It was suffocating, to say the least. Matheiu could handle being the center of attention on the battlefield and in the comfort of his position as a commander, but being at a lavish party hosted by his parents with dozens of young women younger or around his age screaming, "Marry me, I am the perfect candidate," was overwhelming. But he wasn't up for marriage, nor did he have any intention to marry anyone at all. Or perhaps, Matheiu liked to think that these women just weren't his type.

After a while of chatting with the ladies, he excused himself to check on his brother, who was bedridden in his room after getting the flu. The poor boy had been sick for three days now, but the physician told them that he was getting better. The corridor was empty, the lights barely covering the large path. He readjusted the brooch on his neck with a sigh. "Que cette nuit soit finie," Matheiu murmured to himself.

He could hear a door creaking open—not just any door, but the door right in front of him that made him stop in his tracks and stare as it pushed inwards and a figure emerged, their head looking around until they met Matheiu's eyes. Both were surprised, frozen in their spots. This young man looked peculiar; his face was unfamiliar to him, and his clothes were foreign. "Qui es-tu?" Matheiu asked, his brows creased as he took a good look at this person. Something inside him told him this young man didn't belong here.