoughtful, their brows wrinkling as they shared a look with each other.

“Um… okay… are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Thomas asked his sister, glimpsing over at the crowd again.

“Yeah, probably,” Cally replied. “Kinda wondering why he did that… with the bot butlers…”

“It’s a weapons show,” Javari shrugged. “That’s what you do.”

Thomas and Cally both turned to him questioningly.

“Well, I mean… these people don’t know it was a weapons show,” Javari added with a sideways nod. “But it was. He was showing off that new operating system… just a little bit. Just enough to deliver a thinly-veiled threat.”

“But… he didn’t show off any of their weapons,” Cally said.

“He’s not gonna show his hand,” Evony knew, gazing into the crowd. “He was just giving certain people in here a warning.”

Javari snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Exactly.”

Evony sighed, turning and staring down the empty back hall. Then, she looked to the crowd again, wondering what she should do now. It made sense to stay and chat with people, to get to know everyone here at the convention, and to scope out those who she considered suspects—but she wasn’t a particularly social person, and part of her longed to escape this room just the way Osric had.

“ Cally ,” someone whisper-yelled from nearby.

Cally wheeled around—spotting the burly figure of Dean leaning out of the kitchen doorway, giving her a look.

“You’re at least gonna help with dessert, right?” he griped.

Cally huffed out a breath and nodded. “I gotta go, guys.”

She sprinted off and vanished into the kitchen.

“I probably need to go look over the schedule again. Tomorrow begins manager hell,” Thomas muttered, glimpsing at Javari and pointing across the room. “Go talk to your dad, see if he’s getting everything shipped here by tomorrow. It has to be by tomorrow if you wanna do the show the day after.”

Javari nodded—and he and Thomas both broke off in different directions, Javari heading across the dining hall while Thomas exited the room altogether.

Evony was left standing alone, folding her arms and leaning on the wall with another sigh. She’d expected to have dinner with her friends in here tonight, but they’d all run off to do other things, and she certainly didn’t want to approach that table of strangers all by herself.

Still, as she stood by and watched, she saw that plenty of people were approaching the dining table just to make a plate. Only the world leaders and their closest friends or relatives were seating themselves around the big table; everyone else was simply lining up at it to make themselves a plate of food before wandering off to a small table or a booth.

Evony narrowed her eyes at the bar, seeing that it was the least occupied of all the seating areas. She could make herself a plate, step away, and eat quietly at the end of the bar.

So—she marched over to the table, kept her head down, and silently joined the line, collecting a plate from the stack at the end of the table and moving down the side of it along with everyone else, filling her plate with turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a side of green beans before hurriedly walking off.

She then parked herself at the farthest stool at the end of the bar, sighing with relief and beginning to eat. About halfway through her green beans, a bout of paranoia appeared in her mind, and she looked over her shoulder at the area where the AC News reporters had been a while ago, but they didn’t appear to be in the room anymore. So, she resumed eating in peace.

Until a hand slapped loudly onto the surface of the bar right beside her.

Evony swallowed her food and looked up, repressing a groan at the sight of the people next to her now.

Bellura was leaning on the bar and dog-eyeing her, and Trisha stood closely behind her with her arms crossed, both of them looking oddly angry at her.

“Yes…?” Evony uttered.

“I just wanna know something,” Bellura replied snarkily, cocking her head at her. “Who even are you? Why are you suddenly so important?”

Evony stared blankly at her, glancing over at the crowd, then back, making a slow, mild shrug.

“Don’t look at me like I’m stupid,” Bellura snarled. “You know what I’m talking about. You just blew into town, some nameless refugee nobody, and now, you’re suddenly best friends with the local nutcase, and you’re here for an event that you really shouldn’t be a part of. This is for important people.”

Evony took a bite of green beans, looking unfazed.

“Then why’re you here?” she asked casually, jabbing the fork at her.

Bellura scoffed obnoxiously. “I’m the mayor’s daughter!”

“Mhm… m’yeah… the mayor’s daughter ,” Evony nodded. “Not the mayor . Seriously, what do you even do?”

Bellura gaped at her, looking terribly offended.

“No, really… genuine question,” Evony said. “What do you do? I’m honestly curious.”

“I don’t need a job to be useful ,” Bellura griped.

“Okay,” Evony shrugged. “So… how are you useful, then?”

Bellura fell momentarily silent, looking down and briefly glancing at Trisha for support.

“She makes appearences, and she meets her father’s friends, and she makes connections,” Trisha said knowingly.

Evony nodded again, taking another bite. “M’kay. Why?”

“Whaddo you mean, why? ” Trisha growled.

“I mean why does she do that?” Evony clarified. “How does that make her useful?”

“The same way it makes me useful,” Trisha responded as-a-matter-of-factly. “I’m gonna be the one running SAMs Corp someday—so I make appearences and connections now, and I learn everything I can from the side. Bell does the same thing so she can be the mayor one day.”

“O… kay,” Evony muttered slowly, squinting at Trisha. “But… your brother actually does work at SAMs Corp. Wouldn’t that teach you a lot more than just… watching people work and talking to randos? Again… genuine question.”

Trisha gaped at her, trading looks with Bellura, both of them visibly flustered and agitated now.

“Okay—first of all, I can learn plenty just from observing and talking to people,” Bellura quipped smugly. “And second of all—it’s not just about that. Me being around is good for my father’s image, too. It shows him as an upstanding family man, and that’s actually really important.”

Evony opened her mouth to reply, then choked out a laugh, shaking her head down at her plate as she scooped up a bite of mashed potatoes.

“Well… that , I believe,” she muttered through a few breathless snickers. “Your dad probably needs to do everything he can to look good. Considering.”

Bellura’s eyebrows shot upright. “Considering what? ”

Evony held the fork of potatoes to her mouth, hesitating and glancing over at her.

“Nothing,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No—you better be ready to explain yourself if you’re gonna talk smack about my father,” Bellura snapped. “What the hell is your problem with him? Huh? Is it because my dad was upset with Osric over that poor excuse for a Thanksgiving dinner? It made my cousin sick , you idiot. Of course he was upset.”

Evony stared, her mouth drifting open, and for a moment, she was quiet, simply gazing into this girl’s face, and seeing—strangely enough—more hurt than bratty attitude in her eyes now. Bellura was glaring at her, with nostrils flaring, and with angry, watery eyes, looking incredibly protective of her dad all the sudden, as if Mayor Byers was honestly someone she felt convicted to defend. It actually made Evony feel a faint spark of empathy inside, because the look on Bellura’s face now was the very same one Evony always wore whenever she felt protective of her own father. It was as if Bellura had no idea what sort of person her dad actually was.

There was a pause.

“Wow,” Evony sighed, making a slight shake of the head. “I honestly kinda feel bad for you. You have no idea…”

“Um, excuse me?” Trisha spoke up for her friend, rolling her neck and shooting her a snarling sort of look. “You really need to watch your mouth. Bell knows her father way better than a nothing person like you ever could.”

Out of nowhere—a meaty hand slapped over the entirety of Trisha’s face and shoved her back.

“Shut up, shut up, shut uuup ,” Javari griped, pushing her sister away from the bar quite forcibly. “Nobody wants to hear you use that bitchy-ass cheerleader voice, Trish. Stop talking shit to my friend and go away. Shoo! Go! Get thee behind me Satan!”

Trisha resisted him, and he began to wrestle with her, trying so hard to force her away, a few of the people nearest them began to turn their heads and stare.

“ Hey ,” a husky man hissed at them, stepping forward and glaring at the two.

Evony turned, seeing what appeared to be the larger bearded version of Javari. It was his and Trisha’s father, Alexander Armani, and he was leering heatedly at both of his children.

“ Stop it ,” Alexander ordered, smacking them on the arms and making them fall still. “Javari—don’t manhandle your sister in public. You two can do all your stupid sibling squabbling shit in the privacy of our own home— not here.”

Trisha tossed up her hands and stormed away. “Oh yeah, that fat piece of shit puts his hands on me, and I’m in trouble… yeah, that’s fair…!”

“Yeah—that’s why your back-alley nose job is fucking crooked , bitch!” Javari griped as he thundered after her.

Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose, giving Evony and Bellura a brief smile before he walked away as well.

There was another tense silence.

“My father… is a good man,” Bellura breathed, planting a finger to the bar and staring hotly into Evony. “And I don’t ever wanna hear you imply that he’s anything less again.”

Evony stared at her, saying nothing, and feeling more pity than she did anger.

“Then you better just stop talking to me,” she warned, returning to her dinner.

Bellura slapped her fist down by her side, huffing and frowning at her. “No— you better start speaking about him with respect . That’s what’s going to happen.”

Evony took another bite and shook her head. “No it ain’t.”

“Yes— it is ,” Bellura stated, practically stomping her foot as she made the demand.

Evony turned and gazed into her again, sighing with disdain.

“Damn. He’s really your hero,” she observed, shaking her head at Bellura once more. “He raised you to act like this… and you never even thought it was wrong, did you? You actually think he’s a good guy… and you actually think you’re in the right here. Like I said… I feel bad for you.”

“No—you are an ugly, worthless, poor, disgusting, and hideously disfigured fucking refugee ,” Bellura growled nastily at her. “You don’t get to feel bad for me , bitch.”

“God blind me, Bell,” someone else said from behind her.

Bellura’s eyes widened, gasping sharply and whipping around—only to see Prince Donovan Windsor leaning on the bar on her other side, frowning and shaking his head at her.

“Why’re you so bloody cruel to people?” Donovan asked.

“Donovan…!” Bellura breathed, fidgeting in her stance and swiping her wavy hairs aside. “Um… hi! Sorry, I didn’t know you were there… aha… this is… this is just…”

She swatted loosely between herself and Evony.

“This is just a personal thing between me and her,” Bellura explained vaguely, offering him a smile. “It’s a long story. Don’t worry about it. Um… how have you been?”

Donovan continued to stare at her, his handsome face heavy with chagrin, wearing an expression that looked almost reminiscent of a disappointed parent.

“Y’know… every time I go back home, I do spare you a thought, and I wonder… why I don’t ever give you a chance,” he said softly. “But then… I come back here… and you always do something to remind me. You’re just… rotten inside.”

Bellura took back, her mouth opening, looking utterly heartbroken now. She gazed at him sorrowfully for a moment—then pushed past him and speed-walked away, wiping her eyes and vanishing from their presence.

Donovan didn’t even glance at her as she stormed off. He merely waved the bartender over, hoping to order a drink.

Evony continued eating her dinner in silence.

Donovan leaned on his arms atop the bar, glimpsing at her.

“What’s your drink, love?” he asked with a smile.

Evony swallowed a sigh, looking up and politely shaking her head at him. “I’m good. Thanks.”

“Awww… c’mon,” Donovan said, scooting slightly closer. “Not even one drink tonight? It’s a special occasion.”

“Well… it’s really just dinner for me,” Evony shrugged. “I just wanna eat and go to bed.”

Donovan nodded, and there was a pause. Then, Sampson approached him from behind the bar, asking what he wanted to order, and the prince politely requested a Scotch on the Rocks before turning to Evony again.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” Donovan asked. “Maybe just one of those little fruity ones? They’re actually brilliant. I don’t care what anyone says—I love ‘em.”

Evony met his eyes again and laughed, sighing and giving up on arguing with him. “Okay… sure. You choose one for me.”

“Excellent. A Tropical Empire’s Brew for the lovely lady,” Donovan asked the bartender. “The good one.”

Sampson raised his brows at him, then turned and marched away to make the drinks.

Donovan looked to Evony again.

“She’s barking , y’know,” he uttered to her.

Evony blinked and stared at him. “She’s what…?”

“She’s barking mad… Bell is,” Donovan clarified. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way… but I feel the need to say it, because it’s true. You are definitely not ugly. You’re beautiful.”

Evony swallowed, cracking a smile and feeling a rush of butterflies, looking down and letting out a nervous little laugh.

“Well… thank you,” she managed to reply. “But she’s not gonna bother me with anything she says. She’s just kind of… delusional… and pitiful.”

“Right,” Donovan muttered, glancing down and frowning. “It’s actually quite sad, honestly. I’ve seen her show some real signs of humanity before, but… she always just… defaults back to that rotten, hateful attitude of hers.”

“Yeah,” Evony agreed, taking another bite of her food.

Donovan narrowed his eyes curiously at her, scooting just a bit closer again.

“So, I thought I heard you mention… something about her father,” the prince said. “Sounded a bit like you knew some things about him. Do you?”

Evony finished off her dinner, pushed the plate away, and stared at him, now expressionless.

“Why do you ask?” she inquired.

Donovan’s mouth curled into a half-smile. “Because I do, too. He’s a right foul git… and I’m just curious if you know how much of one he really is .”

Evony gave him a long, thoughtful stare.

“I’ll tell you what I know if you tell me what you know,” she offered. “But you have to go first.”

Donovan laughed. “Well, that’s a bit stilted. How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

Sampson returned, placing a Scotch on the Rocks in front of the prince, and setting a tall glass full of red liquid down in front of Evony, complete with a single slice of an orange.

Evony took the drink and swallowed a swig of it, surprised to find that it actually tasted good, then she smiled at the prince and made a coy little shrug.

“You’ll just have to take a leap of faith on me,” she said.

Donovan stared, still smiling, then he straightened up and nodded. “All right. You’re on.”

He glimpsed around, then leaned in and lowered his voice.

“Perry Byers is running a smuggling operation here in Silverhollow,” he whispered. “Did’ja know that?”

Evony reeled slightly back, staring at him in surprise.

“How do you know that?” she murmured.

Donovan nodded sideways. “Well… let’s just say my father knows quite a lot, and he never thinks to keep his bloody voice down when he’s discussing things with people at home.”

Evony’s expression fell serious, and she took another sip of her drink, a larger one this time. Seconds later, she faced him again, giving him a strange sort of look.

“That’s like… dangerous information,” she mumbled. “Aren’t you worried about getting your family in trouble? You’re just… you’re just telling this to some random girl…”

Donovan raised his head slightly, his visage now eerily distant. He then turned on his stool, gazing across the crowd at the large table, where the king sat alongside the prime minister.

“My family are right foul gits as well,” he muttered grimly, turning back to the bar and lifting his drink. “To hell with the whole bloody lot of ‘em.”

As Donovan drank his beverage, Evony gave him a curious look for a moment before taking another drink of her own, feeling exhausted, and somewhat cold. Her fever wasn’t gone yet, and she was beginning to feel drained again.

“Hello! Sorry,” Javari suddenly appeared behind Evony, looking exasperated and adjusting his feathered hat. “I had to chase her into her and Dad’s suite. She’s throwing a tantrum. Wow , I wish I was an only child… hey, Donovan!”

He offered his hand, and the prince shook it.

“Good to see you… Javari, right?” Donovan guessed, wagging a finger at him.

The two of them talked for a moment, Evony sipping on her drink and gazing down at the bar, feeling suddenly woozy.

Before long—Thomas reappeared in the dining hall, hunching on the bar beside Javari and going over the convention schedule with him in detail. Donovan leaned over, interested in the schedule as well, and the three of them lost themselves to a conversation about it for a while.

Evony, however, stopped talking entirely, feeling as if she was practically nodding off to sleep now.