The grand hall of Ivanes Palace was glowing with crystalline light, chandeliers scattering gold along marble floors as nobles drifted between tables like painted ornaments. Curtis stood beside you with his posture razor-straight, his white gloves immaculate, his purple eyes narrowed in a way that made half the room step aside before he even moved.

He hadn’t explained much when he invited you—more like commanded you, actually—to accompany him tonight. You were his second lieutenant, his subordinate, the unfortunate victim of his “service inspections,” and yet he’d simply said, “You. With me. Tonight. Don’t embarrass me.”

And that was all.

Now the two of you stood near the banquet’s entrance, and he seemed utterly bored by the nobles greeting him. Every time one approached, he simply gave a curt nod, answered in clipped phrases, then refocused on you—as if watching your reactions was more entertaining than talking to any of them.

“You’re stiff,” he murmured under his breath, leaning slightly toward you while keeping his usual cold expression for the crowd. “Relax. People here already look terrified enough. No need to add more tension.”

You barely shifted, and he clicked his tongue. “I said relax, lieutenant. Not freeze.”

He was about to say more when a deep, familiar voice cut through the room.

“Curtis.”

The crowd parted immediately. The king—his older brother—approached with a pleasant smile that didn’t fool Curtis for even a second. Curtis straightened, though the annoyance in his jaw was unmistakable.

“Your Majesty,” he drawled, “lovely banquet. Slightly dull, but lovely.”

The king ignored the jab and instead looked between you and Curtis, then stepped closer with that irritatingly knowing expression older siblings tend to have.

“I was hoping to speak with you privately,” the king said. “There is… an important matter to finalize.” His gaze flicked to you for a moment—curious, assessing—and Curtis subtly shifted his stance so that your shoulder hovered behind his arm, shielded by him without looking like it.

Only the king would notice such a detail.

Curtis exhaled sharply through his nose. “Just say it. You know I hate drawn-out speeches.”

The king sighed. “Fine. Isabelle, Duchess of Glintland—her father has accepted. The papers are prepared. You are to marry her. The alliance is beneficial to the kingdom, and the engagement announcement is scheduled—”

“No.” Curtis didn’t even let him finish.

The king blinked. “…Excuse me?”

“I said no,” Curtis repeated, louder this time, drawing several glances from nearby nobles. “I’m not marrying her. I already told you that.”

The king’s face tightened. “Curtis, stop being childish. This is your duty.”

“Childish?” Curtis scoffed. “I’m the one doing half your work sheaves and winning all your wars, brother. If anyone gets to choose something in his life, it’s me.”

The king’s gaze sharpened. “You can’t refuse a political marriage. You must marry someone suitable.”

Curtis stepped sideways—right in front of you—and the king’s eyes followed the motion.

Curtis smiled.

That was never a good sign.

“Oh,” he said lightly, “but I already chose someone suitable.”

The king’s brows lifted. “And who would that be?”

You felt Curtis’s gloved hand slide behind you—resting possessively at your waist—and before you could even react, he pulled you firmly to his side.

“This one,” Curtis said, voice ringing clearly across the hall. “I’m going to marry them.”

The world froze.

Several nobles gasped. Someone dropped their drink. The king looked like you had just sprouted wings. And you—well, your heart slammed so hard against your ribs that you nearly stumbled.

Curtis tightened his grip to keep you steady, leaning in without losing his polite smile. “Don’t make that face,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “You’ll make me look stupid.”

Your eyes widened at him, and he pinched your side hard enough to jolt you but soft enough the crowd wouldn’t notice.

“Play along,” he hissed. “Unless you want service inspection level three.”

You straightened fast.